Sweet December
Two
At 7:35 A.M. on July 2nd, December Ann Winchester is born. Dean holds the tiny infant in his arms, rocking her gently and shushing her whenever her face pinches up to wail. After a lot of cajoling the nurses finally pry the beautiful baby girl from his hands, whisking her away to do standard hospital tests.
He brushes the sweaty hair from Jo’s face, tears filling his eyes as he grins down at her. She smiles back weakly, her cheeks flushed. “She’s beautiful, just like her mama,” he murmurs softly.
“Oh don’t get all sappy on me!” Jo protests with a laugh.
The next morning after the doctor makes his rounds, Dean and Jo leave the hospital. Jo’s a little angry about having to be pushed out in a wheelchair, but it’s clear to Dean that she doesn’t really mind – not when she gets to hold December the whole way out. The silence on the car ride home is heavy with emotion.
Jo’s first priority as they step through the threshold is to show baby December her nursery, and Dean follows quietly behind them. With the early afternoon sun shining on the fresh paint, the bedroom looks almost magical. He watches his wife from the doorway, eyes crinkled in a smile. Seeing the two most important women in his life in one room nearly knocks the breath from his chest, but he keeps his manly façade in place.
After the baby is breastfed and put down to slumber, Dean drags Jo to bed for an afternoon nap. Both are exhausted from the exciting events that took place, neither feel like doing much. With the baby monitor on the bedside table turned on high, their eyes flutter closed.
Dean dreams about monsters; the kind that kids worry about being beneath their beds or in their closets. The monsters are ugly and frightening, but more than anything, as they stare menacingly at him, they feel real; like they could somehow exist out there in the world.
He pops awake sweating, the bed beside him empty. Listening hard he hears Joanna cooing over the baby monitor, talking soft and sweet to December. The muscles in his body relax a fraction, and listening to his wife’s voice he feels safe. It’s nothing he’d admit out loud, however. The man is supposed to make the woman feel safe, not the other way around.
After a few minutes of lazy lounging, he gets up and heads downstairs. The sun is well on its way to setting, casting a warm glow throughout the house. While he makes dinner, Jo approaches without child. She wraps her slim arms around his waist, kissing his neck softly. A groan rumbles from deep within his chest.
“I’m trying to make dinner,” he protests half-heartedly.
“Mm, but can’t it wait?” Jo murmurs, nibbling his ear.
“Mama Bear has to eat,” Dean replies, extracting himself from her arms to go set out plates.
He can see that Jo feels wounded, snuffed. To fix it, he kisses her long and slow, his hand trailing beneath her shirt and resting on her smooth, post-baby hip. She smiles into the kiss and he knows that he’s momentarily forgiven.
He brushes the sweaty hair from Jo’s face, tears filling his eyes as he grins down at her. She smiles back weakly, her cheeks flushed. “She’s beautiful, just like her mama,” he murmurs softly.
“Oh don’t get all sappy on me!” Jo protests with a laugh.
~
The next morning after the doctor makes his rounds, Dean and Jo leave the hospital. Jo’s a little angry about having to be pushed out in a wheelchair, but it’s clear to Dean that she doesn’t really mind – not when she gets to hold December the whole way out. The silence on the car ride home is heavy with emotion.
Jo’s first priority as they step through the threshold is to show baby December her nursery, and Dean follows quietly behind them. With the early afternoon sun shining on the fresh paint, the bedroom looks almost magical. He watches his wife from the doorway, eyes crinkled in a smile. Seeing the two most important women in his life in one room nearly knocks the breath from his chest, but he keeps his manly façade in place.
After the baby is breastfed and put down to slumber, Dean drags Jo to bed for an afternoon nap. Both are exhausted from the exciting events that took place, neither feel like doing much. With the baby monitor on the bedside table turned on high, their eyes flutter closed.
Dean dreams about monsters; the kind that kids worry about being beneath their beds or in their closets. The monsters are ugly and frightening, but more than anything, as they stare menacingly at him, they feel real; like they could somehow exist out there in the world.
He pops awake sweating, the bed beside him empty. Listening hard he hears Joanna cooing over the baby monitor, talking soft and sweet to December. The muscles in his body relax a fraction, and listening to his wife’s voice he feels safe. It’s nothing he’d admit out loud, however. The man is supposed to make the woman feel safe, not the other way around.
After a few minutes of lazy lounging, he gets up and heads downstairs. The sun is well on its way to setting, casting a warm glow throughout the house. While he makes dinner, Jo approaches without child. She wraps her slim arms around his waist, kissing his neck softly. A groan rumbles from deep within his chest.
“I’m trying to make dinner,” he protests half-heartedly.
“Mm, but can’t it wait?” Jo murmurs, nibbling his ear.
“Mama Bear has to eat,” Dean replies, extracting himself from her arms to go set out plates.
He can see that Jo feels wounded, snuffed. To fix it, he kisses her long and slow, his hand trailing beneath her shirt and resting on her smooth, post-baby hip. She smiles into the kiss and he knows that he’s momentarily forgiven.
♠ ♠ ♠
532 Words