((Contains material of an adult nature.
Privacy was definitely something that was in very short supply in Bobby and Ellen Singer's house. Despite this, however, there was always the opportunity for an illusion of privacy, which was, admittedly, the best anyone was going to get. Though no words were coherently understandable, it didn't take a genius to work out the cut and thrust of the frank discussion going on behind the closed door of Dean's room upstairs. The high running tensions had come to a head with an innocent query from Nim as to when they were going after Death's Scythe, and after ten minutes of circular argument, Ellen had banished them both to the room they shared until they had worked it all out between them, while everyone else went on with business as usual, pretending not to listen to the back and forth of male and female voices above.
For Dean, it wasn't so much a question of when as to whom, and as far as he was concerned, one of those whoms was not going to be his pregnant wife, whether she was very pregnant or barely pregnant. There was no room for discussion or debate. He had put his foot down, and that was that. Banished to his room or not, he was done arguing.
That may have been that in Dean's mind, but he hadn't counted on his stubborn pregnant wife putting her foot down, too. Nim was furious with him for not even discussing it with her, knowing just from the little he'd said that his decision had been made the moment they'd found out she was carrying their firstborn son. Advancing into the room they shared, she spun on her heel to face him, hands on her hips and dark eyes ablaze. "Don't you dare clam up on me now, Dean Winchester," she snapped at him angrily. "I'm pregnant, I haven't regressed to infancy myself!"
Banished to his room - the one that had belonged to him since he was a small boy when his father John would dump him and Sam off while he went gallivanting across the country on one hunt or another - Dean shut the door behind him, though he was pretty sure it would do little to muffle the argument that was still brewing between them. "I'm not clamming up," Dean pointed out, as he let Nim have the first word, confident he'd have the last. "I'm not gonna argue about this, Nim. There's nothing to discuss." His mind was made up, no matter how she felt about it. He didn't need her to go with him, and he wasn't going to put her life or the life of their firstborn in danger.
"For God's sake, Dean, you can't do that!" she burst out, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You don't have the right to lay down the law to me. You don't own me, you married me, there's a difference. I'm not stupid, okay' I know there's a lot of things I can't do now, but you're not even going to let me help when you summon Crowley, are you? You're just gonna lock me in a padded cell and assume that I'm gonna go along with that because it was your decision!"
"Not a padded cell, but yes." Dean fully intended to keep Nimue out of trouble and well away from danger for at least the next nine months and maybe even longer. Had she not gotten herself pregnant, he might have been okay with her taking part in the summoning, but now that she was carrying his son - their son - inside her, there was no way he was budging. He had already seen her die once - hell, he'd been the cause of that death, or so he still believed. He wasn't going to chance it happening again, especially where demons were involved. He moved to brush past her, to - oh, clean his guns or something - anything so he didn't have to face her ire.
She glared at him as he brushed by, her small jaw clenched furiously as she considered what came next. "You can't keep me here, you know," she pointed out in a slightly calmer voice. "The second you head out, I'll follow you, any way I can. And you won't be there to keep an eye on me if that happens." It was a bit of a sneaky blow, but she had a feeling Ellen and Bobby weren't going to be quite so overly protective as her husband was. "It's not like I'm proposing to go off right now - I was planning on taking it easy for a few weeks, you know. But of course, I'm pregnant. In Dean Winchester's world, that automatically means I'm braindead and fit for nothing but being an incubator for the next eight months!"
"Someone seems to have forgotten what happened the last time they insisted on coming along," he muttered under his breath as he checked and re-checked his Beretta, though that had really not turned out so well, and he'd sort of promised never to leave her behind like that again, but then, she hadn't been pregnant then, like she was now. Lifting his head from his obsessive-compulsive gun-checking, he glanced over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed. "I never said you were braindead," he pointed out a little defensively. He really and truly believed he was doing the right thing in trying to keep her safe, but he had to privately admit that in the past, even his best intentions hadn't always worked out so well in the end.
He really shouldn't have brought that up. She was still sore about it, and he knew that. She was also tired, aching, and battling with hormones. Nim's eyes blazed as he met her gaze, narrowing with venomous warning. "Oh, you mean when you almost got yourself killed because you couldn't handle the idea of me being along?" she snapped at him. Furious wasn't a big enough word to cover her strength of feeling now. Incandescent, perhaps. "Care to recall who saved your *ss when that happened" Come to think of it, what part of your brain thought it was a good idea to bring that up at all?"
She glared at him, teeth grinding in the silence for a moment before she went on. "You didn't need to say I'm braindead, Dean, you just went right ahead and decided it all on your own. Nim's pregnant, she's obviously lost all ability to think for herself, not to mention the ability to look after herself. Big bad Dean's going to have to do all the thinking and doing for the next eight months, and we all know how good he is at that!"
Now she was getting personal, and he was getting angry at her putting words in his mouth that he didn't mean - or more accurately, assuming she knew what he was thinking and feeling and practically accusing him of being unable to take care of things on his own. "I'll have you know I was already hunting when you were still just a gleam in your Mama's eyes!" he retorted, turning to face her and pointing at her with one finger just to make a point. Never mind the fact that he wasn't really actively hunting at the age of six. As a matter of fact, he had only just started learning to shoot at that age, but that wasn't the point. He shoved the Beretta back in his jacket, considering going for a drive because that's what Dean always did when he was upset. It wasn't quite the same thing as running away. It just gave him some time to cool down and think straight.
