A Change of Constellation: Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Castiel's alarm clock goes off at seven AM on the dot. Dean groans. "Can it not be Monday? I could use another day to process, you know?"
He can hear Castiel moving about, and the alarm clock stops. Dean rolls over to watch Castiel rub sleep from his eyes. As easy as it would have been to pull Castiel into bed, to ride the high of emotion, cooler heads had prevailed. Somehow.
"I could use the order of the library right now." Castiel pulls some clean clothes from the closet, yawning all the while. "When life is a nightmare, at least the books still make sense."
"You sound like Sam." From inside, a particularly well-aimed kick forces Dean to shift. This early in the morning, the baby is still awake. Sam had explained it once, something about the motion of the day rocking the baby to sleep, but it just sounded like voodoo to Dean. "Hey, come here."
"I have to get ready for work."
"You can be two minutes late. It's a baby thing." Dean sits up and moves his warm quilt; he immediately regrets it, because holy shit, it's cold. When Castiel is just close enough, Dean grabs his hand and presses it flat against the right side of his stomach.
The baby shifts.
Castiel's face goes oddly blank. "Oh." He presses his hand a bit closer, but the baby apparently doesn't like to perform on cue. "That's -- It's really alive in there."
"Yeah."
Clearing his throat, Castiel straightens upright. "I have to go to work. There's a lot to do. Tonight, we -- we can talk. Perhaps without fighting."
"No promises," Dean says as Castiel leaves the room. He tries to go back to sleep, exhausted with the late night and the growing baby -- how was it no one ever mentioned how tiring it was to be pregnant? But all he does is listen to the shower run, the microwave beep, and eventually the front door creak and close.
Eventually, he gives up and dresses for the day. Sure, he's getting tired of sweats, but at least everything is warm.
The shoebox is still sitting on the kitchen counter, untouched from the night before. (You don't know that, some part of the back of his mind says; how many times did you tell Sam you were done drinking?) Dean finds himself opening it again, rattling pill bottles and examining the contents of each carefully. How realistically could Cas detox from this, how often had he been been using to stay level?
"Hey, is there a spare Xanax in there?" Luke asks as he walks through in boxes and a t-shirt. "I've got a test in, like, two hours and I am not ready."
Dean holds up the bottle and finds it sparse. "You sure about that?"
Luke snatches the bottle. "Trust me -- I know chemicals. Tell Cas I'll get him back later."
"Don't, actually."
This gets him a curious look from Luke, eyebrows raised. "Do we disapprove, Drill Sergeant Winchester?"
He can't blame Luke for this -- much as he wishes it could be that easy. How much nicer to think that it was just the influence of some twenty-something stoner, and not something just built into Castiel-the-Human. "Do what you want, but Cas can't -- I know how far he'll fall, if he doesn't quit."
Luke nods, his lips pursed, and he looks into the box from the other side of the counter. "I can respect a well-intentioned intervention." He pokes through the contents carefully. He removes the bag of pot, the papers and the pipe, sets them aside, and carries the box off to his room. A moment later he returns with a wad of mismatched bills. "There, saves you and me both time. Pass it on."
Dean sets it all on the counter and mentally marks it as Castiel's Problem.
⊱⊰
When Castiel returns from work, he looks like hell; he sets two canvas bags full of groceries on the table and heads out to the deck, pounding a fresh pack of cigarettes against his palm before he even sits down. The evening is already dark and overcast, and Dean slides out behind him, sliding the door closed.
"Cold turkey isn't the best way," he says as Castiel takes that first long drag off his cigarette. "I'm guessing you tried that today."
"I used to have will over my ves -- my body." Cas twitches where he sits, taps his foot and exhales. "I always told myself that stopping was simply a matter of will." He flicks the ash of his cigarette onto the ground in three sharp movements, like he would rather just punch the ash out of existence. "I'm angry, Dean."
Dean keeps his distance. "I know. You should've seen me each time I promised Sam I'd quit drinking, while you were gone. I'd make it three days, and then learn how to drink stealthier. It sucks when you can function and still make bad choices."
"Why did you stop?"
Dean laughs. "You knocked me up. And trust me, I still wanted to -- want to, even. But then again, it's been so long that I sort of just like being even. Sober is nice. Boring, sometimes, but it usually hurts less."
