Chapter Text
The kitchen is quiet. Not silent—the steady hum of the refrigerator in the corner and the slight ticking of the egg timer see to that—but quiet. Dean isn’t usually one for quiet, preferring to blare music or pester one or two of his coworkers (sometimes with said music) as he toils. But he has to admit that on this particular morning, the quiet is nice—grounding. He gets so sucked in by it, in fact, rolling dough to the rhythm of the timer, that he nearly jumps out of his skin when the lights flicker on above his head. This reaction evidently scares the person entering the room as well, as Dean hears a harsh scuffle across the floor and a sharp intake of breath.
“Jesus, Dean! You nearly scared me half to death, you dick!”
Dean’s heart rate drops significantly and he flashes Jo what he hopes is a guilty enough grin. She tries to keep a straight face, but Dean can see the corners of her mouth twitching up.
“How long have you even been here?” she asks. “We’re still nearly half an hour away from opening time.”
“Aw, damn, really?” Dean glances down at his watch. “Guess I shoulda come in a bit earlier.”
“Earlier?! Seriously dude, do you ever sleep?”
“I got my four hours,” Dean replies, a little indignantly. “And Ellen wouldn’t have given me keys if she didn’t want me to use ‘em.”
Jo scoffs. “I swear to God, I think if you ever managed to get a full night’s sleep, you’d be an entirely different person.”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Dean teases. The smile falls slowly off his face as Jo pauses and scans it thoughtfully.
“No, not really,” she says after a beat.
Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Don’t be getting all earnest on me and shit,” he mutters.
Jo laughs. “You’re so easy! And anyway,” she adds, “I only like the person you are because it makes me look that much better in comparison.”
“Naturally,” Dean shoots back, but his shoulders relax just an inch. Jo hoists herself onto the counter and watches carefully as Dean switches from crust to filling, pouring heavy cream, cinnamon, and a handful of cardamom pods into a saucepan. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jo glancing around the room, knocking her sneakers against the cabinets.
“How many pies have you already made?”
“Well, it depends.” He sees Jo raise an eyebrow. “There were a few that I already prepped yesterday that just needed to be thrown in the oven. But ones from scratch? Three.”
“Is the one you’re working on now today’s special?”
Dean hums in confirmation, whisking the mixture steadily. The two sit in comfortable silence for a while as Dean works, the sun creeping its way along the countertops. He’s almost ready to pour the filling into the pie dish when an idea forms, and he shoots Jo a tilted grin, eyebrows raised. “You wanna taste it before I put it in to bake?”
Jo eyes him suspiciously, but slides gracefully off her perch on the counter anyway. “Sure...” she replies slowly.
Dean hands her the spoon as she comes closer and she takes it, giving a tentative lick. He watches in absolute delight as her face scrunches up and her upper body shivers involuntarily.
“What, that bad?” He asks cheekily, and she punches him in the arm, eliciting an amused “Ouch!” from him.
“How much fucking cinnamon did you put in there?!” She sticks her tongue out and drags her top row of teeth across it for emphasis.
Dean smiles wider. “Enough. I’m calling it the ‘Kick in the Pants Pie’ for a reason.”
Jo glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “Of course you are.”
Dean shifts for a moment. “But it’s good?” He asks, a bit quieter than he meant to.
“Yeah, it’s good,” Jo answers begrudgingly, her face softening ever so slightly.
“...Okay.”
“Dean, it’s good,” she insists, pinching his sleeve. “Don’t insinuate that I’m a liar, not after I got cinnamon burns in my throat for you.”
Dean breathes out a laugh. “Thanks, Jo.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Y’better put that in the oven before the piece of junk decides to kick out on you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Eugh, don’t call me that, it makes me feel like my mother.”
“Would you prefer Joanna Beth?” he asks.
Jo screws up her face in disgust and Dean doubles over in laughter. “Just put the pie in the oven, jackass,” she says, smacking him with her apron on her way out the door.
“You’re no fun!” he calls after her, but he does what she said anyway, sliding the dish into the oven and setting the timer for forty minutes. He kicks the door for good measure, and then follows Jo into the dining area. She’s behind the counter, counting the cash in the till.
She lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” she says, not even bothering to look up as Dean comes to sit on the counter beside her. “You guys did well yesterday, huh?”
Dean shrugs. “I guess. Wednesdays get a lot of foot traffic. Dunno why.”
Jo gives him a sidelong look. “It’s because on Wednesdays, we have your ‘Strawberry Heaven Pie’ or whatever the hell you call it.”
“Strawberry Chocolate Oasis Pie,” he corrects. “And there’s absolutely no way to prove that. People probably just like to get some sorta treat in the middle of the week or whatever.”
“I absolutely can prove that, when was the last time any of that pie was left at the end of the day—hell, at the end of the morning shift?”
“Okay, that’s definitely an exaggeration,” he retorts. “It’s never sold out before lunch.”
“Can you stop being a bitch and accept that people like your pie?”
Dean scowls at her and she smiles back at him, saccharine sweet. “...Fine. Whatever. Where’s Ellen, by the way? You’re almost never here before her.”
“Ah. Jody had an emergency this morning and had to take the car, so she asked Mom if she could bring Claire in for her shift.”
“And if you could open. Got it. What was the emergency?”
“If we could open,” she corrects, handing him a rag and bottle of cleaner from below the sink. “And I dunno, she didn’t say. Maybe ask Claire when she gets here?”
