Landslide
Arthur Ketch x Reader
Word Count: 1.3k
Warnings: hints at abortion, angst, hurt/slight comfort
Notes: Been in my drafts for over a year! May or may not make a second part, leaving it open for now. Landslide is the title, a nod to Fleetwood Mac!
It wasn’t the first time that you'd taken a pregnancy test in an old, run-down motel while your brothers were asleep.
In fact, with the high demands and stress of your job, it wasn’t out of the norm for you to have a missed period or some strange symptoms out of the blue that made you paranoid enough to buy a pregnancy test on a supply run.
It was no big deal. Taking the tests never caused much anxiety. If it was positive, it was a simple fix, especially when it came to being an accident with a small-town nobody you’d never see again.
But this time? This was beyond nervewracking.
This wasn’t just a random hookup after a drink or two at the bar. Someone you had no emotional attachments to. No one you’d ever see again.
This was Arthur Ketch.
Your eyes darted around the bathroom, looking at anything besides the timer on your phone.
You’d fought things that would send a normal person into cardiac arrest. Yet the anxiety bubbling up in your chest and the knot tightening inside your stomach was much worse.
Because, unlike previous tests, you had no clue what to do if it was positive.
What was actually three minutes felt like ten by the time the timer went off. You jumped out of your skin, caught up in your own mind.
After tapping the close button, you shakily slid your fingers over to grasp the small plastic stick.
Your heart fluttered as you turned the test over, getting a glimpse of two pink lines.
You let out a gasp, dropping the test onto the counter with a clink as it fell into the sink. Then, you were on your knees, hurling up dinner as you sobbed. Between dry heaves and cries of pain, you had undoubtedly gained your brothers’ attention.
Blood pounded in your ears, so loud that you barely registered the light knocks on the door.
“Can I come in?”
You only cried harder when you heard which brother it was. The brother that decided to throw Ketch’s death in your face to make himself feel better. To hurt you just as you had hurt him. The brother that you hadn’t spoken to in two weeks besides small talk related to cases or simple words in passing.
*FLASHBACK*
It was a rough night of researching ways to get mom and Jack back. You had excused yourself to go take a shower while Dean gave himself a heavy pour of whiskey and you let your emotions get the best of you.
That night, the grief of losing Arthur had hit you. Up until then, you had put on a mask, pushed those feelings to the side. Too focused on your mom, worried about keeping yourself strong for your brothers.
It was a simple note you had found tucked in a book from him that sent you over the edge. You had barely left the library before your vision clouded with tears.
When you had gotten out of the shower, your brothers were already eating the burgers Sam had picked up from town. But once you stepped into the war room, you received the brunt of your older brother’s frustrations.
“Death told me that in all of your endings, you always end up with him.”
“What?” You asked, caught off guard by his sudden outburst.
“I heard you crying. I want to feel bad for you, but him? Come on!”
“Dean-”
“And even if I did care, which I don’t, I don’t have time to coddle you while mom is gone.”
“What the hell, Dean? That’s enough.” Sam boomed out angrily, shooting his famous bitch-face as your older brother.
“Are you kidding me? You dropped your whole life while Sam was gone to go be with Lisa! Who, by the way, I didn’t care for at all! But god forbid I do something Dean-esque!”
“Well I didn’t like him either!”
“Guess that makes us even then, huh?” You scowled, slamming your hand down on the table. “You dumped him in a fucking waste canal, Dean! How does that make you high and mighty?”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you!”
“You know what, eat a dick, Dean.”
You didn’t care to eat dinner after that.
You turned on your heels, storming back to your room. That night, you didn’t eat. You didn’t cry yourself to bed, just laid there in silence, numb yet feeling every emotion at once. You pretended to be asleep when Sam opened the door, and you were sure he could tell you were faking it. But he didn’t push, just left the heated up burger on the nightstand.
The next morning, Dean brought you breakfast and coffee from your favorite local cafe. No sorry, but it was his peace offering. His own form of apologizing.
You took it with thanks, heading back to your room to eat. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you enjoying your breakfast.
The damage had been done. He had used the one, unspoken thing against you as ammunition to hurt you. And that caused more pain than any knife to the gut.
You wanted him to know just how bad he had wounded you. The one thing that Dean prided himself on was being a family man. The older brother to you and Sam.
And as much as it killed you to play the silent game, you knew it was killing him just as much. It was childish, but it was the only way you could cope. At least for now. It wasn’t the answer, but it would have to do. You needed time to recover.
*PRESENT*
The door creaked open, just enough for Dean to peek his head in. The look of concern on his face made you cry harder.
“Hey, woah. What’s wrong?”
“I’m a fuck up,” you blubbered, dropping your head into your hands as you dug the palms into your eyes.
You couldn’t see the look of disappointment on his face when you told him.
Not this time. Not again.
“Sissy-”
Your hand left your face as you flung your hand towards the bathroom sink.
“It’s positive.
Silence fell between you. Your breath stuttered as you tried to regulate your breathing. You were preparing for the breakdown that was about to happen. The scolding and the dramatic exit that was Dean.
But it didn’t come.
Instead, he slumped down against the tub, his knee bumping into your leg as you both sat on the cold- and likely barely cleaned- tile.
As you work on regaining control of your breathing, you tilted your head back, letting it hit the wall with a ‘thunk’ as you stared up towards the ceiling.
Your eyes landed on the vent, which was surprisingly dust free compared to other motel bathrooms. Usually that was an indicator of how good the room was cleaned. Maybe the floor was cleaner than you had previously thought.
“You’re not a fuck up.” You took a deep breath, finding the courage to look over at your brother. His eyes were soft, his expression exhausted. You wanted to reach out and smooth the line from his forehead. “For what it’s worth, you’d be a damn good mom.”
“What do I do, D?”
His hand reached up to tug at the strands of his hair. You watched his Adam's apple bob, as if it hurt for him to ask the question that begged to be answered.
“Is it… Ketch’s?”
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak again. The faintest of sighs escaped from his mouth.
“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
You bit your lip, feeling like a child again as you extended your pinky to him.
“Promise?”
“Promise."