It doesn't look like Castiel takes much solace from the news, finishing his cigarette in record speeds and lighting another until his twitching eases. Dean steps inside to grab the cash and what was left of Castiel's stash. He sets it carefully on the table.
"Luke bought you out, mostly."
Castiel's eyes wander the small pile, and there's so much want in his eyes. "And this, you're okay with?"
Dean shrugs and leans back in his chair. "Sure. I'm not you're dad, Cas. I just don't want to see you break."
Castiel snorts, but he shoves the money in his pocket and sets in on his pipe. "I've been worse," he says. "Before this job and before I heard from you, it was -- I was going much more aggressively numb."
They sit quietly for a while, Dean watching while Castiel works himself down into a calm bit by bit. It must work, because eventually he sits still. "I ended my relationship with Daphne today."
Dean winces. He knew it had to come, logically, but hearing it still hurt. For as much as he wanted Castiel to himself (and he did, oh, he was tired of sharing) he hated to think of her as caught in the crossfire. "How did it go?"
"She was hurt. I answered her questions without revealing your secrets."
This makes Dean sit up and take notice through the haze of guilt. "You didn't tell her about -- us." The word falls like a weight, strange and awkward when they hadn't even defined exactly what us is supposed to be.
"I didn't think it my place."
They fall silent again. It's strange, how comfortable they've become over the years, how intimately they know each other, and yet how they're both avoiding the inevitable. Thick clouds obscure moon rise. The breeze is heavy and humid.
"I love you, you know." There, done. Dean can feel the flush in his cheeks, but it's been said.
"I know." Castiel even sounds amused. "Probably longer than you have. That doesn't mean you'll stay. You loved Lisa too."
Ouch. "You think I'm going to leave?"
"It is your method. You were going to leave our child, and I'm fairly sure you love it."
Dean's first instinct is to get mad, to argue that he had perfectly good reasons for choosing to do so -- but instead he swallows that and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "I was. I do. It seemed like the least complicated way to give it an uncomplicated life."
"Perhaps it is -- but I want complicated, if it means I have the two of you."
Dean clears his throat. "Yeah. Me too."
"You can't leave when it gets hard."
"It's looking to get hard her pretty fucking soon. How are we even supposed to get this thing out of me? I mean, I can't just go into labor. Can I?" The idea sets his teeth on edge, and he shudders.
"I have no idea," Castiel says. He laughs and leans close to Dean, patting his hand. "We have time. Three months, yes?"
"Yeah."
"We'll come up with a solution before then," Castiel says. "I promise. I can figure something out."
⊱⊰
They bask for a couple days in a post I love you world, where fond glances are exchanged, soft words are spoken, and even Luke gets sick of it. They laugh when he storms out of the room ranting, "I fucking called this Brokeback thing!"
When the happy daze clears, Dean finds himself preoccupied with the thought of Daphne -- more than he thinks about the baby and his impending labor, more than he thinks about his uncertain future with Castiel.
On Friday, he's finally had enough; he hops the bus onto campus with Luke. No one at the bus stop seems to have anything to say, instead hunching down to avoid the cold drizzle of rain that swings in on the wind.
Thankfully, the bus is less packed. They find seats, much to the relief of Dean's lower back; last week he though he was dying, and instead of sympathy, Sam e-mailed him information about sciatica. "Do you know were Daphne works?" he asks, hoping he sounds casual and not sort of terrified.
Luke whistles under his breath. "Going out for a jilted lover visit? Seems risky, Winchester."
"Its just a regular visit," Dean snaps. "Do you know or not?"
"Yeah, gimme a second, I'll write it down." Luke digs a piece of paper out of his bag and writes out the instructions, including Daphne's office number. "She's in the basement, but she got a sweet office in the deal. I crashed there once."
"Did she know?"
"You hurt me, Winchester." Luke grins. He stuffs his backpack back together and wrenches the zipper to shut it. "Good luck." They come to their stop, and Dean follows the instructions on the paper. The crowd on campus is thinner, and everyone is bundled in heavy coats and hats and gloves. Still, the people who speak sound exuberant and excited. Winter break is just around the corner, after all.
