whatwas | (no subject)

"We're going to have a girl."

He knows things like this. He knows what she'll look like if they do keep her. He knows she will almost certainly make a painting for Break out of chocolate and vanilla pudding and her own small hands.

"And you're right. She'd never know what to do."

"It is our duty to protect her, come what may."

She informs him, in all seriousness.

"You may think what you like about me, sacrifice whatever you will or won't. But if you need to throw your life away for our children, you have to. To be felled by a mortal blow. To swallow your pride. I would never ask you for that for me, but that is parenthood- and if you can't do that, you need to end what's happening in me right now."

"And what will you tell the others?"

He doesn't want their influences, their fingerprints in his offspring's life. Besides which,

"They won't all be happy about this."

"Nothing."

She shakes her head.

"They'll be angry."

He gives her a look that's somehow amused and grave at once.

"Even if I make them all blind, they will notice."

"I'll spend it alone."

She's resolved to facing the quiet.

"No you won't. If we were going to do this with one of us being solitary, I'd be where you are."

He bites at her lightly.

"No- you have your plans."

She reminds him.

"Sam. Angels."

"And I can keep the demons working on the little problems for a year."

A few slow, lazy kisses.

"Don't argue. It's this or I have a demon bring you tea, and we both know that won't happen."

"We've never lived together for a week, never mind a year."

She reminds him.

"And you just killed me."

That drives it home. He looks at her, somewhere between horrified and remorseful.

"You know I wouldn't now."

Don't you?

"Promise?"

She needs to hear him say it.

"I promise."

It's hard to say; thinking about it, about the alternative especially and all the uncertainty, hurts.

"I will never--"

She leans up, and gives him a soft kiss on the forehead.

"And would you die for this child?"

There is a future where he does. He hasn't told Break yet about Nephilim like their child, about the hatred angels have for them.

"Yes."

"All right."

She agrees.

"Then I will do everything in my power."

"Everything?"

He would have made that sound playful, but it's not. It's a serious question and he's still wrestling with the closest to guilt as he comes.

He can't say it, but he shares little threads of the sheer torture of remorse he feels, thinking of what he'd done to her earlier. To Gabriel, a year ago.

"Lucifer-"

Breathlessly sorrowful.

"-I'm sorry. What happened to you with your family is wrong. This won't be like that."

He knows on some buried-deep level that he is very, very much like His Father. More than any of the others. They have the same temper, the same cruel teaching methods.

But maybe things would have been different if He hadn't been doing it all alone--or at least had let Himself confide in someone other than his four oldest sons.

"And what else will it be like?"

"It will be like we remember."

Demon blood in sippy cups. Bathtub grout and skinned knees. Parent teacher interviews.

"The teachers are going to hate us."

The last one he remembers had some odd issue against Lucifer being 'overly affectionate' with Break in an empty classroom.

"We learned our lesson."

He reminds him, gleefully.

"But it's always best to study up."

He almost, almost snickers. But then he sobers a little and looks at her more directly.

"Can you forgive me?"

"Yes."

She forces herself not to say that there was nothing to forgive. Transgressions against herself are usually sort of imaginary to her, but she has children to think of now. That means self-protection has to be a priority.

"I forgive you."

"I don't understand."

A simple admission. He didn't understand forgiveness from Gabriel, either.

But he is glad for it, if it means what it's said to mean.