Closure (A Supernatural Fanfic)

21 - Bittersweet

Sam

A month later

I see the taillights of the Impala fade away in the dark, and sigh. This is Nova's first hunt in several years. It took a few weeks before we thought she was ready. Of course, protective instincts going into hyperdrive, I was apprehensive about it first, but then, after sparring and practicing with Dean and I, I was able to calm my anxieties. Dean's right, she's a total badass in the heat of the moment. She can handle herself in pretty much every situation Dean and I simulated. She told me how her parents constantly had her under some sort of training regime as a child, ready in case some monsters got hold of her.

I turn, and I embrace the quiet. Jude and Aubrey are visiting their grandparents back in South Dakota, and Myla's down for a nap, so it's very quiet. Myla's sick, so I'm home with her while Dean and Nova go out and hunt down a small haunting a few towns over. Currently, she's laying in her crib in the nursery. Nova and I rocked her to sleep, singing lullabies and watched her heavy eyelids droop ever so slowly over her light brown eyes that remind me so much of her mother's.

I lay out on the couch, arms spread open, legs stretched out, face towards the sky. I feel the couch laying underneath me in just the right places. I smile, and I think to myself, this is perfect. This is something I'd only dare to dream about. And look at us.

I flip the TV on and find some old 90's sitcom I can only vaguely remember, and watch it idly while thinking over the world.

I can honestly say it has been several years since I was this happy about anything. At first it was scary, because it's only when that type of happiness comes in that trouble starts settling, but there's been no trouble. Only love and warmth, and security. Only happiness.

It's toward the end of the episode when I start hearing Myla's cries from down the hallway.

"I'm coming, sweetheart!" I yell out. She stops. I pull myself out from the chair, and stand up to stretch. Then, I slowly walk down the hallway. I hear Myla start to whine again.

"DAAAADAD!" she yells. I stop.

Did she just--?

No. Just baby gibberish. That's all.

I peak my head around the corner of the door, and see Myla's face, swollen and red with tears. She coughs heavily, and then looks at me. Her face breaks into a toothy smile, snot dripping down and onto her tiny cupid's bow.

"Hi Dadad!" She says. I stop, and stand still. There's a sting underneath my eyes, and I can feel the tears.

"Hi, Myla." I say back. She reaches her arms out, gesturing me to pick her up. I do, and look at her.

"Did you call me Dadad?" I ask her, quietly.

She looks at me, her big brown eyes wide and she reaches out to poke my forehead.

"What're you doing, silly girl?" I ask her, smiling.

Her finger remains touching my forehead. "Dadad," she says simply. Her voice cracks with congestion. I wince. I feel for the kid.

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. I..."

I stop. Then I look at her again. "I can be Dad."

After changing her diaper, giving her children's Tylenol, changing her into new clothes, and cleaning the snot and spit off of her, I place her on the couch beside me, where we continue to watch the old, unknown sitcom.