Mommy Winchester

Part 9

"Dean, that's ridiculous," you scoff, using the broom to sweep the rest of the dust into the pan, the phone held by your cheek against your shoulder. "He's the sheriff! He's Cail's baseball coach!"

"I'm telling you, he's suspicious," Dean's voice grumbles in your ear. "He's into you."

Jesus.

"Dean -."

"Mommy!"

You sigh, glancing over into the living room, hearing Cail's distraught call.

"What is it?"

"It's broken!"

"What's broken?"

"Mr. Hammer!"

Oh no.

"Dean, hold on," you mutter, limping over to the doorway, seeing Cail was sitting on his knees in front of the couch, looking devastated. One of his favorite toys, a Thor doll you'd bought with a light up hammer, was held in his hands, the arm broken off of it and the chest cracked.

You were still cleaning your house.

The boys had been a great help, but Dean was now on his high horse that the sheriff was the lamia, just because he thought Troy was into you when he wasn't. He was twice your age! His kids were almost as old as you!

No way.

Ridiculous.

"What's going on?" Dean asks in your ear.

"Cail's doll is broken," you sigh, leaning the broom against the counter. "His Thor doll, it's crushed."

"Mommy!" Cail starts to wail, big crocodile tears rising in his eyes.

"Here, I'll be there in a few minutes," Dean grunts, sounding tired. "I'm bringing dinner over. I'll calm him down when I get there."

"Dean -."

"See you then."

And he hangs up on you.

Son of a bitch.

He was acting weird as fuck now.

So, you'd had a weak moment the other day when you'd kissed him. You'd been upset over your house, emotional, it had been bad timing on your part. Now Dean had suddenly found it his personal duty to care for the two of you; he'd brought dinner over the last two nights, which would spoil Cail, who was ungodly happy to see Dean.

He climbed all over him.

And it broke your heart every time you had to see it.

Because you knew it wouldn't last.

You'd taken a week off work, you had no choice. You'd boarded up the two front windows for the time being, not knowing what else to do, and your bedroom door was still a complete disaster.

You feel awful.

Your entire body is still aching, and your forehead is a mess of bruises and colors, which Cail always finds it necessary to stare at worriedly. He hadn't said anything, but he also wasn't sleeping in his own bed, either.

And you don't have the heart to make him.

You don't want him out of your sight, either.

You wouldn't feel safe if you couldn't see him.

You sigh, and take the broken toy from Cail, herding him into the kitchen. You couldn't fix the toy, you would just have to throw it away, but he would have an absolute fit if he saw you do it.