First Tooth

Dean woke at the first cry and jumped out of bed before Sam had done more than roll over. He knew this wail and it meant something was wrong. The last time they’d heard it, John had pinched his finger in the high chair. He made it to the baby’s room in record time, automatically turned on the lights and then scooped John into his arms. Dean looked him over for injury, but found nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

Looking over at his brother, Dean palmed John’s forehead but found it normal. “Damned if I know. He’s not hurt and doesn’t have a fever.”

Sam joined him and started examining John, too. “Let’s get his onesie off.”

Nodding, Dean shifted John to the changing table, the baby fussing while they undressed him, if not actively crying anymore. There were no bruises or welts to be found, though. Giving Sam a confused look, he asked, “Ideas?”

“Hey, you’re the grandmaster of babies in this house,” Sam deflected.

Dean gave him a sour look and started redressing John. Picking him up, he gently bounced the baby and asked, “What’s wrong, huh little guy?”

John buried his face against Dean’s neck, his breath hitching in near-sobs.

Sighing, Dean offered, “Go back to bed. I’ll stay with him. No sense in both of us losing sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Sam countered, brow furrowed.

Dean waved him off. “Yeah, you got work in the morning. Put in some earplugs and get some shut eye. John and I are going to try a little food and then some Zeppelin.”

Sam grinned at him and leaned in for a brief kiss. “Zeppelin should do it.”

“Hey! No dissin’ the rock gods,” Dean retorted. “John’s too young to know better, but you’re not.”

Laughing softly, Sam kissed the top of the fussy baby’s head and left the nursery.

Dean settled John against his chest and walked down to the kitchen, keeping up a steady stream of low-pitched chatter. The wailing picked up again when he tried to put LJ in the highchair, so he sighed and awkwardly managed to open up a jar of carrots, the current favorite. The baby would have no part of the food, though, so Dean gave up and walked into the living room with him.

After turning the stereo on low, Dean sat on the sofa and rubbed John’s back, humming along to the songs. It took almost a half hour before the crying stopped and John finally went to sleep for real. Breathing a slow sigh of relief, Dean mentally reviewed the growth steps and groaned when he came up with teething. He vaguely remembered Sam’s teething period as Dad running on fumes and Sam crying endlessly.

“Of course, Grampa didn’t have the resources we do,” Dean murmured, kissing the top of John’s head.

Thoughts of his father were bittersweet, at best. He really wished that their Dad had lived to know his grandson, but wasn’t all that sanguine about if the man would’ve been able to accept his origins. He was almost sure that, after the explosion over the whole incest thing, their Dad would’ve been pleased as punch to have a namesake. Almost. No one had ever bee able to call John Winchester predictable, that was for damn sure.

Now positive that LJ was down for the count, Dean carefully stood and walked back to the nursery. He lay the baby down and then headed back to the kitchen. He cleaned up and then pulled three new, gel pacifiers out of their package and stuck them in the freezer. He’d stocked up on them as soon as he’d read about them.

Wandering through the living room to turn off the stereo, Dean paused to take a deep breath and enjoy the quiet.

It sure wasn’t going to last.