Dean frowns. “Yeah. Hope it’s nothing to do with Donna or the girls,” he adds, swinging his legs around and sliding off the other side of the counter.
Jo shrugs. “Knowing Claire, we’ll probably find out within five minutes of her getting here.”
They do not find out within five minutes of Claire arriving. In fact, three hours into the shift, they still have very little idea of what Jody’s emergency was.
“All she said was that it was a work thing. Nothing to do with any of us. I called Alex just to make sure anyway, though,” Claire tells them over a bite of cheese danish.
“What about Patience?” Dean asks. “She know anything?”
Claire shakes her head. “Doubt it. She’s in class right now.” She shoves the last piece of danish into her mouth and swallows harshly. Then, seeing the pensive look on Jo’s face, adds, “Look, I know she already feels guilty about dumping me on your mom this morning. She’ll probably come in later to apologize.”
Ellen pokes her head out of the kitchen window. “Will all of you please quit gossiping and shift it? None of us knows anything, so it doesn’t do any good to stand around talking about it. I can’t cook and wait on people at the same time!”
The three of them wince and try not to laugh. “Sorry, Ellen!” Dean shoots back.
He starts toward his section, and nearly crashes into Jody and Bobby as they come through the front door. They look somber, and Jody’s eyes have pronounced bags underneath them.
“Ah—hey!” Dean blurts out, not sure what else to say.
Despite her obvious exhaustion, Jody offers him a smile.
“Hey, Dean.”
She and Bobby each take a stool, and Bobby gives a quick wave to Ellen, who lifts her chin in greeting.
“Do you think you could get us each a cup of coffee?” Jody asks.
“Sure thing. Black?”
“I’ll take two sugars, actually,” she replies. “Thanks.”
Dean, Claire, and Jo try not to stare expectantly as he prepares the coffee. Restless, Jo goes to take an order at table seven, but Dean can see her sneaking glances over at the counter and shooting him quizzical looks. He shrugs back at her and turns to hand the mugs over.
“Careful, it’s pretty hot.”
Bobby nods and goes to blow on it, before noticing that Dean’s not moving away. “Do I got somethin’ on my face?” He asks.
Dean opens his mouth to make a retort, but Claire cuts in.
“You’re really not going to explain whatever happened this morning?”
Jody and Bobby share a look reflexively, and Bobby shakes his head. Jody sighs. “Look, Claire is gonna find out anyway, and I’d rather they all hear it from us now than hound her about it later.”
“Hey!” Dean protests, but Claire bobs her head in a gesture that Dean has come to know as “ I mean… .”
Jody turns toward the two of them and lowers her voice slightly as Jo makes her way back over and hands the order off to Ellen. “I got called to a crime scene this morning. A couple and their baby—lived in a little house downton. As of right now, it’s looking very likely that it was a murder-suicide situation.”
Dean’s stomach drops, and Jo swallows thickly beside him. Jody hesitates.
“And?” Claire prompts.
“Their baby is still alive,” Bobby says. “Can’t be more than five months old. Jody and I have spent all morning looking for a next of kin, but it’s like these people were cut off completely from the rest of the world. Kid’s got no godparents, no grandparents, neither of the parents had siblings...” he trails off. “Ya get the picture.”
“He’s in my custody for now, just while we look for other options, but I don’t have the time or resources to take care of a baby. Even with the girls to help,” Jody explains. “Hell, I don’t even know what to do about tonight. Donna’s with him right now, but she can’t be there all day. Alex has a night shift at the hospital, and I’m working until later tonight.
“And anyway, I wouldn’t feel comfortable dropping a baby on her—or any of you, for that matter,” she adds, seeing that Claire is about to interrupt.
Dean frowns, wracking his brain for a solution. Jody had essentially just ruled out anyone he would’ve thought of as a possible option, aside from maybe Jo, and, well…..As much as he loves her, he’s not sure if she’s ever even held a baby. Or been around one alone. His stomach knots uncomfortably thinking about the kid all alone. Or, alternatively, with whatever stranger Jody would most likely have to hire in lieu of finding someone she knows to babysit at the last minute. Not only that, but she looks exhausted enough already without having to take the time to properly vet a sitter. These thoughts snowball in his head for a few more seconds, and then his mouth is moving before his brain has fully caught up.
“I could look after him.”
All four parties turn to look at him in surprise, as Jo and Claire simultaneously respond with “What”.
“What do you mean ‘what’? I looked after Sam more than half the time when we were kids, I can handle babysitting for a night.”
(In all actuality, Dean was reeling, but the heavily dubious reactions only made him want to double down on the offer).
“That—” Jody pauses, mulling it over. “That would actually be a huge help. Thank you, Dean.”
Dean pats her forearm with the tips of his fingers lightly, in what he thought would be sweet but just turns out to be sort of awkward. “‘Course. You’ll let Donna know that I’ll be there around 3:00?”
Jody nods. “I’d give you the rundown, but I’m exhausted. And I’m sure Donna’ll do it whether I already have or not.”
Dean breathes out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” He cranes his neck when he hears Ellen ring the bell behind him.
“Order for table two’s ready! And someone just came and sat at table six.”
“Ah—that’s my section.”
He shoots Jody an apologetic grimace and she waves him off with a smile as he grabs the tray from Ellen.
“Go, go. I should be going in a few anyhow. I’ll see you later tonight.”
He salutes her with a grin and hops over the counter, ignoring the unimpressed eye roll from Claire. He drops the food off at table two quickly, and then makes his way for six. He bites down a groan as he notices who’s sitting in the booth.
