Supernatural, Jo/Dean. 30kisses #22
Shotguns and Salt
Fandom/Characters: Supernatural; Dean Winchester/Jo Harvelle
Theme: #22 Cradle
Disclaimer: Not mine :)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for minor language.
Jo avoided naming the baby for as long as possible. “It’s bad luck,” she insisted whenever Dean raised the issue. “We’ll name the baby when it comes out and we have the chance to see what he… she… is like.”
They fought a lot during her pregnancy. They argued about the color of the nursery-Dean wanted to paint the walls green and Jo insisted on yellow. They had a particularly nasty blowout when Jo suggested that they should invest in childproof cabinet handles. Dean dragged his heels. “Sammy grew up just fine without childproofing anything,” he insisted.
“That’s because John didn’t understand how to raise children,” Jo muttered.
“What was that?” Dean snapped.
Jo just shrugged innocently and dipped her paintbrush back into the pail of yellow paint.
They were even arguing as her water broke. Dean had gotten a job-a mechanic, just like his father-when Jo told him she was pregnant. Jo wanted Dean to give up hunting-to settle down like Sam: a normal job to go with a normal life. Jo knew what it was like to grow up hearing everything hidden in code. She didn’t want to be alone like her mother. She didn’t want her kid to grow up without a father. Dean argued that hunting was the only thing he had ever known and he didn’t want to abandon it.
He was still shouting at her when Jo’s face crumpled and she looked down at her feet. “Um, Dean?”
“What?” He snapped, pouring a shot of whiskey.
“I think my water just broke,” she whispered, trying to disguise the fear in her voice. He craned his head to look at her feet and his face paled.
“Uh, right. Right.” He looked scared; Jo would have laughed if she weren’t so terrified. Dean knocked back the shot with shaking fingers, “what should we do?”
“Just grab the bag we packed and a couple towels. I’ll meet you by the car.”
“Towels?”
“Well you don’t want me messing up the Impala, do you?”
Dean kissed her quickly and rushed into the bedroom to get the bag. Jo waddled out the door, dialing Sam’s number on her cell phone. “Sam? It’s Jo.” She groaned softly as the first contractions started. “Am I all right? I’m about to push a human being out of my body, what do you think?” She sighed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” She smiled at Dean, who was rushing out of their duplex with the bag and towels. “Yeah, can you meet us at the hospital?” Dean helped her into the car with more care than he had ever shown before. “See you there, Sam.”
Dean broke all the speed limits on the way to the hospital.
***
Dean and Sam discussed names with the other proud dads and uncles standing outside the glass nursery. Dean suggested John for their father and William for Jo’s. Sam raised his eyebrows. “John William? Like the guy who wrote the theme music for Jaws?”
Dean made a face, but reversed the names anyway. “What about William John?”
Sam grinned, “I think Jo would like that.” And she did.
***
The first time Dean woke up alone, a couple weeks after Will was born, he was worried. Jo’s side of the bed was empty; it was still warm, but cooling quickly. He slipped out silently and searched their tiny half of the duplex. Jo was in the kid’s room, watching him sleep. Dean wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his cheek against her head. He could feel her smile when she whispered, “he’s so small.” She sounded confused, like she was wondering how two fuck-ups like them could create something new and pure.
He woke up alone often. His heart would skip a beat whenever he saw that Jo’s side of the bed was empty, but he relaxed when he could hear her through the thin walls of their apartment. She was singing lullabies, soft and off-key, to the baby.
Dean loved Jo’s sense of wonder. He loved the way she loved Will. He came home from work every night stinking of grease and sweat, but she hugged him close and whispered news in his ear. “He smells like baby powder,” she told him, and “he smiled at me today.”
***
Dean didn’t realize Will’s six-month birthday was so close until he glanced up at the calendar and saw the date circled in red, like an omen. “Will 6 months” it said in Jo’s sprawling hand. This was Dean’s son-his flesh and blood, his name and his legacy-and Jo didn’t want him to grow up the way Sammy did. She didn’t want to die in flames, pinned to the ceiling of the nursery.
Jo half expected Dean to argue with her; to remind her that Azazel was gone and he wouldn’t hurt them anymore, but he didn’t. Jo just kissed his cheek softly, unlocked the chest at the foot of their bed and removed two shotguns and a sack of rock salt. Sam offered an extra pair of eyes to stay with them, but Dean waved away his brother’s suggestion. “We can handle it Sammy. Go on home and get some rest.”
Jo poured a circle of salt around Will’s cradle and sat a vigil with Dean-protecting their son from demons and fire and death.
