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Roman could still remember the day the social worker knocked on his door. It was first thing on a Monday, still part of his weekend because he was working swing shifts at the depot. He thought it was his landlord. The check cleared, but he was month-to-month and who knew when that asshole would decide he could make more money from some other schmuck. He pulled on some cargo pants over his threadbare boxers and undershirt that he had slept in and answered the door.
A broad-shouldered woman in a gray suit stood at the door with a cloth briefcase over her shoulder and a clipboard in her hands. She looked up at him with kind eyes. “Hi, I'm looking for Dean Ambrose. Is that you?”
“Does he owe you money?”
She laughed a little. “I get that a lot, but no. This is about a family matter.”
Roman raised one eyebrow. Dean didn't talk much about his family, and when he did (when he was drunk enough or feeling honest enough to explain some of his scars) he didn't have much nice to say.
She continued. “This is the only address we have for him, Mr...”
“Reigns. Roman Reigns.”
“Mr. Reigns.” She extended her hand and Roman shook it. It was soft compared to his hands, rough from handling everybody else's Christmas packages for the shipping company.
“He's not here right now.”
“Do you have a phone number where I can reach him?”
“Uh, right now he mostly borrows my phone. I can ask him to call you back when he gets home but I can't make any promises.” He looked at her knowingly with his wide grey eyes.
“Here's my business card. My name's Bayley Martinez and I work for the Department of Child and Family Services. Can you please tell him it's an urgent matter regarding his sister, and that he needs to call me right away?”
“Sure. He has a sister?”
“He does now,” she said, shrugging.
*****
Roman thought back to that day as he pushed the shopping cart through Grocery Outlet the Saturday before Christmas. His hair fell down his back in a greasy braid and he was still wearing his work jacket from picking up some overtime on an overnight shift. Rae was being a good girl sitting in the shopping cart, and he had put her hair up in two puffy pigtails this morning while they watched cartoons. Hopefully he could sleep after they got home from the store.
Dean walked alongside the cart making faces at her and talking about all the things they could eat for Christmas dinner.
“Goldfish crackers,” he suggested.
“No!” Rae folded her arms.
“Gum. We could all just chew gum all day.”
“No, yucky!”
“Cereal,” he said. “We could get like six boxes of cereal and mix them all up, then pour them out. We could eat them out of the big mixing bowls.”
“No, that's silly,” she laughed.
“Not like you've tried it, kid,” he countered.
Roman sighed. “Rae Rae, we're going to have the ham I'm getting from work. You like ham.”
“Nope, we're having cereal,” Dean insisted, tickling their little girl. She giggled, verging on a shriek, but when she got loud he backed off. They were always nervous of looking like bad parents in public. Bayley was a great caseworker but this was buttfuck nowhere northern California and people were always judging you.
“We could have cereal and ham,” Roman replied. He was sure they could afford that. Right now they were looking at boxed scalloped potatoes, a tube of crescent rolls, the free ham, and whatever their WIC benefits would pay for— probably milk. For the kid, at least. They still had some food stamps left so maybe they could get an apple pie or some ice cream.
Dean strutted down the miscellaneous toy aisle. Grocery Outlet was a store where you never knew what you were going to get, other than it would be cheap. One time they splurged and bought three-dollar caviar, but then they realized they didn't know what to do with it. They just knew it was fancy. Turns out, it's really fancy little black bubbles in a jar. It tasted okay with Tostitos, but probably wasn't a good use of their three dollars.
So, the miscellaneous toy aisle was about their speed: seemingly random toys picked from the past five or so years, priced to move. They applied for free Christmas toys from a charity for little Rae but they hadn't heard anything back. Roman was still hopeful but Dean was sure they “lost” the application because it had two dads on it. He had hand-corrected the form and written both of them in. Roman said not to do it, but Dean wouldn't listen. “I'm not going to fucking hide,” he said. “The kid’s got two dads.”
*****
Dean wanted to hide, at first. “What the fuck does she mean, my sister?” he asked Roman, when he woke him up. He had been home that day but Roman knew he would not want to have a conversation with a government representative without a lot of warning.
“I don't know, but she said it was urgent. She seemed nice, she said right away you don't owe her any money.”