The building is full of chattering students lined up in the halls; the architecture and general wear reveals it as an old building, and the draft that whistles through the closed doors confirms it. The steps are wet with the rain, and Dean holds tight to the rail as he heads down to the basement.
It's quieter down here, the rooms clearly reserved for offices. He walks near to the end of the hall before he finds the room marked Dr. Allen. The door is cracked, and light shines through. Steeling his breath, Dean knocks.
"Come in!" As usual, she sounds cheerful -- but the look on her face settles into a sort of forced calm when Dean opens her door. "Dean. I wasn't expecting you."
"I know. I, um, didn't expect to come?" How did people in the real world handle this sort of thing? If it were Sammy he had done wrong, he would have just barreled through it with insults and yelling until they hit the other end, relieved from the effort. He had a feeling that it wouldn't be that easy with Daphne. "I wanted to apologize."
"It's not your fault," she says, matter of fact. "Relationships end, after all. I should have expected that with someone like Cas, it was bound not to last."
"No, you shouldn't have -- its impossible to go into every relationship expecting it to end and -- may I sit down? My back is killing me."
She looks him up and down, then sighs. "Yes, please do."
Dean stops himself from groaning with relief and he lowers himself into the chair on the other side of her desk. He tries to find his train of thought. "I spent a long time jumping into relationships with the certainty that it would end bloody. Its awful. It makes it hard to trust that anything is quite right." He swallows and adds, "And it is my fault. I understand that Cas didn't say anything."
"Oh." She leans forward on the desk with one arm, the other hand covering her mouth. After a moment she clears her throat and nods. "I see. I suppose, in retrospect, that's a bit obvious, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
She smiles, though its more sad than Dean would like. "Him fawning over you, your protective gruffness -- yes, it is." Leaning back in her seat, she gives him a more appraising look. "When you came back here, did you two intend to..." She flushes, just a little.
"No. Well." It's Dean's turn to flush, but he forces himself not to look away. Face it like a hunt -- head on and without embarrassment. "I sort of hoped, but he didn't -- not that I knew he had a girlfriend at the time."
"That makes sense." Daphne exhales and sits up straighter in seat. "I appreciate this show of guilt, or confession; trust me, I understand exactly what the urge for absolution looks like. You want me to hold you blameless. That it must have been meant to be."
"I -- "
She holds up a hand. "Maybe it was. I do believe in destiny, you know. But you come in here days after the man I love dumped me. I appreciate you clearing up the details, but you can't expect my forgiveness yet. I'm going to hurt for a while. It wasn't fair to me, that no one explained what was really happening here." She closes her eyes and takes a breath, then lets it out slowly. "But I'm going to be fine. I do wish you the best, Dean. Both of you."
Dean can hear the implicit Get out underneath it, and nods. "Thank you. I'm sorry." He pushes himself upright and rolls his shoulders, desperate to say something else. He wants to talk until she understands, but he can't tell her the whole truth. And if he can't do that, there's nothing else he can say.
⊱⊰
Instead of heading straight back to the apartment, Dean takes the bus out to WalMart and lets himself wander the baby section. It's not something he's done since he and Sam went to the terrifying baby store.
Swallowing his anxiety, Dean forces himself into the one of the practical aisles. Bottles. He picks up about four different kinds and starts reading, his eyes glazing over between labels declaring No BPA! and Best imitates the breast! He decides on a set of small glass bottles, liking the heft of them and the lack of color. (You could use it a a weapon, he thinks, and then wonders who's going to attack while he's feeding his baby.)
He's standing in front of baby proofing supplies, wondering if he really needs a lock on the toilet, when he sees it. The home fetal doppler. At first he sort of laughs at the idea of paranoid pregnant women frantically checking for their baby's heartbeat, and then he thinks of Castiel.
He adds it to the basket with a tub of generic formula and a pack of double a batteries, and rushes to the checkout like someone might catch him and asks questions. The cashier is an older woman, and she just smiles as she rings him up.
The bus home feels too slow, and he's agonized to find that there's still hours before Castiel comes home from work. He tears apart the packaging of the doppler, trying to catalog the pieces and the little packets of gel (lube, his brain supplies, but he ignores it) and the instructions. He even debates trying it alone first, but rejects it. This is something neither of them have experienced, and he wants to do it together.