“Hey, Garth,” Dean greets, trying his best not to sound too unenthusiastic.
See, Garth is perfectly nice. Dean likes Garth! But Garth is a nightmare to wait on. He always orders incredibly specific dishes that drive Ellen up a wall, and he’s chatty. Chatty customers are fine—usually good for tips. And if they aren’t pleasant, they at least usually make for good stories. But Garth’s particular brand of chatter is often particularly meandering, which works fine for lulls, but not so much for rushes, which is when he always seems to show up.
Garth beams, looking up from the newspaper he had his nose buried in. “Hiya, Dean!”
“What can I get for ya, Garth?”
“Do you believe in astrology, Dean?” Garth’s looking down at the paper again.
“Ah, so I see we’re completely blowing past my question then.” Garth shoots him a sidelong glance and Dean sighs. “Can’t say I do, Garth, but I have a feeling it’s not gonna matter in this particular conversation.”
“Aquarius,” Garth reads, ignoring the pointed comment, as well as Dean looking up at the ceiling dramatically and sighing. “Your loved ones are on your side, you only have to remember to let them in. Don’t always let them come to you—reach out.” Garth smiles as he finishes, setting the newspaper down smoothly on the table. “Well that’s real nice. What’s your sign, Dean? I’ll read yours, too.”
Dean smiles back thinly. “I’m an Aquarius, too. Can I get your order now?”
Garth laughs. “Yeesh, touchy! Sure thing, buddy. Uhhh let’s see…..I want two eggs done over easy, extra pepper, with a side of home fries and ketchup. And remember, I like the fries a little undercooked. Extra pepper on that, too. And orange juice, with pulp and ice.”
“S’that all?”
Garth frowns sideways like he’s thinking really hard about it. “Ah, what the hell! Throw in a slice of the special pie of the day while you’re at it.”
“One slice of Kick in the Pants Pie, comin’ up. You want extra pepper on that, too?”
Garth gets a kick out of that one, and suddenly Dean’s glad it’s him. Anyone else, and that comment would almost definitely have bitten him in the ass. Or, at best, gotten an uncomfortable chuckle.
“Be back in a bit with your food,” Dean says, taking advantage of Garth’s laughter distracting him from drawing the conversation out any longer.
He’s not even really looking at her as he hands her the order, but he can practically feel Ellen’s eyes glazing over. “Garth?” is all she asks, sounding nettled.
“Hey, credit where credit is due, it’s not his worst order!” Dean replies with a grin, and Ellen grumbles in response, simultaneously an agreement and a complaint.
The rest of Dean’s shift goes by quickly and smoothly, which should make him feel great—especially considering the lack of sleep he got the night prior—if it weren’t for the steadily rising anxiety he has regarding his promise to Jody that morning. Yes, he took care of Sam when they were kids, but seeing as Sam left home at 17, he’s significantly rusty in that department. Not to mention, he never took care of Sam alone as a baby (young kid? Yes, all the time. Baby? Even John wasn’t that negligent). He’d helped, sure, and he’d watched other people do it plenty of times, but he knew well enough that perceiving and doing were not the same; sometimes not even in the same ballpark.
Dean stands at Jody’s doorstep at 2:57, willing his insides to stop flipping around like tossed salad. He paces for another minute or so, and then knocks gently. He hears some shuffling and a muffled voice from behind the door, and then it swings open to reveal Donna. She looks a bit disheveled, her ponytail loose and a faint stain drying on her undershirt, but pleased. Her eyes widen when she sees him, and she holds her arms outward.
“Dean!” she sings, and he leans down to give her a quick hug. She pats him heartily on the shoulder as she pulls away. “How the heck are ya? It’s been a minute since I saw you last!”
Dean smiles and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s my bad. I’m good, though, doin’ good. Jody told you I was coming, right? You seem a bit surprised to see me.”
“Hm? Oh, yeah! No worries, hun.” She hits his arm lightly. “I’m happy to see you, not shocked.”
Dean laughs a bit, unsure exactly how to respond. “M’happy to see you, too,” is what he lands on, and she smiles brightly.
“Well, come in! Jack’s down for his nap right now, so I can give you the rundown of everything real quick.” She steps back into the house and he follows suit, closing the door with a soft click .
Donna walks straight through the living room and into the kitchen, stopping by the fridge and tapping the door with her knuckles. “All the formula is on the door here. He doesn’t seem to like it cold, so you’re gonna have to heat it up on the stove first. He’s over five months, so he can start to have solid foods now, but they should be soft. I gave him some pureed carrots earlier and he seemed to like that, so if he seems hungry that’s a safe bet.”
She pauses, and points at the staircase behind Dean. “He’s in Jody’s room right now, and most of the stuff you’ll need is there. I put together a makeshift changing station on top of the bureau, and I swung by my sister’s place earlier to pick up some old baby clothes she had in case he needs ‘em. They’re a bit big, but they’ll do.
“We don’t have much in the way of toys or things like that, but Claire said he could have her cat stuffie, so that’s in the crib with him right now. Unfortunately we don’t have a baby monitor yet, so you might have to stay in the room and watch him while he’s sleeping….I think that pretty much covers the basics. I put some more stuff on a list, you’ll find that on the coffee table in the living room.”
Donna runs through all this like it’s second nature, and Dean blinks, trying to absorb it all. “You uh—you seem to have a pretty good grasp on this stuff.”