Dean ran his hands over his face. “I'm so hungover.”
“Whose fault is that?” Roman asked.
“Ugh, fucking Seth's, now that he's got that fancy new job...”
“What?”
“I just want to forget him.” Seth was Dean’s ex, and he was Roman’s ex before he had been Dean’s. He had introduced them. And there had been times where who was with whom was blurred enough for all three of them to seem like a unit, almost functional.
Maybe he didn’t actually think he was better than Dean and Roman. Maybe. But he had moved out of his shitty apartment into a bigger house than he needed, and started wearing nice suits, and stopped bleaching the streak in his hair that Roman had talked him into when they were drunk back in the day.
*****
“We should call Seth,” Roman said to Dean as they picked over the Bratz dolls and wrestling action figures.
“I'm not fucking calling Seth,” Dean spat.
“Language! I'm telling Bayley.”
“Go ahead. She'll be all over your ass, you're the responsible one with the real job anyway.”
“Dean, you gotta finish your GED and then you can get into those classes I found you. You'd be such a great caretaker. The old folks home is always looking for more people.”
“You mean the insane asylum for crazy fucking old ladies with dementia?”
“Well, they pay okay.”
While they were arguing, Rae Rae had decided she didn't want to be in the cart anymore. She had gotten to her feet in the seat platform of the basket and got a foot out on the edge, when she toppled forward into the pile of weird old dolls.
“Aaaah!” Roman shouted, grabbing her by the waist and swinging her away from the cascade of boxes.
Dean paled and stammered. “Oh god, Rae Rae baby, don't scare your daddy and pop like that,” he said, smoothing her hair back. She wrinkled her face up to burst into a sob. In that moment, she looked just like her adoptive daddy, really her half-brother. They both had the same strawberry blonde hair and round cheeks, and as far as Roman could tell they both were an equal amount of trouble.
Roman ground his teeth and handed her to Dean to quiet down. He picked up the toys she had knocked over, trying to assemble them back into some kind of display and to avoid as much attention as he could. Dean was still banned from Wal-Mart for for fighting a manager who accused him of shoplifting (nevermind that he actually had been shoplifting) so this was one of the few places in town they could go shopping together. They both had the afternoon off, though Roman was working every day until Christmas and Dean's work on the Christmas tree lot was winding down for the season. They managed to coordinate their schedules so someone was always home with little Rae, though every once in a while their teenage neighbor Sasha came over to babysit. The kiddo always had elaborate braids when they got home, but Sasha always kept the kid safe and fed and so she earned her dollars. They couldn't pay her much, but they always let her come over and hide out when her stepdad got drunk and weird, and she had loved Rae since Rae was a baby and first showed up on their doorstep.
Did Dean look like a shoplifter? It was December and cold in the mountains where they lived, but he was still in jean shorts that went past his knees, plus tall socks and steel-toed boots. He pulled his worn hoodie down over his hands. His coat was sitting in the back of the truck for some reason. Whatever. They did their best to make the baby look nice. Though they mostly dressed her in whatever Ro's cousin Tamina's kids were done with, and she had all boys. Lots of girls wore camo around these parts. It was fine, he reassured himself. Though he had snuck off to Wal-Mart one night to get her some Frozen pajamas to wrap and put under the tree.
Roman spotted a single Elsa doll hidden behind some plastic wrestling belts, and dug her out. She was figure skating and all the writing on the box was in French: sure, fine. Rae would love her, and she cost seven ninety-nine. He had that much in his wallet.
December had been expensive. The tires on their truck were bald enough that they had to nut up and do something about it, Rae got hand foot and mouth disease and they had to take time off work, and then the bills. All the bills. The landlord jacked up their rent another $50 dollars a month to pay for someone to pretend to fix broken shit in the rentals. Their stupid heating oil furnace needed to be refilled and it cost a goddamn fortune.
Dean was working under the table loading Christmas trees onto people’s cars at the lot down the road from their little house, but it wasn’t enough. They cancelled their cable, they kept the heat low and bundled the baby in sweaters and blankets. Dean offered to do other things for money like he used to before the baby came. Who knows, he might have been sneaking off to do them without Roman knowing, but Roman hoped not. It still wasn’t enough.
