A Change of Constellation: Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Dean wakes to a sharp twinge in his left side. He waits, but it doesn't happen again. Apparently his rent-a-uterus is practicing for labor despite the futility of it. The longer he has one of these things, the more convinced he is that the whole birth process is insane. It just happens, whether he wants it to or not.
Castiel snorts in his sleep and nestles closer to Dean's back.
Dean sighs and shifts, trying to get comfortable. The baby has definitely grown in the last three weeks, and he's getting more uncomfortable with every little spurt. He's got stretch marks, what the fuck. He brushes his fingers over the little grooves on the definitive slope of his abdomen. It's not quite the Hollywood Belly of his nightmares, but he's certain that left unchecked, it's going get there. Before long, he's going to have to hide in the bedroom and only come out when Luke is in class.
He rolls to his other side and pulls the blankets further up over his head.
"You're awful to share a bed with," Castiel grumbles, rolling out of the bed and taking the blanket with him. Dean tries to kick him he goes, but misses. "I'll start breakfast in ten minutes."
Dean blows him a raspberry as he leaves the room. Well, no use laying in bed without the blanket. He stretches and makes his way into the other room. Castiel is on the deck, smoking a cigarette with the comforter wrapped around him. Dean pops the door open long enough to say, "A jacket would be more practical," before closing the cold out.
While Castiel finishes his cigarette, Dean pours them bowls of cereal. "I was going to cook," Castiel says, piling the comforter on the couch.
"No worries," Dean says, pouring milk and passing Castiel a bowl. They sit down to enjoy breakfast, and he could do this for the rest of his life. The past couple of weeks have been all talk and getting to know each other in the aftermath of the Apocalypse - years later than they should have.
And on the other side, it's apparently domesticity and relaxation. And another weird ache in his gut. Dean tries rubbing it out like a knot in a tricky muscle, and it passes.
The weekly text message arrives right on schedule -- so perfectly that Dean is convinced that Sam actually scheduled them in advance. Welcome to Week 31: you're officially in the single digits.
"Check that out." Dean tosses the phone overhand to Castiel. "We may need to start making plans for this thing after all." Grinning down into his cereal, Dean takes a big bite and tries to come to terms with the idea that this thing could happen in just over two months.
Castiel hums as he glances at the text message. "Sam certainly remains optimistic." He slides the phone back to Dean. "I admit, I haven't prepared for the possibility that the baby would hold to term."
"Of course it'll hold to term. Winchesters are too stubborn to die in the face of impossible odds."
Castiel snorts through a laugh and ducks his head to hide a smile. "That's certainly true."
For the first time in a long time, Dean begins to look at the future with a little bit of cheer. They were on the same side, finally. (Though he hadn't said anything to Sam about it. No use in getting ahead of himself.)
Another twinge hits Dean while he's in the shower, harder and longer than the first one this morning. "Quit it," he grumbles, as though he need only will his body into submission. "You couldn't squeeze that thing out if you tried." He finishes his shower and dresses in something warm. He might go steal that comforter back and have a lazy day. A lazy day sounds marvelous.
"So, how do we explain to Luke that you've suddenly inherited a newborn?" Dean asks as Castiel heads out to the deck for one more cigarette before work. He might have been coming down alright from the self-medicating, but the smoking was getting worse.
"I hadn't intended to explain it."
"He's not stupid, he's likely to notice." But the deck door slides closed, and Dean shakes his head. He turns to collect the comforter when his whole midsection spasms in pain, so hard and fast that curls instinctively around the pain. His knees hit the ground and he pukes, heaving blood and bile on the carpet. His vision flashes when the baby thrashes.
He can't speak, choking and rolling to his side. There's another spasm. His guts ripped out, his body turning inside out. He's definitely dying; he knows the feeling. When he holds a hand to his midsection, he can feel the rippling of the baby beneath his skin, the softness lent by the uterus gone.
He's not dying alone. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to shout for help, but there's no air in his lungs. He heaves.
"Dean -- Dean! Can you walk?"
Oh thank god, Dean thinks. He shakes his head, struggling to bring in enough air. Everything inside him is crushed. He finds himself slipping in and out of coherence as Castiel touches his abdomen and his face and his lower back.
Castiel shouts.
Dean blinks. People in uniforms shove him in to an ambulance. One man presses on Dean's gut, and Dean vomits blood again, bright red and frothy all over his hands.
"What the fuck is that? Angela, feel this!" the man says, his voice urgent and his hands too hard. Dean wants to tell them not to crush his baby, but he isn't even sure which words to use.
Castiel grips his hand, so tight that when Dean finds that his mind begins to go blank he can still feel it. He hears Castiel mumbling in what sounds like an old language.
