attitude | we couldn't make sense

Entry tags:

dean winchester

we couldn't make sense

It feels like some cruel joke when the island decides to change itself on the first day of the month. Not that she'd been thinking about breaking the news to Dean then, not really. Too much of a chance that it'd be misconstrued as some ill-timed and tasteless joke, and Faye thought that it was probably better that she come to a point where the very thought didn't make her want to hurl. It never came, of course. Every night passes with her stomach twisting unpleasantly, even with Dean's warmth pressed against her back, comforting and constant. Every meal has her trying to subtly tally up what she's eating, keep away from foods she once loved that wouldn't be good for the baby, putting the life of another before her own even when Faye feels like she can't even begin to think of it, of this, as creating something separate from the two of them. She looks normal in the mirror. Fatigue is a job hazard, a life hazard.

Yet the doctor was sure.

If there's one thing she's grateful for, it's that being tired all of the time means that she slips into sleep easily. Nightmares will occasionally strike as they do, but there's always this chance of ignoring the problem for a day longer. Two.

Faye waits a week before she decides, just out of conscience, that she can't wait anymore. Curled on the side of their bed, she stares at the patterns in the wall, blanket pulled high and over her shoulders as she waits for Dean to slip in as he always does when she stays over.

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As gentle as she's tried to train herself into being for this, the immediate reaction is a sharply raised brow and a jolt of disbelief. Also, she still feels sick. An entire month without morning sickness, and yet these days the temptation to make a prayer to the porcelain gods has been greater than ever before— she's just not sure it's the changing hormones responsible for that.

Unimpressed, Faye stares.

"No, I was abducted by aliens and they're making me a host for their progeny," she replies, expression unchanging before she rolls her eyes. "Yes, Dean, with a baby. And yes, yours. And yes, right now." Sighing, she hangs her head, weaving her fingers through her hair again.

It's too long. She should have cut it months ago.

"Right now," repeats Dean, licking his lips, "That's - right now." He has a sudden, wild urge to peel the bedsheets away, but there's nothing to see yet, and by some miracle, he refrains. "Right now."

He stares dumbly for a moment more before looking up again, takes note of how he can't actually see her face at all. "Hey," he says, jolted back. His hand comes up, cupping her cheek until she looks at him. Pregnant. She's pregnant. "You're sure?"

He's taking it well, Faye notes to herself, reluctantly raising her chin to gaze directly at Dean, the color of his eyes bright even in the dim light. He probably wants this. There's no way that he doesn't, not with the way he dotes on Cori, not given how family-oriented he's always proven himself to be. It twists another knot, this one higher, close to her throat, because she's not that person, and she can't even pretend for his sake that she is. The thought of a baby is terrifying. The thought of raising a child, more still.

But she tries to find a measure of calm, because Dean's taking it well.

"As sure as the tests around here allow me to be," she says, her voice on the cusp of breaking. "I checked with Dr. Grey. I think we're at six weeks."

It's astonishing.

They've been careless more than once, but Dean never thought, he never even considered...after years and years of losing person after person, he never thought to hope for anything more than just keeping Faye, never thought he might make a person. A family.

He's smiling so wide it hurts. "That's amazing," he exhales. "Faye, that's - that's incredible." Six weeks. "Oh my god." The last few weeks look so different in hindsight, how tired she's been, how infrequently she eats. "You're pregnant."

Judging by the way her cheeks feel cold, the color's probably slowly drained from them, Faye thinks. She's a bit light-headed. It's the type of thing that she might mistake for giddy, were she tired enough, but of all the wide myriad of emotions she feels fighting for purchase in her brain, enthusiasm doesn't even rank. Faye tries, she tries so damned hard to stay still, to respond to Dean's smile in kind, but she simply ends up swaying slightly on the spot, the type that would be imperceptible except for how much she's focusing on every little detail. And she knows her balance isn't perfect.

God, that's certainly going to get worse over time.

"It's something," she says with another attempt at a smile, hates herself for it. It sounds so cynical, so pessimistic, why can't she be normal? "I guess that's what happens when I don't put you on birth control."

Dean hisses, focused enough that he sees even the trace of dizziness cloud her eyes. He's gathering her closer even as she opens her mouth to speak.

"Accidental baby," he chuckles, "guess I am my father's son," and he's still smiling so wide, can't even close his mouth to kiss her cheek like he wants to. "Hey, talk to me," he says, finally managing to press his lips behind her ear. "You feeling sick? You probably will for a while, but I won't blame you at all if you take it out on me. I'm gonna be right here, Faye." Pregnant. His. "For all of it."

"That's not what I'm worried about," she breathes, the words tumbling from her lips even as she leans back against Dean, against his warmth, taking from it the modicum of comfort she can find, eyes sliding to a close. This part is easy. Trusting him is easy, and that thought alone is so backwards that Faye finds herself reeling from it, wondering when, how, why Dean Winchester has managed to worm himself so deeply in her heart, such that moments like this ache. Everything always aches, so unfamiliar when placed against what she's had before.

"Dean, I have no idea how to do this," she mumbles, head rolling back to rest against his shoulder. "Absolutely none."

"Nobody ever does," says Dean, recalling the panic on his father's face during his no less than third stint as an expecting daddy. "We'll figure it out." Nosing her hair out of the way, he kisses her cheek. It'd be easier if they had help, if Sam was still around, but Dean refuses to dwell on that.