Privacy was definitely something that was in very short supply in Bobby and Ellen Singer's house. Despite this, however, there was always the opportunity for an illusion of privacy, which was, admittedly, the best anyone was going to get. Though no words were coherently understandable, it didn't take a genius to work out the cut and thrust of the frank discussion going on behind the closed door of Dean's room upstairs. The high running tensions had come to a head with an innocent query from Nim as to when they were going after Death's Scythe, and after ten minutes of circular argument, Ellen had banished them both to the room they shared until they had worked it all out between them, while everyone else went on with business as usual, pretending not to listen to the back and forth of male and female voices above.
For Dean, it wasn't so much a question of when as to whom, and as far as he was concerned, one of those whoms was not going to be his pregnant wife, whether she was very pregnant or barely pregnant. There was no room for discussion or debate. He had put his foot down, and that was that. Banished to his room or not, he was done arguing.
That may have been that in Dean's mind, but he hadn't counted on his stubborn pregnant wife putting her foot down, too. Nim was furious with him for not even discussing it with her, knowing just from the little he'd said that his decision had been made the moment they'd found out she was carrying their firstborn son. Advancing into the room they shared, she spun on her heel to face him, hands on her hips and dark eyes ablaze. "Don't you dare clam up on me now, Dean Winchester," she snapped at him angrily. "I'm pregnant, I haven't regressed to infancy myself!"
Banished to his room - the one that had belonged to him since he was a small boy when his father John would dump him and Sam off while he went gallivanting across the country on one hunt or another - Dean shut the door behind him, though he was pretty sure it would do little to muffle the argument that was still brewing between them. "I'm not clamming up," Dean pointed out, as he let Nim have the first word, confident he'd have the last. "I'm not gonna argue about this, Nim. There's nothing to discuss." His mind was made up, no matter how she felt about it. He didn't need her to go with him, and he wasn't going to put her life or the life of their firstborn in danger.
"For God's sake, Dean, you can't do that!" she burst out, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You don't have the right to lay down the law to me. You don't own me, you married me, there's a difference. I'm not stupid, okay' I know there's a lot of things I can't do now, but you're not even going to let me help when you summon Crowley, are you? You're just gonna lock me in a padded cell and assume that I'm gonna go along with that because it was your decision!"
"Not a padded cell, but yes." Dean fully intended to keep Nimue out of trouble and well away from danger for at least the next nine months and maybe even longer. Had she not gotten herself pregnant, he might have been okay with her taking part in the summoning, but now that she was carrying his son - their son - inside her, there was no way he was budging. He had already seen her die once - hell, he'd been the cause of that death, or so he still believed. He wasn't going to chance it happening again, especially where demons were involved. He moved to brush past her, to - oh, clean his guns or something - anything so he didn't have to face her ire.
She glared at him as he brushed by, her small jaw clenched furiously as she considered what came next. "You can't keep me here, you know," she pointed out in a slightly calmer voice. "The second you head out, I'll follow you, any way I can. And you won't be there to keep an eye on me if that happens." It was a bit of a sneaky blow, but she had a feeling Ellen and Bobby weren't going to be quite so overly protective as her husband was. "It's not like I'm proposing to go off right now - I was planning on taking it easy for a few weeks, you know. But of course, I'm pregnant. In Dean Winchester's world, that automatically means I'm braindead and fit for nothing but being an incubator for the next eight months!"
"Someone seems to have forgotten what happened the last time they insisted on coming along," he muttered under his breath as he checked and re-checked his Beretta, though that had really not turned out so well, and he'd sort of promised never to leave her behind like that again, but then, she hadn't been pregnant then, like she was now. Lifting his head from his obsessive-compulsive gun-checking, he glanced over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed. "I never said you were braindead," he pointed out a little defensively. He really and truly believed he was doing the right thing in trying to keep her safe, but he had to privately admit that in the past, even his best intentions hadn't always worked out so well in the end.
He really shouldn't have brought that up. She was still sore about it, and he knew that. She was also tired, aching, and battling with hormones. Nim's eyes blazed as he met her gaze, narrowing with venomous warning. "Oh, you mean when you almost got yourself killed because you couldn't handle the idea of me being along?" she snapped at him. Furious wasn't a big enough word to cover her strength of feeling now. Incandescent, perhaps. "Care to recall who saved your *ss when that happened" Come to think of it, what part of your brain thought it was a good idea to bring that up at all?"
She glared at him, teeth grinding in the silence for a moment before she went on. "You didn't need to say I'm braindead, Dean, you just went right ahead and decided it all on your own. Nim's pregnant, she's obviously lost all ability to think for herself, not to mention the ability to look after herself. Big bad Dean's going to have to do all the thinking and doing for the next eight months, and we all know how good he is at that!"
Now she was getting personal, and he was getting angry at her putting words in his mouth that he didn't mean - or more accurately, assuming she knew what he was thinking and feeling and practically accusing him of being unable to take care of things on his own. "I'll have you know I was already hunting when you were still just a gleam in your Mama's eyes!" he retorted, turning to face her and pointing at her with one finger just to make a point. Never mind the fact that he wasn't really actively hunting at the age of six. As a matter of fact, he had only just started learning to shoot at that age, but that wasn't the point. He shoved the Beretta back in his jacket, considering going for a drive because that's what Dean always did when he was upset. It wasn't quite the same thing as running away. It just gave him some time to cool down and think straight.