*****
But at least Rae didn’t die in a dumpster. That’s where the police had found her. Roman and Dean had put the pieces together about what had happened later—Bayley didn’t want to tell them.
Somebody that Sarah—that was Dean’s mom’s name, Sarah Ambrose—had owed money to or a boyfriend or who knows, the baby’s father, had choked Sarah out in an alley in fucking Redding and chucked the baby carrier into a dumpster behind a taco shop and a craft store. Another somebody tipped off the cops about the body and while they were there they heard the crying and fished her out. She was okay. Cold, but okay.
*****
Dean had to identify his mom's body. They went to the morgue. “That's her,” he said to the coroner who lifted a corner of the drape. Roman kept his hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him, but he was cold and collected, until they got outside and Dean went to punch a cement wall. Roman shoved him just in time so all he connected with was air, but then he turn around and swung blindly in Roman's direction.
“Hey! Simmer down! Cut that the fuck out!” Roman commanded while dodging another blow and getting Dean in a headlock. Dean cursed at him. They got in the truck and went home. They went back to work cleaning the house for the baby to arrive until Roman had to go to work.
*****
They met Rae for the first time during a supervised visit with her temporary foster mother. Bayley came to introduce them. The foster mother didn’t seem too impressed with them, eyeing Roman’s tattoos suspiciously, but Dean gave her a winning smile. “She’s my sister. I won’t let anything happen to her.”
She handed the baby to Dean. He cradled her against his chest, inside his leather jacket. “She just turned two months old,” the woman said. “Little Raeann.”
“She’s totally a Rae-Rae,” Dean cooed. “Ro, you wanna hold her?”
“Yeah, c’mere.”
He pressed her into Roman’s arms. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at them with huge blue eyes and long eyelashes.
“She’s gonna break hearts,” the foster mother said.
“I think she already has,” replied Roman.
*****
The second time their new social worker came to the house, she let them know they had to clean up their act. Dean let her into the house and she stepped gingerly over a pile of junk mail that had accumulated at the front door.
“So, we massively prioritize kinship placements for children in the foster system, but there are some minimum requirements for us to place a child in the home,” she said, removing some papers from her bag. “I’ll be honest, my bosses are pretty biased against sending baby girls home to adult men with criminal records.”
“So you think I’m not good enough!” Dean started to shout.
“No, no, sir, I’m just saying we need to make sure you are putting your best foot forward to the state. Now, I see that you are off probation as of last month, which is great. Are you currently employed?”
Dean looked at his feet. “I pick up some shifts here and there. You know how things are.”
“I am,” Roman spoke up. “I work at the depot. We’ll be ready—the baby can have her own bedroom here and everything. My mom and my sisters and cousins are going to send us a bunch of old stuff from their kids, like a crib and one of those bouncy things.”
She looked back and forth between them. “That’s great, but the state doesn’t consider roommates in deciding a placement or not. Unless you’re not just roommates.”
They were silent. Dean raised an eyebrow at Roman.
“You guys, please tell me if you are a couple. How long have you been together? Have you considered getting married?”
Roman choked on his Diet Pepsi a little. Dean looked at him sideways and then finally sighed and spoke. “Yeah, I guess we are. We try to keep it under the radar around here, this neighborhood, you know? But like Ro’s family knows and shit.”
“A married couple of any kind is a preferred placement to a single person. And then Mr. Reigns, your income would count for the whole household. You’re going to need to clean up this house and continue to stay out of trouble, but we’ll get all your paperwork in and hopefully that will be that.”
*****
So they got married. It was kind of a marriage of convenience but they were fucking and it meant Dean and the baby got to be on Roman’s health insurance, as crappy as it was. Bayley got a county clerk to waive the 3-day waiting period for them so they went before the judge one Friday morning.
“The honeymoon’s going to have to be quick, I work at 4,” Roman deadpanned as he got dressed. He put on a button-down and the only tie he owned, one with little Star Wars logos all over it. Dean had on a tuxedo-print t-shirt that had seen better days, but he had found a sportcoat with leather elbow patches at the Goodwill earlier in the week and that classed it up a little.
