Chapter Text
I’m not sure of what’s happening at first. One moment I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out, the next I’m standing next to my body, looking down at Sam performing CPR on me.
It looks like a scene from a horror movie. Everything is covered in blood. Dean is sitting on the floor a few feet away, looking like he’s in shock. His face is pale as a sheet, tears still running down his cheeks, his eyes fixed on Sam and me. He’s clutching Angie to his chest, swaddled in a bloody blanket, and for a second I’m scared he’ll crush her.
I step closer, studying her tiny face. She looks calm, seemingly unaware of the chaos around her. Looking at her, it feels like someone squeezes my heart. Our baby girl, strong, healthy.
At least she’s okay.
My gaze shifts to Jack. He’s still where he was standing before, looking at the scene, mortified. I suddenly realize I can’t feel his emotions anymore. When I reach for Dean, then Sam, I don’t feel them either.
“That’s ‘cause you need a brain for that,” a voice behind me says.
I spin around, my eyes widening when I see who the voice belongs to.
“Billie?”
“Yup.”
“But Castiel killed you.”
“He did,” Billie responds dryly. “Turns out a reaper can only die if Death is there to reap them.”
I blink at her as realization dawns. “And Dean killed Death.”
“The old Death, that is.”
“There’s a new Death?”
“You’re looking at her.”
For a second I don’t know what to say. I open my mouth, then close it again. The sound of Dean’s voice behind me draws my attention away.
“As soon as I figure out how, I’m gonna kill you, you fucking—" he snaps, now on his feet and looking at Jack with a genuinely murderous expression on his face.
“Dean!” Sam snaps. “You need to take Angie and get out of here.”
I realize what Sam is doing—making sure Dean keeps Angie safe, but also making sure his anger doesn’t get the best of him. Dean looks at his brother, then at Jack, the anger on his face slowly replaced by a look of despair so profound that it absolutely shatters me. I step closer, desperately wanting to reach out to him.
Dean nods then, turning away, his shoulders slumped. I don’t need my abilities to recognize that I’m looking at a broken man who, in the span of less than two days, watched his entire world crumble around him.
“Dean…” I say, reaching for him as he walks away, but my hand goes straight through his arm.
“Come on Sue, you know better than that,” Billie says. “You knew that wasn’t going to work.”
“I can’t die,” I say in a half-whisper as I watch Dean leave the room.
“I hate to break it to you, kiddo,” Billie says in a level voice, “but you’re already dead.”
“But Dean needs me,” I say. “He’s lost too much, I can’t let him do this on his own.”
“I’m afraid that’s not up to you,” Billie responds. “Your work here is done. You could stick around, but we both know what happens when ghosts refuse to move on.”
They turn into vengeful spirits.
I look over my shoulder, to see Sam covering the lower half of my body with a blanket, a tear running down his cheek.
“Oh, Sam…” I whisper, my heart breaking into even more pieces.
Sam looks at Jack then.
“I’m so sorry,” Jack says again.
“I know, Jack,” Sam says in a hoarse voice, wiping his tear away with the back of his hand. “But listen to me. Kelly told me she tried to kill herself and you healed her from the womb. You can make this right. You can save her.”
“I—I don’t know how,” Jack stammers.
"Jack, I need you to try,” Sam presses. “Dean needs her. Angie needs her. I know how much it hurt you to lose your mother. Don’t make Angie go through that as well.”
That seems to stir something in Jack. He stares at Sam, then at my body, then nods slowly. He takes a few shaky steps, dropping to his knees next to me, and places a hand on my chest.
I hear Billie let out a frustrated exhale and look at her just in time to see her roll her eyes. “Here we go,” she says. “The never-ending cycle of Winchesters trying to cheat death.”
I look back at Jack, and nothing seems to be happening.
"Come on, Jack,” Sam says. “You can do this, I know you can.”
Jack frowns, and I can see the effort it’s taking him. His eyes glow gold, then, and I feel a small pull, accompanied by a warm sensation in my chest.
“Not on my watch,” Billie says sharply, grabbing my shoulder.
My eyes flick to her, then back to Jack. His expression looks strained now, like it’s taking him everything he has to focus.
“I’m so done with you Winchesters trying to break the laws of nature,” Billie hisses, her teeth clenched.
