Carry on my Wayward Daughter: A Supernatural FanFic

Chapter Thirteen: Of Decisions and Demons

...1999...

He shows up twenty minutes later, drunk out of his mind. When I open the door for him he collapses into me, not able to stand on his own. "What are we going to do?" He whispers this over and over and over and over.

I guide him over to the couch and try to sit him down without revealing to my parents that he's illegally drunk. We grab each other's hands and white-knuckle as my mom lays out the options: abortion, adoption, and every other method of getting rid of it possible.

"We'll leave you two to talk about this." My mom says pulling my dad out of the room.

"Add -" He starts, but I shush him. I know from years living with them, that they are still listening.

I lead him out back to the swing set where we had our first real conversation. We don't sit on the swings, but just in front of them on the ground. I pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around them. We don't speak; we listen to each other's heart beats. I bite my lip to keep from crying. I move my shaking hand until it hovers above my stomach where our life rests. What are we going to do?

"I can't -" He begins as if hearing my silent question.

"I can't either." I look at him hopelessly, but he doesn't look at my face.

"We'll keep it." He nods to himself, "We have to."

"Dean." I sigh and close my eyes as tight as I can.

"I'll get a job. We'll get an apartment. We're going to make it." I roll my eyes at his plans, but he doesn't see. "Addie, we're going to make this work. I love you."

"Don't say anything you don't mean." I mumble, but he hears me.

"Addison." He says sternly, as if reprimanding a child.

"No, listen for a second." I think my serious tone shocks him. "I'm serious, Dean. If you want to end this - all of it, we can. I'm nineteen, Dean. You're twenty. We can't even legally drink, for God's sake. How are we even fit to be parents? I hate kids! We both move every god damn month, anyway. What if we just terminated this pregnancy and went our separate ways?"

The hurt on his face shocks me, but he covers it up quickly. "Is that what you really want? Is that what you truly want, Addison. I'll do it if you want me too. I'll leave; all you have to do is say so."

"No, I don't want you to leave." I say and grab onto his arm, as if he would disappear into thin air within the next second.

"What do you want then?" His face is contorted in a way that seizes my heart.

I don't know. "What you want."

"I want to be with you; no matter what." He calms down immensely and I feel less anxious.

"Can we really make this work?" I ask and this time he stares me in my eyes.

"Of course we can." He looks back at the swing set, "I know we can."

...

After a short silence I ask a question that had been bugging me since we first sat out here: "What did you mean?"

"What do you mean 'what did I mean?'" He says not without a smile.

"That day when you first came here," I gesture to the swing set, "About the cold spots and such."

"Oh." His face changes and locks up into something I barely recognize. I don't like that.

"Dean?" My voice mirrors his expression, "That was just a joke, right? Just an excuse to talk to me?"

He kind of smirks, in a sad way, "It was nothing."

"Are you sure," I arch my eyebrows, "You don't sound so sure."

"It's kind of a long story." He tries to shrug, but his shoulders don't lift up very high.

"I've got time." I try, still poking at this. "Hell, we've got eighteen years of it." I gesture towards my stomach.

He stares at it pretty intently, so I grab his hand and place it there. He almost seems disappointed that it just feels like my stomach and not our life.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway." He sighs.

"Dean," I press his hand against my stomach, "No secrets anymore."

He looks at me helplessly, "We can't tell Sam. My dad's going to be back for us when he finishes this hunt now that Sam's out of school."

"Hunt?" Dean's never talked about hunting before. Then again, he never talks about his father.

"Yeah it's part of his job." Dean waves this off and begins to do some more calculations in his head.

"I thought your dad was in pest control?" I laugh, "Is that what they call jobs? Hunts?"

"What?" He looks confused; probably having only heard the last part of my sentence.

"Your dad. He's a -" Dean cuts me off.

"Mechanic, yeah," Dean pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, "All the guys in his shop go on hunts every now and then. Excuse me; I have to make a call."

That should have been my first clue.

...

"Hey, Bobby"

"Dean. How've you been, boy? I was startin' to think you 'n Sam drove that damn car off a cliff."

"Yeah, sorry about that. It's been kind of... different."

"Different? How different?"

"I met a girl."

"You meet girls all the time. And every time, they're different than the one before."

"She's pregnant, Bobby."

"Yours?"

"Yeah, it's mine."

"Have you told her?"

"No."

"Dean."

"How, Bobby? 'Oh, by the way I hunt monsters and just being near me means you're probably dead'"

"Exactly. Just like that."

"Bobby."

"Just tell her, Dean."

"But -"

"Now."