“So if this is a shotgun wedding, which one of us brings the shotgun?” Dean asked.
They didn’t know what to do about rings. Roman wasn’t sure if he wanted to wear one at work, if he was going to tell people or not. He had to tell the HR lady but the rest of the assholes on the loading dock weren’t his closest friends by any stretch of the word.
“But it’s not real if there’s no ring,” Dean pleaded.
“Aren’t they expensive?” Roman had asked. But Dean pawned a lawnmower a previous tenant had left behind the garage, that they never used, and they got a couple of plain bands.
When the judge read the vows and Roman repeated after her, sliding the ring on Dean’s finger, he knew Dean had been right. The ring made it feel real. It was real. They signed the license, declining to change their names. It was totally fucking real. And they did have a quick honeymoon, on the couch in the living room, before Roman had to go to work that night.
*****
They got a call after that from a landlord a couple towns over that they needed to go and clean out Dean’s mom’s apartment. Dean insisted it was only to see if there’s anything they could salvage or sell and that he hoped she had a big tv. Roman knew it wasn't just that. “If you're just going to punch some walls I'll go do it myself,” he told Dean. Dean glared at him and said nothing. They went to do it together.
Turns out, she had been taking care of herself. It was a dump but there were no drugs or alcohol in the place save a tiny bag of weed. And who could blame her for that? Dean picked up an empty bottle of pre-natal vitamins, looked around and saw bags of diapers, a place for the baby to sleep. Baby clothes in a hamper. She was never a dumpster baby. Sarah never put her there. Someone killed her and tried to hurt Rae Rae, but Sarah was trying to do right for once in her goddamn life.
The milk spoiled in her fridge. Roman dumps it out while Dean ran his fingers over the crocheted afghan that he remembered from childhood, found the cigarette burn he would always poke his finger through. When he cried, Roman held him and didn’t ask any questions.
*****
The house was different with a kid. Before, they each had their own bedroom, sharing the big bed when they wanted to get down, but Dean usually retreating to his own space afterward. They practiced sleeping together before Rae came home. Roman felt good about the changes at once. He was just a physically intimate person—a hugger, a back-rubber, a hand-holder. Having a boyfriend he adored barricade himself in another bedroom made him feel lonely.
But Dean was a man who needed his space. He lay there in Roman's arms the first night they knew they would have to vacate the other bedroom and he shook. He squirmed and kicked his legs. “Watch it,” Roman murmurred, though he was already almost asleep.
Dean thought about it. Why was he nervous? Why didn't he like having his back to Roman's chest? Because it mean his back was also to the door—it was easy to answer his own questions sometimes.
“Ro, move, I gotta be on the other side.”
“Mmmph.” Roman wiggled under the blankets, withdrew his arm from Dean, and rolled the other way. Dean lay there thinking, then instead of switching sides with Roman, just rolled over to become the big spoon.
Roman settled back down into the bed, grasping Dean's hand and clutching it to his chest. He was asleep in minutes. Dean relaxed, feeling better in this position.
Sleeping like this had its merits. It was easier for him to escape in the middle of the night to go walk around the house or the block when his legs itched and burned to move. It also left a hollow when Roman got up for a shift and he was left behind. But when he could, Dean cuddled Roman to sleep, even when he was sleeping at a weird hour. In time, Rae joined them, she curling up in her daddy's arms and her papa spooning him from behind.
*****
“We have a baby,” Dean said, stunned, putting her to bed in their house for the first time.
She had tiny fingernails that cut like a knife. Her laugh was nothing either of them had ever experienced before, even Roman with his gazillion nieces. She was his.
“So...what should she call us?” Dean asked.
“Well she’s not going to be talking for a while...Uncle Dean, maybe?”
He looked down. “We’re adopting her, right?”
“Right.”
“I kinda want us to be her dads,” Dean said in a small voice. “I don’t feel fuckin brotherly, I feel like her life is in my hands. Her life is in my hands. And yours.”
“So you wanna be dad?”
“Her pop. Papa, maybe, while she’s little. Ugh, I sound like such a fag when I say it out loud.”
“I hate to break it to you but…”
“Yeah, I know, I am actually a fag and a cocksucker. You know what I mean.”