“Was a babysitter in high school,” she replies with a wink. “Had lots of younger cousins, too. Every baby’s different, but it gets easier once you know the gist, and what they’re like.”
“And what’s Jack like?” Dean asks. “I know you’ve really only been here a little while, but….”
Donna sighs, looking properly tired for the first time since Dean arrived. “He cried a lot, first few hours. Couldn’t get ‘im to sleep. Babies may not know all the details of what’s going on, but they can feel change. And this has been a big change—for anyone, let alone an infant. But after he calmed down a bit, well, he seems real sweet. Curious, kinda intense. But sweet.”
Dean nods. Then, before thinking better of it, “Kinda sounds like Sam when he was a baby.”
Donna smiles kindly up at him. “How is Sam? I haven’t seen him in—gosh—what is it, four years now?”
“Comin’ up on five, I think,” Dean says, trying not to let a bitter edge creep into his voice. “He’s doing good, I’m pretty sure. Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, but he seemed to be doing just fine last time we did.”
“That’s good,” Donna replies, and Dean nods again, a bit more curtly this time. Silence falls for a second, and then Donna claps her hands together. “Well! I better be gettin’ home now, if that’s alright. I changed Jack about an hour ago, so he should be good for another hour or two, and Jody should be back by about 8:00 or so. Her shift ends at 6:00, but she’s shopping for some things afterward. I’m not sure if or when the girls will be back tonight.”
“Got it. Five hours, give or take.”
“Five hours,” Donna confirms. Then, seeming to see some sort of apprehension on Dean’s face, she reaches forward and squeezes his arm gently. “You’ll do fine, promise! And anyway, he’s sleeping now, so you should have a bit of time to prepare. In fact, with any luck, he’ll sleep on and off for about half that time.”
He smiles at her. You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll do fine, he repeats to himself. “Thanks, Donna.”
“Don’t mention it.” she slings her purse over her shoulder and grabs her keys, opening the door and then peeking her head back through it. “And don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions! I mean it! I’m home for the rest of the day.”
“Got it,” Dean says, but he has a feeling that even if he were to call her, it wouldn’t exactly be without hesitation.
Donna waves cheerfully and the door swings shut again, leaving silence to wash over the room. Dean barely has time to exhale before he hears crying from above him.
Fuck.
He gives himself a second to breathe, and then he makes his way quickly up the stairs. The cries become more and more shrill the closer he gets, and he feels something twist horribly in the pit of his stomach. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard in person in years, and the memory is barely a blip compared to the real deal. His palms start to sweat a bit as he approaches the crib.
“Hey, Jack,” he whispers, eyebrows knotted as he looks down at the baby’s reddened face. “I’m uh, I’m gonna pick you up now.”
He bends his knees and awkwardly shuffles Jack into his arms, wincing as he cries right next to his ear. He shifts him so that his body’s laying against Dean’s left shoulder, one hand underneath him and one hand on the back of his head, muscle memory kicking in after a moment.
Jack’s crying dies down a bit but doesn’t completely stop, fists grasping tight to Dean’s flannel as he bounces gently up and down. It suddenly occurs to him that singing might help, but the crying is impeding him from thinking of a specific song, so he just hums. He remembers doing this for Sam when they were kids. They moved around so often, but he never really seemed to get used to it, and would always cry or have trouble sleeping the first night in a new place. Sam was never as into music as Dean had been, but the singing always soothed him right to sleep. But maybe it wasn’t even the singing. Maybe it was the comfort of having a person who was willing to sing to you at all.
The melody isn’t exactly groundbreaking, it jumps up and down in a way that makes Dean cringe to himself, starting out flat and then overcorrecting and ending up sharp. His nervousness also leads him to hum at a somewhat rapid pace, but one which eventually evens out to a more lullaby-like sound. At the very least, it seems to have served as a distraction. Jack’s sobs dwindle down to sharp inhales and sniffles, the little puffs of air warming the sleeve of Dean’s overshirt.
Dean takes a peek at his face from the corner of his eye. He’s not crying anymore, but he’s not drifting off to sleep again either, blue eyes puffy but staying firmly open.
“Guess I’m gonna have to get creative here, huh?” Dean sighs.
He looks around the room for anything that might appeal to a baby and his eye catches the cat stuffed animal in the crib. It’s a pink striped tiger, and Dean breaks into the biggest grin the moment he sees it. Picking it up, he notices that the nose and the paw pads are in the shape of hearts, and it takes everything in him not to double over laughing. It’s clear that Claire’s had this for some time—if the worn velvet on the nose and the flattened patches of fur are any indication—but it’s sugary sweet appearance clashes so severely with the surly teenager he knows that he can’t help but laugh, the sound bursting out with surprising force.
“Here,” he says, passing the tiger to Jack. “How do you feel about this lil’ guy?”
Jack’s eyes widen a bit and he lets go of Dean’s flannel to reach for the toy. He looks down at it intently, holding it by its ears and stroking the insides of them with his thumbs. He seems oddly….aware. Pensive, even. Dean doesn’t think babies are ever meant to be this quiet when they’re awake—or any young kid, for that matter. Sam was, the voice at the back of his head reminds him. Dean frowns and waves the thought away, repositioning Jack slightly so that he’s angled more towards Dean’s chest.
“Whaddya say we make our way back downstairs, huh?” Dean asks (though he supposes it’s more of a statement than a question). Jack blinks steadily back at him, and Dean thinks he’s starting to understand what Donna meant by “intense.”
