Work Text:
There's a Cradle
Title: There's a Cradle
Author: framedhim
Genre: AU
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG
Warnings: beer drinking? mpreg? newborn woes?
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: mhmm, I've been loaned them for crack kink usage; All characters belong to Kripke and co. I own nothing.
Summary: Snip of time for a newborn and her dads
I'm procrastinating on the big fic and had to write a drabble of something. It's, it's blather but it made me happy. And tired. But mostly happy :)
A white cradle sits in the corner, the black and white lining stitched into large squares. There’s a tiny rattle in the shape of a rabbit, long ears with pink satin inlays. A soft material, suede, makes up the outside; there’s not a single strand of the fabric isn’t coated in drool. There’s a busted up alarm clock on the dresser, red LED reads midnight; it’s too late for anything and too early for the rest of it. There’s a bottle in the fridge, some breast milk expressed earlier in the day alongside a three day old pizza. There’s no mobile hanging over the cradle, would that even work?, and the air in the room is so sketchy, it’s hard to tell one minute to the next whether it’s parka season or the latest, greatest hits of the Serengeti.
A baby wakes in the cradle by the corner, the black and white lining fascinating and telling of stories only her mind can make sense of. The rabbit rattle on the nightstand is grabbed out of habit; the baby’s cries timing perfectly with the zero and the one of the LED on the alarm clock. Like a switch flipped, the gurgles and grunts escalate and the pink satin inlays of the plush soother are offered - gummed to oblivion. There’s a bottle in the fridge, beer and milk, milk and beer and it’s two after midnight. There’s a bottle grabbed, beer a consolation prize to be had for waking up as well and a cap is popped as the baby slingshots the rattle and it’s three after midnight and the air is pandering somewhere around artic.
There’s an alarm clock on the dresser, the red LED reads one-zero after midnight. A baby doesn’t cry as she’s held secure against a solidly muscled plane of chest, sounds of soft sucking, content, there’s not a square inch of skin that isn’t being drooled on. There’s the sound of a beer being sipped off to the side, three day old pizza hand-fed as three sets of eyes droop; too early to get up and too late to not do anything.
There’s three sets of eyes, flutter closed. One tiny mouth popped off of one swollen puffy nipple and the brown glass bottle is in the trash. It’s thirty after midnight, it’s neither the Serengeti nor the artic nor the Midwest and the baby girl will learn from them and not pander and get up and do it all.
One day.
For now -
A white cradle sits in the corner, empty, three sets of eyes closed, three mouths slightly parted with drool coating every inch of each other’s skin and the clock’s red LED reads….