Dean tries to smile and say something reassuring. Instead he convulses. People holding him down on the stretcher until it passes.
The kicking in his gut slows -- he reaches for his baby, trapped under his skin, but someone bats his hand away. He's unloaded at breakneck speed while someone yells, the words fuzzy and out of focus. It all seems so stereotypical of a hospital drama that Dean actually laughs.
The baby stops moving.
"Cas." His voice is weak in his own ears, but at least he has one again. He can't actually see Castiel over the bright lights flashing overhead, but he can still feel him. "I don't think this is going to work."
"I will make it work!"
Castiel's hand slips away, and the bright hospital is replaced with a dimmer room. When Dean's head lolls to the side, he sees someone placing an IV while someone else pressing something hard and painful to his stomach.
"No fucking way."
Dean can't even blame the guy -- he can hear himself in the guy's disbelief and surprise. Dean exhales, "Yes fucking way," before he finally doesn't hurt at all.
⊱⊰
This is a dream.
Dean can tell by now when something unwelcome messes around in his head. Instead of a frantic operating room, Dean sits cross-legged on the ground like a child, a plain white blanket on the grass in front of him. In the space of blink he's no longer alone.
The man sitting at the opposite side of the blanket has all the classic markers of an angel: he's intruding in Dean's dreams and he's wearing a suit even though he otherwise has the skinny, flop-haired look of a college student. The angel has a baby, small and grey and quiet, tucked into the crook of his arm.
An angel is visiting his dreams, holding what is most certainly his child. Dean's stomach drops.
The angel smiles. "Hello, Dean. My name is Inias. I've heard so much about you."
Dean swallows, and it's like trying to bring down a grapefruit. He isn't sure if he should snatch the kid away from Inias' grasp or sit patiently and hope the angel doesn't disappear. He can't seem to speak.
"Small humans are so fragile," Inias says. There's an airy, gentle quality to his voice, and when he smiles at Dean again, he shows his teeth like he's genuinely happy. "Our Father has always told us that life is a miracle, but I have never seen an infant so close. Your humanity is charming."
"Please -- "
"My brother called for me." Inias lays the baby out the blanket.
Dean knows then that Castiel was right. It was always impossible. He wants to reach out, to hold the baby for as long as he can before the angel takes it away.
Inias brushes a thumb over the baby's small chest. The skin colors to a soft pink flush. Dean's heart skips a beat.
"Before Castiel left the garrison he told stories of you. Bringing you to life was the greatest honor our Father bestowed upon him."
Inias holds the baby's hands, then feet. Dean watches the little joints spasm in reflex.
"Angels do not have children, not the way humans do, so you will have to forgive him if he has trouble. It was hard for him when suddenly he had a heart and it walked the earth with Dean Winchester. Loving a child will be torture, at first -- but he will learn."
Inias leans over and kisses the child's forehead. Bright eyes snap open. Dean makes a small choked sound between a sob and a laugh.
This is just a dream, he reminds himself. The baby tilts its head, and he wonders if its a boy or a girl. Don't get attached to your dream.
"I would not hurt you like this." Inias coos at the child, making a small boop noise as he touches the tip of the baby's nose. "This child is a gift, Dean. Remember that." Then he inhales deep, for so long that a breeze brushes past Dean's arms, giving him goosebumps.
Inias exhales a long and slow breath on the baby's face.
The baby wails.
⊱⊰
Everything hurts.
When he got hurt as a kid, his dad would clap him on the shoulder and say, "Pain makes you tough, kiddo; pain means you're still kickin'."
Dean lays there, afraid that if he moves he's going to disrupt something important and stitched up. He listens to his breath, in and out, and reminds himself that at least he's still kicking.
"Thank you," Castiel says, and Dean almost responds before he's beaten to the punch.
"I would have helped sooner, if I had known."
Inias. Somewhere, his kid might be alive.
Dean opens one eye to see Castiel and Inias standing the foot of his bed. Inias has a hand on Castiel's shoulder.
Castiel looks strung out and worn down. "I wasn't sure our Father would permit interference. That perhaps losing them was part of my punishment."
Dean closes his eyes, not ready to be confronted with reality quite yet. He holds on to the image of that baby in his dreams, just in case he never sees it again.
"Our Father may be unfathomable, but He is not cruel. He certainly would not wish that pain on you. After all, He is the one who sent you on Dean Winchester's path."
"Zachariah did that."
"Perhaps Zachariah thought it was his will alone."
Soft hands touch his abdomen, and Dean's eyes snap open to find Inias lifting his hospital gown. Dean glances down to look at the bruised and sliced wreck of his body. The stretch marks and the loose flesh. It sucks the air out of him to look at, the physical reminder of what he's endured.