Once he’s back in the living room, Dean is struck by the very abrupt realization that he has no idea what he’s doing. He knows how to feed the kid or change him or put him to sleep, but not what he should do in the absence of those things. Should he just….hang around? Is this what having a baby is? It feels way too calm—ironic, seeing as he’s somewhat panicking at this point. Who panics over things being “too calm?” Suddenly, he remembers the list Donna mentioned and exhales in relief, spotting it on the coffee table right where she said it would be. Scanning the list, he zeros in on:
- Jack probably won’t do much aside from eating and sleeping. When he’s awake and not eating, play with him. You might have to improvise for toys (I used my keys), or peek-a-boo always works!
- Alternatively, sometimes babies just wanna be carried, so that’s fine, too.
Feeling suitably less frazzled, he sits back on the couch and lifts Jack so that he’s sitting on Dean’s knees instead of pressed against his shoulder.
“Okay…” he says aloud, more to the room than to Jack. He glances back down at the list again. “Well, you don’t seem hungry right now, so I guess we’ll play?”
Jack blinks at him, then reaches up and touches his cheek, curious. For some reason, Dean holds his breath, and the realization of how odd of a reaction that is makes him laugh. Jack pulls his hand away, eyes widening in surprise, and that only makes Dean laugh harder, shoulders shaking.
“Alright, alright,” he says, catching his breath. “Let’s try and scrounge up a toy or two, yeah? There’s gotta be somethin’ around here….”
He meanders around the ground floor of the house, rummaging through cabinets and desks and the like. Eventually, he stumbles upon a drawer in Jody’s office filled with an assortment of junk—including an old deck of cards and a yahtzee cup filled with multicolored dice. Jack instantly seems interested in the rattling sound the cup makes when Dean picks it up to inspect it, so he tucks it under his other arm and slides the card deck into his front jeans’ pocket.
“If we keep this up, you’re gonna grow up to be a gambler,” Dean mumbles, and Jack makes a whining sound in response that sounds an awful lot like protest.
Dean crouches and sets the baby down on the blanket that Donna set up earlier, looking him in the eyes closely. “You seem like...oddly in tune to what I’m saying sometimes, you know that?”
Jack chews gently on the side of his own hand, a little bit of spit running down his fingers.
“....But maybe not.” He sets the cup on the floor and then abruptly remembers that babies are not meant to have small, easily chokeable objects. Frowning, he glances around for something to use to make sure that the lid stays secured. There’s a tape dispenser on the shelf underneath the coffee table, and he grabs it, applying the tape liberally across the top.
Jack reaches for it the moment he finishes. Even grasping it with both hands, they don’t quite make it all the way around, and Dean smiles at the sight. Jack seems almost as captivated by the tape as the rattling sound the dice make, running his fingers over the lid with laser-like focus.
Dean decides to take the deck of cards out while Jack is preoccupied, laying each card on the floor individually so he can look at the designs. They’re old, some of the illustrations donning scratches or worn numbers, but beautifully intricate. They remind Dean of one of the old picture books he and Sam had growing up, but he can’t think of the specific story. He just remembers the sort of painted look of the whole thing, how beautiful every page had been. He doesn’t know what happened to it, but he can suddenly and keenly feel it’s absence.
It’s not until Jack makes a particularly loud rattle with the dice that Dean remembers what he’d been doing, pulled out of his own head and back in the present. He starts to stack the cards in a pyramid shape, slowly recalling the different ways he used to do this as a teenager. He’d learned to do all different sizes and configurations—even managed to build one that kind of resembled a steeple once. Dean places the last card at the top, and realizes that Jack has abandoned the yahtzee cup in favor of staring at the pyramid.
“Here,” Dean says, smiling. He takes Jack’s hand, guiding it towards the stack. “Watch this.” He closes both his and Jack’s hand over a card in the middle and pulls, the whole thing toppling over. The baby gasps, turning his head toward Dean sharply, and Dean laughs.
“Let’s do it again, hm?”
Jack watches him with rapt attention this time, eyes tracking his hands as they work at building a new structure. He’s barely finished when Jack reaches forward and knocks it down, letting out a delighted squeal as it goes. They continue this cycle for another five stacks until Jack starts to cry. It’s less intense than it was earlier, more of a whine than a genuine cry, but it still makes Dean’s stomach twist.
“Oh, don’t do that. What is it? What do you need?” He picks Jack up again, laying him lengthwise across his arms this time and rocking gently. He carefully maneuvers until he’s standing again, and glances back down at Donna’s list. The word “change” jumps out at him, and he suddenly realizes that he’s already been here for over an hour.
“Do you need to be changed? Is that what’s happening?” Jack just wails harder. “Well….let’s give it a try, anyway.”
He brings the list upstairs with him, reading as he goes. Jack cries the whole way throughout, but seems marginally better when the whole affair is done (granted, the process probably takes Dean twice as long as it would take Donna, so he can’t blame the kid for being fussy). He holds him close for a bit, shushing and bouncing, but Jack still doesn’t stop, so he decides to try feeding him.
Dean sets a pot with a small amount of water on the stovetop and places the bottle inside, triple checking the instructions Donna left on the backside of the paper. Jack continues to cry, wiping a snot bubble on Dean’s flannel.
“Ah, that’s—that’s fine, I guess,” he sighs. He winces as he plucks the bottle from the pot, dropping it quickly on the counter and waving his hand back and forth to soothe his lightly burned fingers. After a minute or two, he tests the formula on the back of his hand, and offers the bottle to Jack with baited breath. Jack takes it almost immediately, and Dean exhales in relief, practically collapsing into the chair behind him.