I feel the pull increase, and on my other side Billie’s nails digging into me. It’s almost like a game of tug-of-war, except I’m the rope. From the corner of my eye, I see a golden glow envelop my body, and I realize Jack is winning.
“I’m not a Winchester, though,” I respond, trying to pull myself from Billie’s grip, hope flaring in my chest. “And I’m not coming with you.”
Billie’s eyes widen, and I can see she’s just as surprised by Jack's strength as I am. Her eyes flick from me to Jack, then my body and back again.
“Damn it,” she growls. “Fine. You’re not gonna remember this, but rest assured, you and I? We’re not done.”
She lets go suddenly, and behind me I hear someone draw in a sharp breath. At the same time, I feel my lungs expand.
The first thing I see when I open my eyes is gold. For a moment I just stare at it, disoriented. My brain struggles to make sense of what I’m looking at until the blur slowly resolves into a face with golden eyes. Jack.
My body feels warm somehow, like I was in the sun, but not unpleasant. After a few seconds I realize I’m on the floor, and then the memory hits me. The pain. The blood. Angie.
Somewhere nearby, Sam inhales sharply. “Dean!” he bellows.
Footsteps thunder through the bunker and a second later Dean comes around the corner at a run, Angie cradled against his chest. The moment he sees Jack sitting on the floor next to me, his entire expression hardens.
“Hey!” he barks. “Get the hell away from her!”
Jack immediately recoils, scrambling to his feet and taking several steps backward.
“Wait, Dean, stop,” Sam says. “He just saved her.”
Dean rounds on him so fast it almost looks violent. “He saved her?” he repeats incredulously. “He fucking murdered her!”
The words take a second to register. “I died?” I ask quietly.
Everybody turns toward me at once. Dean freezes completely, his eyes locking onto mine. For a second he simply stares, his mouth slightly open. “Sue?”
My throat feels raw when I speak. “Damn. I was so proud to be the only one of us who’d never died.”
Nobody laughs.
“Sam,” Dean says without taking his eyes off me. “Take the baby.”
Sam steps forward and accepts Angie without argument. The second she’s out of Dean’s arms, he’s moving. He drops to his knees beside me and grabs my face with both hands, his eyes darting over every inch of my face as though he’s searching for proof that I’m really alive. Only then do I really see him. His eyes are red and swollen, there are tear stains on his cheeks and his shirt is covered in blood.
“You look like you’ve had a bad day,” I say softly.
Something in his expression breaks completely. He kisses me before I can say anything else. My lips, my cheek, my nose, my forehead. The kisses come one after another, frantic and desperate.
“Dean,” I mumble between kisses. “Dean... I’m okay, I’m here.”
It’s like he can’t hear me. Finally I place my hand on his chest and gently push him away. “Hey. Look at me.”
His eyes meet mine then, and another tear slips down his cheek. “You fucking died, Sue.”
His voice is completely wrecked, and it breaks my heart.
“I’m here,” I say again.
A small sound draws my attention then, and I look past him to see Sam is standing a few feet away, Angie bundled carefully in his arms. My breath catches.
“Angie.” The word leaves my mouth as little more than a whisper. I look back at Dean, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of it. “Our little girl.”
For the first time since I woke up, something resembling a smile appears on his face. It’s shaky and disbelieving, like he still isn’t sure whether any of this is real.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Our girl.”
My eyes return to Sam. “Can I hold her?”
“Of course.” Sam responds, already walking toward us.
“Wait,” Dean says then, looking at his brother, then at me. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I feel great, Dean,” I say. “Better than I have in months. Please let me hold my daughter.” I pause and glance at him. “Our daughter.”
Dean looks at Sam, then back at me. After a long moment, he finally nods. Sam immediately closes the distance between us and carefully lowers Angie into my arms.
The second her tiny weight settles against me, everything else seems to fade into the background. I stare down at her in disbelief, taking in every detail. Tiny fingers. Tiny nose. A soft tuft of dark hair already covering her head. The overwhelming rush of love that follows catches me completely off guard. One second I’m staring at a stranger, the next I’m already hopelessly in love with her. I brush my finger over her cheek and she squirms slightly against the blanket, and the sight alone is enough to make my chest ache.
“She’s so little,” I whisper. A shaky laugh escapes me then. “But I guess she’s bigger than she was an hour ago.”
“Yeah,” Dean says quietly.
I glance up at him. He hasn’t taken his eyes off either of us since I woke up, not for a second.