“...can I be her dad then?” Roman asked. “I always wanted kids. You know I have a big family...they would be really happy. If I was her dad.”
Dean smiled a little.
*****
Roman handed Rae to Seth. He invited them all over for a Christmas party at his fancy new house, so they combed their hair, trundled the baby into the carrier, strapped into the Bronco, and went down to see him.
Rae started wailing. She kicked her tiny legs.
“She loves you,” Dean deadpanned.
“Shut up,” Seth said. He rocked her gently, propping her up on his shoulder. She opened her mouth and spit up formula all over his back. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” Roman said.
“She’s a little miracle,” added Dean, fishing out a cloth rag from the diaper bag. Roman hadn’t let him wear his tactical vest to the party even though all the pouches made for great baby supply storage. “C’mere, dumpster baby,” he muttered, taking her back.
Once everyone was clean again, they settled down to mingle. Dean and Roman met Seth’s boss, Hunter, and his wife, Stephanie. They owned the law firm he was a junior partner at. Stephanie looked at the baby with shining eyes. “Oh, she’s so sweet.”
“She farts like a motherfucker and she has claws,” replied Dean.
She looked at him strangely. “Well. An infant is always a challenge,” she said diplomatically. “Have you tried changing her formula?”
Roman mingled well with Seth’s old and new friends but Dean used the baby as a convenient defense from conversations he didn’t want to have, about where he was working or what he had been doing since dropping out of high school. “I’m a stay at home dad, for now.” “Yeah, things are tight.” “I might go back to school when she’s older.” “The camo onesie? From Roman’s sister.” “I’ll worry about female role models once she’s old enough to know what that is.” “Sure, you can hold her. Wanna change her diaper too?”
Seth and Roman found themselves alone in a corner near the minimally adorned Christmas tree. Seth glanced down at Roman’s ring. “I didn’t realize it was that serious,” he said, sounding disappointed.
“It is now,” said Roman.
*****
They got a call from Seth a couple weeks later, once the bleak haze of January had descended. He wanted to come over and talk about some things, he said. So come over, they told him.
Rae was having tummy time, lying face down on a blanket while all her toys were just out of reach. “This seems kinda mean,” Dean had said, but Roman insisted this was a thing you were supposed to do. They sat with her on the floor and watched her struggle and gurgle. Seth knocked at the door and Dean got up to let him in.
“Hey guys,” he said. He handed off a six-pack of something Dean didn’t recognize but was probably beer. They cracked some and sat around like it was old times, Seth and Dean on the couch, close, and Roman on the floor tickling the baby. Dean felt a pang of regret tinged with anxiety. They chatted for a while, remembering old times. Times Seth and Roman had bailed Dean out, literally and figuratively.
Dean blushed. “I’ve cleaned up my act. Mostly.”
It felt…flirtatious. And wrong to be flirting in front of a baby. But it’s not like she could tell, Dean thought to himself. He liked having both Seth and Roman around. He was sorry it didn’t happen more often.
“I didn’t just come over to hang out,” Seth admitted, breaking a moment of silence.
Roman shut his eyes, forehead tensing. “We’re fine, we don’t need anything.”
“It’s not exactly that. You see…Hunter and Stephanie, you know, the people I work for?” Dean nodded, unblinking. “They can’t have kids. They’ve been trying for years. And after meeting Rae they thought…maybe they could give her a good home.”
“What’s wrong with this home?” Dean snapped, getting to his feet.
“Nothing.” Seth stood up, gesturing for Dean to calm down. “It’s just that you guys have one job between you. This neighborhood is a war zone. What kind of place is this to raise a little girl? What if you just let someone else adopt her, someone who has a home all ready for—”
Seth didn’t get to finish that sentence because Dean hit him with a right hook, his pupils dilated with rage. Seth staggered back and Dean regarded his own fist, flexing it and wincing. “Get out.”
“You can’t do shit like that,” Seth said, his eyes watering but his nose unbloodied. “You’re a dad now.”
“No, I did that because I’m a fucking dad now, and I don’t care how much money the people holding your leash have, no one is taking that away from me.” The baby started crying. Of course. “And I’d do a lot worse without her giving me those little beady baby eyes. She makes me a better person. You of all people should fucking see that.”