He glances down at his watch. 4:32. Still nearly four hours left. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. Barely anything has even happened, and he still feels exhausted. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this high-strung from something so seemingly low stakes. He’s not about to spin off the road or board an airplane, but he may as well be if his body’s reaction is any indication. It’s actually worse now that Jack’s nodding off, flooding him with this restless energy that he doesn’t have any idea where to put.
He carries Jack back up to Jody’s room slowly, careful not to jostle him too much, and places him in the crib, watching in relief as he sighs and shifts and then settles into sleep.
Dean spends the following two hours in Jody’s room in almost complete silence and darkness, too nervous to do much of anything. He shuts his phone off, too afraid of any sudden noise being loud enough to wake Jack up. So he sits on the edge of the bedspread, tracing the patterns with his index finger, and he waits.
The second half of the endeavor follows much like the first, save for a couple of spit-ups and a whole half hour spent on the floor with Jack laying flat on Dean’s chest as Dean reads sections of the newspaper aloud. He does silly voices for the Dear Abby section, which Jack seems to enjoy (or at the very least be interested in). They’re still like that when Jody rolls in, carrying about a dozen different bags and looking significantly more exhausted than she had that morning. Alex totes in behind her, giving Dean an awkward smile and wave. Dean makes a move to stand so he can help Jody with the bags but she waves him down.
“I got this, you stay there.”
Dean starts to protest, but decides against it, sitting back cross-legged on the carpet. Jack babbles, grasping Dean’s shirt in his little fist. “S’that all baby stuff?” Dean asks, craning his neck to try and see inside of the bags.
“Mostly, yeah,” Jody answers, a little out of breath. “Picked up a few groceries, too.”
Alex grabs a few of the smaller bags and lifts them over to the kitchen table. Dean watches for a minute as she starts unloading food, then gets distracted as Jody flops down on the couch, eyes closed. He moves forward and sits on the edge of the coffee table, gently patting her knee.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay any longer tonight?”
“No, I can handle it. Just need a few minutes to rest. You have work tomorrow.”
“So do you,” Dean reminds her. “And you work longer.”
Jody shakes her head. “You’re not his foster parent. You’ve done enough today, trust me. And before you argue, I have plenty of help. Alex is here, and Claire is on her way home with Patience. We’ll be fine, I promise.”
Dean searches her face and thinks it’s probably best not to push it. “Okay.”
Jody sits up straight and holds her arms out for Jack. Dean obliges, watching as she wraps him up and kisses him gently on the head. He wonders distantly if she thinks of her son when she’s holding him. Was the blanket in the crib his?
Jody taps his arm lightly, and Dean’s pulled out of his stupor. “Hm?”
She gives him a soft smile. “You can head home now.”
As soon as she says it, Dean realizes he hasn’t eaten dinner, and his stomach growls loudly. They both laugh.
“Uh, I guess there’s no arguing with that.” He stands, groaning at the stiffness in his knees. “Ugh, I have a feeling this is going to age me very quickly.”
“What do you mean?” Jody asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“Oh, I—I can babysit again. If you want me to.”
Jody makes an expression that he can’t quite read, almost like she’s trying not to laugh. “Are you sure? I hope this doesn’t sound rude but you seem kind of...wiped.”
“I mean….I’m tired, yeah. But if I can help, I will, and I can. It wasn’t so bad once I got the hang of it.”
Jody tilts her head back and forth. “Well, I’m not so stubborn as to refuse help where I can get it. Thank you.”
He flashes her a quick smile. “Yeah, ‘course.”
The following day at work, Dean asks Claire about the stuffed tiger, and has to quickly duck away before she socks him in the arm.
*****
The next time Dean looks after Jack is on Halloween night. He’s all dressed up, ready to go out drinking with Charlie, when he gets a call from Jody.
“Yeah?”
“Hi, Dean! Oh, I’m so glad you picked up.” She sounds a bit breathless. “I’m so, so sorry to drop this on you, but do you think you could look after Jack for a while? Donna roped me into something at the last second, and everyone else is busy.”
“Uh—”
“You wouldn’t have to come here,” she adds. “Claire is going out that way on her way to a party, and I can have her drop off Jack and all his stuff. It’s getting kind of close to his bedtime, so he’ll probably just sleep most of the time. And I’ll be able to pick him up, probably no later than 10:30, and—”
“Jody,” Dean says, cutting her off with a laugh. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”
“You’re sure? You don’t have other plans?”
“Nah, I was probably just gonna eat a bunch of candy and watch a movie,” he lies.
“I know that’s probably bullshit, but I’m so grateful that I’m willing to overlook it.” Dean hears someone yell something in the background and loud shuffling over the line. “I’m really sorry but I—I gotta go now. Claire should be over in about fifteen minutes. Thank you again!”
“You’re—” the call is dropped suddenly, and Dean blinks. “Welcome.” He sighs and pulls up a new message.
To: Charlie, 5:56 p.m.
I can’t come out tonight
From: Charlie, 5:58 p.m.
what?! dude you were my ride :(
To: Charlie, 5:59 p.m.
sorry, babysitting for Jody. she couldn’t find anyone else
From: Charlie, 5:59 p.m.
bummer :( want company?
To: Charlie, 6:00 p.m.
thought I was your ride?
From: Charlie, 6:01 p.m.
I’m sure I can scrounge something up
To: Charlie, 6:02 p.m.