“I’m sorry,” a small voice sounds from behind him.
Dean’s entire body tenses. When I look up, he’s already staring at Jack, all the anger he’d been holding together suddenly bubbling back to the surface.
“Shut your mouth,” he snarls, getting to his feet.
“Dean, stop,” I say, and he freezes, his attention snapping back to me. “He didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t give a flying crap about what he meant to do.”
The pure, unfiltered rage pouring off him through the bond is overwhelming, but underneath it I can still feel everything else—the panic, the terror, the helplessness he'd felt watching me bleed out in front of him.
“I could feel his intentions,” I say quietly. “They were completely pure. He really was trying to help.”
“Sue, I don’t think you're getting this,” Dean says sharply, shaking his head. “He killed you.”
“I know,” I say softly. “And then he brought me back.”
Dean opens his mouth, then closes it again, frustration written across his expression. I shift my attention to Jack. He looks younger than ever standing there by the stairs, pale and devastated.
“You’re not a bad person,” I tell him. “You made a mistake, and you fixed it. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, the guilt rolling off him almost painful.
“I know.”
For a few moments nobody says anything. Then Sam steps forward and rests a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Come on. Let's go.”
Jack nods, turning to follow Sam out of the room.
“Sam,” I say, and Sam pauses. “Thank you. For helping her. And for helping me.”
Something softens in his expression. “Sure, Sue. I’m glad you’re okay.”
After they disappear down the hallway, the room falls quiet again. Only then do I really notice what’s around us. The blood covering the floor. The ruined towels. My jeans lying several feet away. A second later I realize I’m sitting on the floor wrapped in a blanket, half naked.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “Sam took my pants off.”
For the first time since I woke up, something resembling amusement flickers across Dean’s face.
“That’s what bothers you most about this?”
I groan and lower my head for a second. The smile disappears from his face almost immediately when my eyes drift back to the blood on the floor.
“We should clean this up,” I say.
“No,” Dean shoots back instantly.
“Dean—”
“No. You’re not cleaning up your own friggin’ blood, okay?”
The sharpness in his voice catches me off guard. I look at him, and what I feel through the bond breaks me—this entire situation traumatized him. He drags a hand over his face before dropping back into a crouch next to me, cupping my face in both hands and looking at me intently.
“Baby, I just watched you die. You bled out in my arms. Sam did CPR on you. Can we just take a beat here? I don’t give a shit about the mess.”
It suddenly hits me hard. Looking at him now, I realize that while I only experienced a few moments of darkness, Dean lived through every second of it.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly.
He frowns. “What the hell are you apologizing for?”
I look down at Angie sleeping peacefully in my arms before meeting his eyes again. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not just that,” he says then, his voice low. “I felt it.”
The words make me blink. “What?”
“When you died, something inside me…” He swallows hard. “I don't know. Snapped. Like someone ripped out my kidney. I think it’s what you felt when I—”
I instantly understand what he’s trying to tell me. “The bond?”
“Maybe.”
For a moment I just stare at him. I remember every death. Every time Dean was ripped away from me, and the instant pain that followed. A tear slips down my cheek and I reach for him, pulling him into a careful hug, mindful of Angie between us. He wraps his arms around both of us. Neither of us says anything. We just stay there on the bunker floor surrounded by blood and ruined towels and the aftermath of disaster, holding each other.
Eventually I pull back just enough to look at him. “I’d really like a shower, though.”
A breathy chuckle escapes him. “Okay. We can do that.”
He helps me to my feet, keeping one hand against my back while I gather the blanket around my waist. Blood sticks uncomfortably to my thighs with every step toward the hallway. Dean’s hand never leaves me. I don’t actually need the support, but I don’t say anything because somehow, I get the feeling he needs the contact more than I do.
The bathroom light is a little too bright for me, and I squint to let my eyes adjust. For the first time since waking up, I get a proper look at myself. Blood is everywhere—dried across my legs, my stomach and hands. Matted into my hair. For a moment I just stare at it. Looking at the evidence of my own death should probably feel more significant than it does, but all I can think is that I’m going to need a very long shower.
Dean follows my gaze and turns on the water without saying a word. The steady sound fills the room while I carefully hand Angie over to him and let the blanket fall away. The moment she settles into his arms, something in his posture softens. Angie makes a small sleepy noise and presses closer to his chest.