"Humans try so hard, but they cannot mend it all." Inias places a hand flat on Dean's gut, and the pain abates. Dean's insides feel less like something thrown in a blender. The surgical scar fades.
"Thank you," Dean says, his voice hoarse as he runs a hand over his (his, completely and utterly his) abdomen. Castiel hovers on his other side, and hands over a small plastic cup filled with lukewarm water. "Did you really -- "
"Yes," Inias says. "I am not quite done yet; if you'll excuse me." He's gone without any fanfare, just that soft flutter of wings. Dean scoots a little to the left, giving Castiel enough room to sit on the bed.
"Cliff notes?" Dean asks.
Castiel tilts his head just so. "I don't understand."
Dean chuckles. There's still a deep ache, like something large punched him hard and left all the bruises on the inside. "What happened?"
Castiel looks toward the door. "Internal damage. A lot of it -- before Inias..." He holds Dean's hand like he's trying to moor himself to a boat in a storm. "You were as good as dead. According to the doctors, the baby was dead -- except then he wasn't."
"He?" Dean grins despite the pain and despite the panic making his heart race, because he has a son. "How is he doing?"
"Strong, considering he was dead," Castiel replies. "I suppose every Winchester needs at least one practice death." He clears his throat, and Dean doesn't miss that his hands shake. "He requires constant care -- but he is breathing, and the nurses tell me he has an appetite. He is expected to be very healthy with time."
"Have you seen him?"
"He's lovely."
"Good."
"Do you want to?"
Dean shakes his head, dizzy at the thought. "No, not yet. I should heal and stuff, before I try to handle him." Castiel looks disappointed, and Dean squeezes his hand. "You go. Did you call Sam?"
"Not yet."
"If you don't mind me borrowing your phone, I can do it. Go on, go visit our son." The word son blossoms an unfamiliar panic within him, overshadowing that excitement from before; he shoves it down under all the other feelings he refuses to acknowledge. It's just because he hasn't seen him. He'll feel better when he knows.
Castiel kisses him, careful and chaste, before he passes over his phone and leaves with the promise to return before long. Dean tilts his head back and lays his hands over his abs, reveling that once again his body is good and right.
Sam doesn't answer his cell, so Dean tries the fake FBI line. Sam picks up in two rings. "Agent Delaney speaking."
"Hey, Agent Delaney, you too cool to answer your brother's calls?"
"Dean! This is a business line. I left my cell at my -- at a friend's. Call me on the regular line."
Dean shakes his head and laughs, just a shallow little thing to avoid jostling his bruised gut. He makes Sam wait for a couple minutes before he calls the regular salvage line.
Sam is clearly eating something when he answers. "So, what's new?"
"Well, Uncle Sam, you have a nephew."
Sam chokes and coughs for a second, following by a long pause. "You mean, living and breathing nephew?"
"On the outside and everything."
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, Cas says he's fine. But I'm currently locked in a hospital bed with a freshly healed gut here, so -- "
"I'll be out there in no time. Congrats!" Sam hangs up, and Dean sets the phone aside. He leans back into the pillow and closes his eyes, trying to remember the baby from his dream. Like the good dreams always do, it slips away like smoke in the wind.
He goes back to sleep; it seems well-deserved.
⊱⊰
"Get this," Dean says when Sam visits the hospital the next day. "I am ready to be discharged after the nastiest case of appendicitis that my nurse has ever seen. I've apparently been in recovery for weeks. The paperwork is all legit." He digs into his vanilla pudding and grins. "How was the flight?"
"Not fast enough." Sam pulls up and a chair to sit by Dean's bed. "How are you?"
"I just said ready to be discharged. Cas called an angel buddy in to handle all the messy stuff. I'm gonna miss having an angel on retainer."
Sam winces, not that Dean blames him. Their dealings with angels outside of Castiel have never been very good news. "And it went okay? They didn't try to -- I don't know, do anything?"
"Not this time." Dean scoops out the last of his pudding and sighs happily. Shitty hospital food is so much like road food that it's almost like being home. Now that he's rested and on the mend, he feels like he might burst out of his skin. "Cas just brought my clothes, actually. The poor bastard had no idea what to look for in a car seat, though, so I don't suppose you..."
"Of course I did, Dean." Sam smiles and punches him in the side affectionately, which makes Dean swear -- but it's great. It's fantastic. "Tell me everything. How's your son? What's he look like? What's his name?"
Dean balks but tries not to show it. The more he thinks about it, the more he can't imagine trying to hold his son. "You didn't stop by the NICU? I figured you would have been there first."