I know you could. sure you wanna be here with a baby? can’t promise it’ll be exciting
From: Charlie, 6:02 p.m.
I love babies!
To: Charlie, 6:03 p.m.
thought you were an only child?
From: Charlie, 6:03 p.m.
? that mean I can’t like kids?
To: Charlie, 6:03 p.m.
guess not. let me know if you can make it over
From: Charlie, 6:04 p.m.
aye aye! :)
Dean sets his phone on his chest and leans back on the couch, closing his eyes as he waits for Claire to arrive. He hears a car pull into the driveway some time later, and he squints at his watch. 6:09 p.m. The following knock is so loud that Dean nearly jumps straight up in the air. He swings the door open to reveal Claire, clad in black from head to toe, blonde hair standing up at odd angles, cardboard pieces painted silver taped to her hands. She has Jack’s car seat (plus Jack) in her right hand, and two bags slung over her left shoulder. One is large and green, with a pink floral pattern, and the other is a small, plain white canvas. The contrast between the outfit and her “accessories” makes Dean snort.
“Uh, wow. Wouldn’t expect you to be the type to dress up. Unless this is what you wear for casual Fridays.”
Claire rolls her eyes. “I’m going to a costume party, you dick. And for your information, I love Halloween.” She pauses, looking him over. “Didn’t you tell Jody that you didn’t have plans tonight?”
“I don’t.”
“Then why are you dressed up?”
“This is how I always dress outside of work,” he replies, straight-faced.
Claire’s eyes flick up to his felt cowboy hat in mild horror. “For the sake of the women you’ve dated, I really hope that’s not true.”
“W—hey! I look great.”
She blinks back at him. “I gotta get going, don’t want us to get there too late.”
“Who’s ‘us’?”
“Me and Patience,” Claire answers. Dean can tell she’s trying to play it casually, but she’s not making eye contact with him anymore.
“Uh-huh. And why is Patience in the car instead of helping you bring stuff in?”
“No reason,” Claire mumbles.
Dean leans out of the doorway and cranes his neck to see in the passenger’s side of Claire’s car. He only gets about five seconds before she’s pushing him back in, but it’s enough for him to catch a glimpse of a strawberry blonde wig and the top of a white dress. He grins down at her and she glares back, face red.
“You’re doing a couple’s costume? Oh my god, that is so cute, and so, so lame!”
“You’re gonna call me lame? You chose the costume of a seven year old boy.”
“Cowboys are timeless. ”
Claire rolls her eyes. “Tell yourself whatever you want. I have to go.” She hands him the baby stuff (baby included) and skips down the steps, heading quickly towards the car.
“Hey, Eddie, tell Kim I said hi!” Dean calls after her.
Claire throws her arm out behind her, and Dean can’t see her fingers underneath the cardboard, but he knows she’s flipping him off. He goes to return the favor, but remembers that his hands are full, so he settles for sticking his tongue out. He doesn’t even think she’s looking at him, but the sentiment is there.
Dean closes the front door with his foot and glances down at Jack. Blue eyes look right back at him, the lower half of his face obscured by familiar pink fur. Jack had been so quiet, Dean just sort of assumed he’d been napping.
“Uh, hi. Been a minute, huh?” He winces. “Sorry. Dunno why I’m talkin’ to you like some girl I ditched.”
He barely has enough time to set Jack’s car seat on the couch before his cell phone vibrates.
From: Charlie, 6:17 p.m.
got a ride! omw to you >:)
To: Charlie, 6:17 p.m.
should I be scared?
From: Charlie, 6:18 p.m.
only if you’re scared of a good time! bringing three bags of candy your way
To: Charlie, 6:19 p.m.
oh I love you
From: Charlie, 6:19 p.m.
I know <3
Dean smiles down at the message and then flips his phone shut, pocketing it in the holster of his costume.
“Get ready, kid,” he tells Jack, lifting him out of the car seat. “You are about to meet one of the coolest people I know.” Jack stares up at him, wide-eyed, and babbles quietly. “Don’t tell her I said that, though, she’ll never let it go.”
He paces around the living room while he waits for Charlie to arrive, Jack clinging onto his vest. The kid can be eerily quiet sometimes. Not that Dean prefers the crying, but it can be a bit unsettling having a little human being just...staring at you, expectantly.
In a really weird way, it sort of reminds him of being in school again, teachers calling on him for answers he didn’t have, staring straight into his eyes. Eventually he’d shrug, or make some smartass comment, and they’d move on, sighing. And the sigh was bad, yeah, but the staring was the worst part. The sinking pit in his stomach that came with realizing that he didn’t know. Didn’t understand.
Sometimes he would be so out of his own head, worried about a million other things outside of the classroom (mainly Sam; always Sam), that he wasn’t even sure what they’d asked. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have known anyway. Looking back, it’s honestly a miracle he didn’t drop out sooner.
When Charlie gets to the house, she doesn’t even bother knocking, she just hip-checks the door open.
“Happy Halloween, dude!” She shouts, throwing her arms up in the air.
Dean shushes her, but it’s too late, Jack is already crying.
“Ohhh, shit,” she whispers, cringing. “I’m sorry.”
Dean sighs. “S’okay, think you just startled him a little. He should calm down in a minute.” He holds Jack a little closer, rubbing his back.
Charlie stands a bit awkwardly in the doorway, candy bags crinkling lightly as she shifts from leg to leg. Sure enough, Jack quiets down quickly, resting his cheek against Dean’s shoulder. He relaxes so much, in fact, that his eyelids start to droop.