I step beneath the spray and close my eyes. The hot water feels incredible against my skin. Every few moments I glance toward Dean. He hasn’t moved, sitting on the closed toilet lid with Angie against his chest, watching me with the same intensity he’s had since I woke up.
When I finally step out of the shower, he's already on his feet holding a towel. I take it from him and start drying off while Angie squirms and lets out a soft complaint from where she’s tucked against his chest. Instantly both of our attention shifts to her. Dean looks down at her tiny face, then at me, then back at her again.
“I have no idea what I’m doing.”
The statement is so earnest that a laugh escapes me before I can stop it and to my surprise, Dean laughs too.
“Me neither,” I respond. “But we’ll figure it out.”
After staring at our amazing little girl for another few seconds, it hits me. “We don’t even have a crib yet."
Dean looks from Angie to me. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “You need to rest.”
“Dean, I’m good,” I say, leaning back against the sink to study him for a moment. “Better than good, actually. Look.”
I point toward my shoulder. At first he looks confused. Then his eyes follow my hand and recognition spreads across his face.
“Your scar.”
“I noticed in the shower,” I say. “Jack didn’t just heal my injuries from the birth. He healed everything.”
The Leviathan scar has been there for years. At some point I’d stopped noticing it. It had simply become part of me, as well as the limited range of motion that came with it.
Dean reaches out with his free hand, brushing his fingers over the skin where the scar should be. When he doesn’t find it, his gaze starts moving over my skin, taking in details I hadn’t even considered. Old knife wounds, burn marks. Countless little reminders of a life spent hunting monsters. I can practically see him mentally cataloguing years of injuries that have simply ceased to exist. Some of those scars I'd had since before I knew him, and now they’re just gone.
“Holy crap,” he murmurs. “Not even Cas’s healing worked this well.”
He’s right. Castiel healed us countless times over the years. Broken bones, gunshot wounds, internal bleeding. Injuries that should have killed us. But there were always traces left behind. Scars that remained.
A sharp edge of grief cuts through me at the mention of Castiel’s name, and I’m not sure if it belongs to me, him or both of us.
“You need to rest,” Dean says then, and it isn’t really a suggestion.
I glance at Angie, and decide this isn’t the hill I want to die on. “Okay," I say with a sigh. "I’m really hungry, though."
“I’ll make you something and bring it to you,” Dean replies without missing a beat.
A few minutes later I find myself tucked underneath the blankets in Dean’s room with Angie curled against my chest while Dean disappears in search of food. When Angie starts fussing, instinct takes over before conscious thought does. The entire experience feels a little surreal. I’ve spent six months imagining motherhood, but none of those daydreams included sitting in bed trying to figure out breastfeeding while still processing the fact that I died less than an hour ago. Angie seems just as inexperienced as I am at first, but eventually she figures it out, and I find myself staring down at her in quiet amazement.
The door opens while I’m still looking at her, and Dean freezes, his eyes flicking between me and Angie.
“Okay,” he says eventually. “This is gonna take some getting used to.”
“Yeah, same,” I murmur, noticing Dean’s wearing sweats and an old t-shirt, and the blood is gone. He must have taken a shower as well.
Once Angie falls asleep, I carefully hand her over to Dean and immediately start eating. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the first bite. The food tastes incredible, and judging by the smug look on Dean’s face, he’s enjoying every second of watching me demolish it.
Afterward I end up curled against his side while neither of us says much. We just lie there together, staring at Angie. Earlier today we thought we had time. Three more months to prepare. To figure out whether hunting still fit into our lives. To have all the conversations we’d been quietly avoiding. Looking at Dean now, with Angie tucked safely against him, I realize neither of us has any idea what comes next.
“I’m so sorry about Cas and Mary,” I say softly.
For a moment Dean doesn’t react at all. When he finally speaks, his voice sounds broken, exhausted.
“Yeah,” he just says. I wait, expecting him to say something else, but he doesn’t.
“We’ll get Mary back,” I say then. “Jack opened that rift, so he can open another one, we just have to help him figure out how.”
Dean's expression hardens for a moment at the mention of Jack’s name. Then he rubs a hand across his face and lets out a slow breath.
“Can we talk about that later? Right now I just want… this.”