Instead, he showers. He tries to nap. He snacks on half a pizza. He plays video games. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the front door opens and Castiel comes through with a bag of take out. "You're late!"
Castiel holds the bag up. "I figured you were hungry."
He is, actually -- he's ravenous despite the half-a-pizza, but he wants to do this and he wants to do it now. Especially while Luke is gone. "We need to go to the bedroom. Right now."
"Our dinner will get cold."
"It's gonna be worth it, I promise." Dean lumbers out of his seat and leads the way, and Castiel follows with a small laugh. It's not until they're in the bedroom and the door is closed that he realizes what it sounds like. He flushes, aroused just to realize that Castiel followed him in for sex, and hastens to add, "It's not sex."
Pausing with his hand on his belt buckle, Castiel clears his throat. Not so casually he slides his hands into his pockets. "Okay. What's so important?"
"This." Dean sits on the bed and shows the doppler to Castiel. With a slight tremble in his hands, he holds out the instructions. "You wanted to be able to connect to the baby. And every pregnant woman in the country does this at least once, right? We ought to at least get to listen in or something."
Castiel's expression has gone soft, and he licks his lips as he reads the instructions. Dean resists the urge to rush him, and instead lifts his sweatshirt. How strange it is, to look down at his stomach, all round and tight and unfamiliar, and not hate it for once. For a second it tightens, his own midsection gripped in an ache that takes his breath away -- but it passes in a second, before Dean thinks to mention it.
Finally, Castiel tears open a gel packet, and Dean settles back while he turns on the machine and slides the handle over Dean's stomach.
It takes a second, then the machine picks up something -- an echoing, rapid noise, less like a heartbeat and more like the background to some shitty techno song. At first Dean struggles with it, and then he hears the rhythm in it, the the steady wub-wub-wub of his kid's heartbeat.
Castiel's face is nearly as amazing as the heartbeat itself, his free hand over his mouth while he intently follows the baby with the little wand. It's a full minute, maybe two, before he speaks. "That's amazing."
"Yeah."
Hesitantly, Castiel pulls the wand back and turns off the machine. He sets it aside, and Dean cleans his stomach with the blanket before pulling his sweatshirt down. Castiel stares at the lump underneath, and says in a rushed voice, "I'd like to name a son James. If we have a son."
Dean blinks. He hasn't thought about it. He'd first spent so much time expecting the baby to die, then expecting to give it away if it lived, that baby names never came up. "Okay," he says. "After -- "
"Of course. It seems... right. I like it. I always did." Castiel looks down at his hands, and adds, "I didn't think about names for a daughter. Do you have any family names?"
"I don't want to share them," Dean says. "Pretty much everyone in my family has met a gruesome end, and I don't want that legacy to follow our kid."
"Oh. Is James too -- "
"Not if you want it, it's not." Dean tries to think of a name that isn't associated with some woman that died horribly in his life -- and finds that he's woefully short on that list. Instead he begins to reach for names he likes, and finds that he doesn't know of any that aren't also women he's slept with. There has to be a better legacy out there somewhere, if they have a daughter. "We'll come back to girl's names. Maybe we'll get one of those books."
Castiel smiles; his whole face seems brighter with it, and he continues to glance at Dean's stomach. Which chooses that exact moment to growl. "Dinner. While its still warm." He stands, and helps Dean up off the bed. For an awkward moment they stand together, then Castiel pulls him into a hug. "Thank you."
Once they've gotten their take out containers shared between them and sat at the table, Dean grins and says, "You thought we were having sex."
Castiel chokes on his dinner, covering his mouth as he sputters. Once he's cleared his throat, he says, "It's not as though..." He shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "Yes. It sounded ambiguous."
"You totally wanted it."
"You're right -- that hasn't changed about me."
Now Dean stares down at his dinner. Sure, he's hungry, but... He clears his throat. "So, you know. We can -- "
Castiel stands fast enough that his plate clatters. "We have a microwave."
Dean laughs as he follows Castiel to the bedroom.
⊰ Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine ⊱