Dean gestures for Charlie to close the door and she does so, quietly, before setting her stuff on the coffee table. She sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, and Dean sits back in the recliner.
“Sorry,” she says again. “Not used to being around babies.”
“I thought you said you loved them?”
“Well, I mean….in theory.”
“In theory,” Dean repeats.
“Yeah! Like, I don’t get to be around young kids a lot, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Plus, who hates babies?”
“Sam,” Dean says, without thinking.
Charlie raises an eyebrow, looking mildly shocked. “Oh?”
“No, that’s—he doesn’t hate them,” Dean amends. “I just don’t think he...I don’t think he knows what to do with ‘em. Doesn’t really know how to act around them, y’know?”
“Hm. I thought he was a teacher?”
“Ah, High School teacher,” Dean replies. “Very important distinction. Teenagers he gets, he got to be one more. Remembers it.”
Charlie hms again and then falls silent, nursing the lollipop in her mouth. Her lips are tinted blue, and her eyebrows are furrowed like she’s thinking hard. She keeps sort of half looking at Dean, eyes flicking across his face quickly and then just as quickly away. It’s starting to make his skin prickle.
“What?” he asks, trying hard to keep his tone even and not defensive.
“I don’t know, it’s….” she flounders a moment, waving her hand in a circular motion. “We’ve never really talked about Sam before.”
Dean blinks. “Okay…” he says, not really sure what her point is.
“Like, we don’t talk about him unless someone else brings him up first, and even then it isn’t really anything specific about him, he’s more just...mentioned in passing.”
“S’it weird for me to talk about my brother?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of my point. It shouldn’t be, but you’ve made it weird by never doing it.” She points her lollipop at him, which for some reason makes him feel like she’s a lawyer questioning him in court. “And this is like…the third time you’ve done it recently.”
“Is there a point in this, or are you just trying to make me feel bad?” He mutters.
He fidgets uncomfortably, and then abruptly stops when he feels Jack start to stir, completely having forgotten that he was holding him. He holds his breath and then exhales it slowly in relief when Jack shakes his head and settles back into sleep.
“I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” Charlie tells him, apologetic. “I just wanted to know if there was a reason you keep bringing him up lately.”
“Jesus, does everything have to be a thing?” He snaps. “Why does everyone feel the need to fucking psychoanalyze me all the time?” Charlie winces at nearly the same time as Dean. “Shit, Charlie, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“No, it’s—I mean it’s not fine , but I shouldn't have pushed it.” They sit in silence for a moment, and then Charlie hands one of the candy bags towards him. “Peace offering?”
Dean smiles. “Thanks.”
“Course! Now, are we gonna watch a movie or something, or are we just gonna sit here all night?”
“Uh.” Dean gestures lightly to Jack, asleep against his chest and drooling.
“We’ll watch it on low.” Dean hesitates. “Come onnnn, I’ll let you pick,” she pleads, clasping her hands in front of her. Something in Dean’s expression must give, because Charlie’s expression very quickly shifts to regret. “Oh God, that was not the right move.”
“No, no it wasn’t.”
“Please don’t make me watch The Lost Boys again. Anything else, I’m begging.”
“Wh—it’s a classic!” Dean says incredulously.
“Yes, it is, and I still don’t want to see it for the sixteenth time.”
“That’s not—”
“I counted.”
Dean stares at her for a minute, then tuts. “Fine. Scream ?”
Charlie snaps her fingers, beaming. “ Now you’re talking.”
She pops the DVD in and then plops down next to Dean on the couch. Dean munches on a kit-kat and tries hard not to think about anything but the movie.
It doesn’t work.
*****
November means the start of all things Christmas (which Dean thinks is ridiculous, by the way. That shit shouldn’t be happening until the beginning of December at the earliest ), which in turn means that nearly everyone is about ten times busier than usual, and that Dean ends up looking after Jack a minimum of twice a week. Sometimes it’s closer to four. Jody apologizes about a million times, but honestly Dean...really doesn’t mind. Not cause it’s a cake walk—Jack’s still a baby, after all—but it’s certainly not unenjoyable either.
The kid’s sweet, and the awe he has for pretty much anything Dean shows him makes him feel a little awed in return.
Is this what parent’s mean when they say that their kid is teaching them and not the other way around? He’d wondered at one point, then laughed, realizing he’d basically just thought of himself as Jack’s parent. The weight of it had hit him all the sudden, and he’d pushed it down, his lungs clenching anxiously.
Later, when Jody had come to pick Jack up, Dean sat at the kitchen table for a long time, alone in the dark with the exception of the moonlight pooling in through the window. Finally, he couldn’t take the quiet anymore, and he’d gone to bed, even though it had been barely 9:00 p.m.
See, Dean knew he didn’t like being alone. But sometimes life is not about what you like. And Dean had grown accustomed to it, being alone. Not completely alone, of course, but more often than not when Dean was not at work, he was stuck in his own company. And it was all fine and good, up until the point that Dean was made aware of it. Because now, every time Dean comes home from babysitting Jack, or Jack is picked up from his place, Dean can feel it. Like a festering wound, or an itch he can’t quite reach, something blooming hot and painful just below his ribs. All he can see is how empty the house is. A family house. One person.
The first time Jack stays the night (an insistence on his part so Jody doesn’t have to wake him up in order to bring him home), Dean has the first truly restful sleep he’s had in a long time.