I nod softly, leaning against him. For a little while we fall quiet again. Dean’s hand finds mine underneath the blanket and threads our fingers together. We both know there are still a hundred problems waiting for us outside this room and sooner or later we’ll have to deal with them. We’ll have to deal with Jack. Figure out what happened to Mary. Mourn Cas. We’ll have to decide what our lives look like now that we’re responsible for somebody other than ourselves. But neither of us seems interested in solving these problems right now.
“You know what the worst part was?” Dean says quietly then.
I tilt my head to look at him. “What?”
He lets out a slow breath, then pauses, searching for the words. He doesn’t look at me when he finally speaks. “I never realized how much of my future was you until I thought it was gone," he says. "I had plans. Not, like, detailed ones, but they were there. And they all had you in them.”
He pauses for another second, and the room suddenly feels very quiet.
“You know, things like teaching her to drive," he continues then. "Dropping her off at school. Watching you play with her. Things like that.”
A soft laugh escapes me despite the tears gathering in my eyes, and Dean finally looks at me.
“And then all of that was just…gone.” He reaches for my cheek, brushing away a tear I didn’t even realize had escaped. “Look, I don't want you to... hell, none of this was your fault. But I’m saying this because if something like that ever happens again, I need you to know something.”
The seriousness in his voice makes my heart skip a beat.
“I don’t care where we end up. Or if we keep hunting or quit tomorrow. I don’t care if we spend the next twenty years raising our kid in this bunker. All I care about is that you’re in it with me.”
That's it. The final drop that shatters me, and tears are streaming freely down my face now. Dean leans in and presses a kiss against my forehead.
“You, me, the kid,” he murmurs. “That’s it. That’s the whole damn list.”
A quiet sob escapes me. “Damn it, Winchester, stop making me cry,” I say, my voice thick.
"Sorry,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss me. His arm remains around my shoulders while Angie continues sleeping peacefully against his chest, unaware that she’s now the center of both of our universes.
I’m dozing off a little when there’s a soft knock on the door. My senses already tell me it’s Sam.
“Hey guys, it’s me. Can I come in?”
“Sure, Sammy,” Dean answers.
The door opens a moment later. Sam steps inside, looking a lot cleaner than he did earlier. He pauses when he sees us in bed together, Angie curled up against me and Dean's arm still around my shoulders.
"You okay?" he asks.
I glance at Dean before looking back at Sam. "Considering I died less than a few hours ago? Pretty good, actually."
Sam lets out a breathy chuckle. "Good." He shifts his weight. "I just wanted to let you know I cleaned everything up. The war zone in the bunker," he clarifies. "The blood, the towels, all of it. So you don't need to worry about it."
A flicker of gratitude moves through me. "Thanks, Sam."
"Yeah. Of course."
Dean has been quiet throughout the exchange, but I feel the tension inside him grow.
"Where's Jack?" he asks, his voice low.
Sam's expression becomes more cautious. "I put him in the panic room for now,” he says carefully.
Dean's jaw tightens, and Angie stirs against him.
"The warding will keep angels and demons from sensing him," Sam continues. "And honestly? I think he wanted some time alone."
Dean’s eyes narrow, then he pushes himself off the bed, carefully lifting Angie from his chest and depositing her into my arms. She squirms a little before settling again.
"Sam. Hallway. Now."
I frown. "You can discuss it here,” I say.
"No,” Dean responds in a firm voice. “You need to rest."
I open my mouth to protest again, but he's already halfway to the door. Sam offers me an apologetic look before following him out, closing the door behind them. For a while, I can't make out what they're saying. Their voices are low, little more than muffled sounds through the thick bunker walls.
Dean’s anger flares through our connection then, and a second later his voice rises. "And what happens the next time he makes a mistake? If he sneezes and the building collapses on top of us?"
Angie startles against me, and something small and anxious flutters against my senses. I hear Sam respond, but his voice is too quiet for me to make out the words. Dean’s anger rolls over me again, and Angie starts to fuss against my chest.
“Guys,” I call out, and the conversation outside comes to an abrupt stop. A second later the door opens and Dean steps back inside with Sam right behind him.
I sigh. “Can we please have this conversation tomorrow?”
Dean folds his arms in front of his chest. “Sue—"
"No. Listen." I adjust Angie against my chest before continuing. "I understand your concerns. Believe me, I do. I want her safe just as much as you do. But Jack already feels terrible."
"He should,” Dean cuts in sharply.
“Dean,” I say, "I get why you're angry. I do."