That night, William John Winchester dreamed of shotguns and rock salt.
Fandom/Characters: Supernatural; Dean Winchester/Jo Harvelle
Theme: #22 Cradle
Disclaimer: Not mine :)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for minor language.
Jo avoided naming the baby for as long as possible. “It’s bad luck,” she insisted whenever Dean raised the issue. “We’ll name the baby when it comes out and we have the chance to see what he… she… is like.”
They fought a lot during her pregnancy. They argued about the color of the nursery-Dean wanted to paint the walls green and Jo insisted on yellow. They had a particularly nasty blowout when Jo suggested that they should invest in childproof cabinet handles. Dean dragged his heels. “Sammy grew up just fine without childproofing anything,” he insisted.
“That’s because John didn’t understand how to raise children,” Jo muttered.
“What was that?” Dean snapped.
Jo just shrugged innocently and dipped her paintbrush back into the pail of yellow paint.
They were even arguing as her water broke. Dean had gotten a job-a mechanic, just like his father-when Jo told him she was pregnant. Jo wanted Dean to give up hunting-to settle down like Sam: a normal job to go with a normal life. Jo knew what it was like to grow up hearing everything hidden in code. She didn’t want to be alone like her mother. She didn’t want her kid to grow up without a father. Dean argued that hunting was the only thing he had ever known and he didn’t want to abandon it.
He was still shouting at her when Jo’s face crumpled and she looked down at her feet. “Um, Dean?”
“What?” He snapped, pouring a shot of whiskey.
“I think my water just broke,” she whispered, trying to disguise the fear in her voice. He craned his head to look at her feet and his face paled.
“Uh, right. Right.” He looked scared; Jo would have laughed if she weren’t so terrified. Dean knocked back the shot with shaking fingers, “what should we do?”
“Just grab the bag we packed and a couple towels. I’ll meet you by the car.”
“Towels?”
“Well you don’t want me messing up the Impala, do you?”
Dean kissed her quickly and rushed into the bedroom to get the bag. Jo waddled out the door, dialing Sam’s number on her cell phone. “Sam? It’s Jo.” She groaned softly as the first contractions started. “Am I all right? I’m about to push a human being out of my body, what do you think?” She sighed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” She smiled at Dean, who was rushing out of their duplex with the bag and towels. “Yeah, can you meet us at the hospital?” Dean helped her into the car with more care than he had ever shown before. “See you there, Sam.”
Dean broke all the speed limits on the way to the hospital.
***
Dean and Sam discussed names with the other proud dads and uncles standing outside the glass nursery. Dean suggested John for their father and William for Jo’s. Sam raised his eyebrows. “John William? Like the guy who wrote the theme music for Jaws?”
Dean made a face, but reversed the names anyway. “What about William John?”
Sam grinned, “I think Jo would like that.” And she did.
***
The first time Dean woke up alone, a couple weeks after Will was born, he was worried. Jo’s side of the bed was empty; it was still warm, but cooling quickly. He slipped out silently and searched their tiny half of the duplex. Jo was in the kid’s room, watching him sleep. Dean wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his cheek against her head. He could feel her smile when she whispered, “he’s so small.” She sounded confused, like she was wondering how two fuck-ups like them could create something new and pure.
He woke up alone often. His heart would skip a beat whenever he saw that Jo’s side of the bed was empty, but he relaxed when he could hear her through the thin walls of their apartment. She was singing lullabies, soft and off-key, to the baby.
Dean loved Jo’s sense of wonder. He loved the way she loved Will. He came home from work every night stinking of grease and sweat, but she hugged him close and whispered news in his ear. “He smells like baby powder,” she told him, and “he smiled at me today.”
***
Dean didn’t realize Will’s six-month birthday was so close until he glanced up at the calendar and saw the date circled in red, like an omen. “Will 6 months” it said in Jo’s sprawling hand. This was Dean’s son-his flesh and blood, his name and his legacy-and Jo didn’t want him to grow up the way Sammy did. She didn’t want to die in flames, pinned to the ceiling of the nursery.
Jo half expected Dean to argue with her; to remind her that Azazel was gone and he wouldn’t hurt them anymore, but he didn’t. Jo just kissed his cheek softly, unlocked the chest at the foot of their bed and removed two shotguns and a sack of rock salt. Sam offered an extra pair of eyes to stay with them, but Dean waved away his brother’s suggestion. “We can handle it Sammy. Go on home and get some rest.”
Jo poured a circle of salt around Will’s cradle and sat a vigil with Dean-protecting their son from demons and fire and death.
That night, William John Winchester dreamed of shotguns and rock salt.