"I wanted to make sure you were okay first."
They share one of those looks where they try to get all the emotional stuff done through eye contact alone. Dean hopes Sam understands that he's trying to say, I love you, and thank you for caring enough for both of us. Because there's only so much Dean can bring himself to say.
Sam clears his throat and looks away first. "I checked in with Cas on the phone earlier, though. He said the doctors are all really optimistic that you'll be able to bring him home within a couple weeks."
"Wait, what?" Dean sits up too fast and winces when his stomach burns. "A few weeks?"
"I looked it up," Sam says. "It's normal. He has still has growing to do." They're quiet for a moment, and then Sam starts to grin. It's huge and makes him look like a little kid. "So, you had a baby."
"Shut up."
Sam snickers and stretches his legs out, leaning uncharacteristically low on the chair. "So, do you know if you're bringing him home or staying here with Cas?"
"We haven't decided yet." Dean's stomach twists at the thought. "I'd rather come back to the yard, but if Cas wants to keep working here, we'll work something out."
"We, huh?"
"Is it weird? Because I always sort of figured that we'd get old and crotchety together like Bobby."
"I never intended to grow old with you -- I'm not your boyfriend." Sam grunts as he stretches, then stands. "Come on, if you're ready to be discharged, get dressed and come show me your son."
Not wanting to let on that he hasn't even gone down to meet the kid yet, Dean says, "Go on, let me dress in peace. I'll be right behind you."
Sam leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Dean stands and twists all around to test his muscles. Everything is holding up. He examines himself naked, examining every inch of a body he'd missed almost as much as he missed alcohol. How many years have people been messing with his body, of changing things around and remaking him into something new?
Everything is his. Every inch of this body belongs to him. The stretch marks and scar that would have marked where a child nestled within him are gone, and there's no residual girl parts on his insides or outsides.
Dean realizes for the first time in a long time, he's alone. He breathes deep and suddenly really, really wants a drink. It's been too long since he's been in control.
He dresses. He shoves his wallet in his back pocket and stretches again, reveling even in the things that hurt because they're his.
When he leaves, he stops by the nurse's station. "Excuse me, can you direct me toward the NICU?"
The nurse smiles at him, and puts on a serious affectation. "Mr. Winchester, fiyou're not officially discharged yet. I can't just let you wander around."
"Oh, Betty, don't break my heart." Dean leans on the counter and fixes her with his best grin. "My buddy just had a baby, and I'm dying to meet the kid."
"Oh, I know all about Mr. Novak's baby. He's an adorable new father, don't you think?"
Dean thinks back to Castiel, sharing the narrow space of the hospital bed and describing the baby as he drifted off to sleep. Dean smiles and swallows a lump in his throat. "Yeah. he is."
"Alright, well, if you promise to come right back for the paperwork. Take the elevator down to the second floor. It's going to be right there, you can't miss it. Right back, Mr. Winchester."
"Scouts honor," Dean says as he walks to the elevator. He feels healthy. He's wearing his own clothes, no rubber bands required, and he's up on two feet and the world is right. He bounces a bit on his heels as the elevator dings down twice.
When the doors open, he sees Castiel and Sam. They're behind the glass of a nursery, their backs to him, with a nurse standing nearby. Sam looms over an incubator. He's smiling.
Down that hall is his baby, the only reminder left of anything that happened in the last year. Dean closes his eyes. Go meet your son. His heart races, and he can't catch his breath. He's reminded of blood on the floor and hands pressing all over him and dying again.
The doors slide closed with a ding. Dean exhales. He presses the button for the ground floor, his hands shaking. It won't take long at all -- it's early in the afternoon and he gets lucky enough to hail a cab. There's still cash in his wallet, and Luke isn't home when he gets to the apartment.
You promised you wouldn't run, Dean tells himself as he unwinds Cas' apartment key from his keyring. He throws his belongings in a bag.
The carpet is still stained with his blood.
He can't do this, he had always known he'd be a shitty father. Castiel can manage without him; he can smooth things over with Daphne. Sam will be there to help.
He throws his duffel over his shoulder and locks the door behind him.
There's still baby stuff in the trunk of the Impala. Dean's phone rings the first time as he leaves it all in the lobby.
The phone rings again five minutes later, as he's pulling a couple hundred dollars out of an ATM. It hardly dents the account, another mercy. Sam won't be left destitute because of him.
Dean receives a text message as he's taking the ramp onto the highway, but he doesn't check his phone until Seattle is 150 miles in his rear view. By then his phone is packed with text messages, voice messages, and missed calls.
I'm sorry.
He turns off his phone and keeps driving.
⊰ Chapter Eight | Chapter Ten ⊱