"Angry?" Dean lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Oh sweetheart, I'm so far past angry. You bled out on the fucking floor while I sat there holding our daughter."
The words hit me like a punch, but I force myself to hold his gaze.
"I know," I say quietly. "But throwing Jack out onto the street isn’t the solution here. Every angel and demon out there is looking for him.”
“So let them have him.”
“Dean, come on,” I say, letting out a sharp breath. “You’re smarter than that. He’s basically a kid. A kid with enough power to reshape reality and no idea how to control it. If we send him away, somebody's going to find him. They'll use him. Or they'll corrupt him. At least here we can keep an eye on him."
Dean’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.
"Do you really want to set something that powerful loose into the world?" I ask then.
The question hangs in the air long enough for me to know I've hit the mark.
Sam clears his throat. "She's right, you know."
Dean drags a hand over his face. "Oh, for fuck's—"
“Dean,” I cut in. “Can we please talk about this tomorrow? Angie’s getting all restless. I’m not sure if it’s her empathy or just the tone of your voices, but I’d really like for everybody to just settle down.”
That seems to do it. Dean lets out a heavy breath. Sam’s attention drifts from Dean to me and then to Angie, and the tension in his face melts away almost immediately.
“She’s beautiful,” he says softly. A small smile appears on his face. For a moment he looks strangely emotional, and I wonder if he's thinking about Jessica. About the future he never got to have.
“I’m gonna give you guys some space,” he says then. “You should get some sleep.” His gaze lingers on Angie one last time before he turns toward the door.
“Night, Sam,” I say softly.
"Night, Sammy," Dean mutters as well.
After Sam leaves, Dean stays where he is for a while, staring at the closed door. When he finally looks back at us, some of the fight seems to have drained out of him. His eyes move from me to Angie and back again before he walks to the bed and slides in beside us. Without saying a word, he wraps an arm around my shoulders again, presses a kiss against my forehead, then leans in to kiss the top of Angie’s head.
For a while we simply lie there together, and eventually I drift off to sleep.
The night passes in fragments. One moment I'm asleep, the next I'm being woken by a tiny cry from somewhere nearby. By the time my brain catches up, Dean is usually already awake. We slowly settle into a rhythm. Angie wakes up, I feed her, and Dean takes her back the moment she's finished so I can get some rest. Then we do it all over again an hour or two later. Somewhere in the middle of the night we discover that having a baby means needing diapers, which is a problem neither of us anticipated dealing with for another three months. Dean’s short term solution is to wrap a kitchen towel around her, and we resolve to go to the store first thing tomorrow.
The few times I wake up enough to properly look at him, he's still sitting up against the headboard with Angie sleeping against his chest. Sometimes he's watching her. Sometimes he's staring into space. Either way, I don't think he sleeps more than a few minutes at a time. I can feel it inside him—the blend of lingering anger, fear, relief, and the heavy grief underneath all of it. Castiel and Mary. The memory of watching me die. The reality of becoming a father overnight. Part of me wishes I could take some of it away from him, but even if I could, I know Dean well enough to know he wouldn't let me. Eventually sleep drags me under again, and when I wake up the next time, it’s early morning.
I blink slowly and look at Dean, still in the same position as the last time I woke up. The shadows underneath his eyes are impossible to miss. He looks exhausted.
“Morning,” I murmur. His gaze shifts to me and a small smile appears on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Morning,” he echoes.
“You look like shit,” I say softly.
The corner of his mouth twitches as his smile becomes more amused. “Thanks.”
“You hardly slept,” I continue.
“I’m fine.”
I let out a soft breath. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and looks at Angie, pressing his lips together. “Nah,” he just says.
I feel my chest tighten at the sadness behind the word. I consider other things to say, trying to come up with something that will make him open up, but a part of me knows the only thing Dean needs right now is time to deal with everything that happened. I curl up against him, focusing my attention on Angie, gently stroking the top of her head with my fingertips
Then something catches my attention. At first I assume it's my imagination. Yesterday was chaos, and if my brain isn't functioning properly, I'd hardly be surprised. Still, something feels off. I study Angie’s tiny face, her hands and the way she fills out the blanket wrapped around her. A knot slowly forms in my stomach.
Dean notices my expression. "What?" he asks, frowning.
I don't answer immediately. Instead I lean forward slightly, looking at Angie one more time before finally turning toward him.
"Does she seem bigger to you?"