"It's going to be good. Amazing." Fingers twitching, he stops just shy of her stomach. "Faye, can I...?"

Her brow raises skeptically, and Faye can't tell if her vague attempts at acting anything short of devastated are working, or if Dean's happiness is just blinding him, but for the moment she'll take it. She'll take anything, she'll let someone else take the reins in this, because if there's anything Faye thinks she'll screw up, it's the choices.

"Go ahead," she nods, feeling numb as she shifts, her back pressed against Dean's chest. She can't even bring herself to tell him that she hasn't yet, that she's been waiting for that strike of lightning, when everything comes clear and when she'll want all of this. It hasn't come yet. "But it's not even an inch long yet, Dean."

"There's a heartbeat," breathes Dean, and of course he can't feel it, but he knows. He's been studying, and he knows, there's...there's a heartbeat that isn't Faye's in there. It's theirs.

Fingers splayed wide, he settles his hand tentatively over her stomach, and there's nothing to feel, but Dean can imagine. "Faye. God, I love you so much."

When she closes her eyes, the world only spins more around the two of them, Faye's hand digging into the bedsheets and gripping them as Dean's hand spreads warm over her skin. This, telling him, makes the whole pregnancy feel like more of a reality than it was when she was simply staring down at the test, nothing like those back home. There's a heartbeat, Dean says, and he must be right. This is what he's made a life out of on the island, learning the ways in which the human body works.

"Love you too," she replies, tucking her hair behind her ear again, still not daring to touch her own stomach, and never before does Faye think she's known what it's like to not feel at home in her body. Instead of joining him, she reaches out for his free hand, brushing the side of her palm against his.

"Faye," says Dean, struck by a sudden thought as he watches her smaller hand fold over his. His fingers against her belly still. It's not something he's thought of since Angua left, not because he doesn't love Faye, but because he's learned that hope is dangerous, but now...

"Faye," he says, and before he can think better of it, blurts, "Marry me."

The effect is immediate, like a cold splash of water down her spine, and Faye turns around, brow heavily knit in incredulity. He's asking her to marry him. He's really asking her to marry him, like that's at all the sort of thing that Faye would do, like timing it now is at all going to make Faye feel better. Her expression freezes as it is, the disbelieving laugh catching in her throat.

"Dean," she says on a huff of air, already shaking her head. "No. No, we're not getting engaged just because you knocked me up."

"Not just because," says Dean, eyes wide in the sudden absence of her warmth against him. He looks up into the startled green of her own, and after everything that came before it, the laugh that escapes her is jarring.

"Because I love you," he says, "and you love me, and we - Faye, we're gonna be a family."

Months ago, she might have lashed out. Pointed out the convenient timing, turned on her heel while feigning disgust, been more accepting of the idea that sometimes, one just has to break a heart and move on. But she can't do that now, because in spite of herself, she knows Dean. A conversation surfaces in her memory, the scent of lingering smoke in the air and arms pressed against a cool counter, glass precariously balanced in long, thin fingers.

Months ago, she told Spike Spiegel that he'd gotten soft, five years somehow enough to turn him into a civilian. She's barely been on the island for one.

"No," she says again, and her voice cracks. "No, Dean, we're going to have a baby, and you're going to make an incredible dad. You've got it in you. I'm barely— I can barely hold myself together, let alone Edward, let alone a baby, and you want to get married? I—"

With another rush of air, Faye presses her eyes to the back of her hand, a couple of broken sobs slipping through her teeth. God, she feels weak. But families don't last forever on the island. Two years, maybe. The lucky ones get five.

Before this, she could take each day as it came, pretend it'd go on forever. Now, her whole body's a clock.

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Dean breathes, fingers ghosting over her shoulders before he slips them to her knees instead, bracketing them in a way that's meant to support.

"That was too much, you're right, I'm sorry, let's just - one thing at a time, don't cry." Reaching, he cups a hand against her cheek, tries to make her look at him. "Everything's gonna be okay."

When the warmth of his hand presses to her cheek, Faye's eyes slowly slide to a close, and she takes a few staggered breaths to try and grasp at calm. The fact that she's had a few days to come to terms with the pregnancy helps; there's no sudden shift from where her thoughts have been in the past few days. Only muted panic as she feels her heart pounding against her chest, willing it to slow down.

"Sorry," she mutters, brushing away any tears with the back of her hand and resolving yet again to pull back her shoulders and stand straight. Reluctantly, she sighs and meets his gaze, lips quirking in a faint semblance of a smile. "Sorry that I'm a mess."

"Don't be," says Dean, pushing at the tentative joy that's blooming in his chest. There'll be time for it when she's less overwhelmed, and frankly, it's in all of their best interests if she's as happy as possible.

"It's a lot, I know it's a lot," he says, hands on her still careful. "I really want to hug you. Is that okay?"

She should be stronger, Faye thinks, and able to offer up the happiness that Dean's seeking now, the happiness that he deserves to feel, and the very joy that will undoubtedly make him the best possible father on the island. Eventually, she needs to be able to pull her share. But it's still too much in the moment, and instead Faye focuses on herself, a practice long-since built after waking up in that chamber cold, fuzzy, confused. Maybe she can't be happy about this yet, but maybe it's also more important that she be calm.

There's another breath before she nods, waiting until she's sure. Shifting, Faye reaches for one of Dean's hands, tugging it until his arm slides over her shoulder.

"Yeah," she says in confirmation.

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we couldn't make sense

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