“I think you should go,” Roman said, scooping up Rae and checking her diaper. He whisked her off to the bedroom to be changed. Seth gave them one last look, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.
“Don’t punch the wall!” shouted Roman from upstairs. Dean froze. The man knew him too well. He went to ice his hand instead.
*****
Bayley was the best goddamn social worker in the state of California, Dean declared all the time. She got both of them put on Rae’s birth certificate on the first try. She was officially Raeann Reigns Ambrose now. They sat nervously in family court while it was finalized.
“Kid, please run for governor someday,” Dean deadpanned while signing the paperwork. Roman followed.
“Congratulations, guys,” the judge said. Rae Rae babbled in Roman’s arms and kicked her legs.
Dean looked bashful. This was the same judge who had married them earlier that year. She went on: “Now all you need is the picket fence.”
“Probably chain link, your honor,” Roman drawled.
*****
They coped. Roman focused on the present. It’s not like Rae would believe in Santa for that much longer, so they did their best. They came home from Grocery Outlet and put her down for a nap.
They wrapped presents in brown paper Roman scavenged from work, in the comics section pulled from a neighbor's recycling bin, conserving every scrap of real wrapping paper they had.
That night, they put up the tree. They had waited until the week of Christmas to get it—that way Dean got to bring it home from the lot for free. Roman wrestled it into the tree stand while Dean stood back giving unneeded advice and Rae raced circles around them until she got a time out for running in the house.
They were going to see Roman's family at New Years—Roman had to wait until people were done giving and receiving urgent packages to take a day to drive up to Oregon to see everyone. And by then, Dean's job would be over for the season. Roman looked around the house, at the small presents under the tree and the bigger ones hidden under a tarp from prying eyes, that Santa would be bringing.
Dean had saved tips to buy Roman a new set of headphones for when he worked out. They were knock-off Beats by Dre that he got Sasha to help him pick out. He agonized over the color, but it was decided for him when they realized the pink ones were on clearance and none of the other colors were. Ro wouldn't care. He would be glad he got a good deal. God knows they both had enough frilly pink stuff on and around them. Their masculinity was not fragile enough to be challenged by pink anything.
Roman got Dean a new leather wallet to replace the battered thing he was using. He was also debating wrapping up a GED prep book and putting it under the tree, but he wasn't sure Dean would take it well. He decided to just leave it on the coffee table in front of the couch.
*****
Unexpectedly, they debated about whether to go to church. This was another thing they didn't have to worry about before Rae came. Roman took off on his own and went most of the time, but this year he brought it up to Dean. “Can I take Rae to mass with me?”
“Why?” Dean looked up from his phone where he was texting someone.
“It's Christmas. I'm Catholic. This is just what we do,” Roman insisted. “C and E. Christmas and Easter. Even if you don't go any other time of the year. And she's old enough not to cry the whole time.”
“You're gay married. Will they even let you in the door?”
“They don't check ID, Dean.”
“How much are the tickets?”
“...do you really think they charge you money to go to church?” Roman asked, shaking his head.
“I've never been in one, so how the fuck would I know?”
Roman looked at him gently. “You can come too, if you want. Might be helpful to have both of us to keep an eye on her. You know how she likes to escape.”
“I seriously don't think they will let us in.”
“It's Christmas, D. They let everyone in.”
*****
So, come that Christmas Eve, Dean combed his hair and put on some clothes that didn't have tree sap all over them, and they dressed the baby (the toddler, the growing girl, the actual human they were responsible for not fucking up) as nice as they could, and they went to church. St. Sebastian's was jam-packed, so an usher led them to slide into an open seat in a pew halfway down the aisle. He smiled at Roman and eyed Dean and Rae.
“Glad to see you brought everybody tonight,” he said, patting Roman on the arm. “Be glad to see you all around more often.”
“Thanks, Kevin.”
Dean sat down, helping Rae up onto the bench seat, but Roman unfolded a padded ledge from the back of the row in front of them, then knelt on it.
“What are you doing?” asked Dean.
“I'm praying. This is what you do.”
“Do I have to?”
“Just sit there until I'm done. Here, read this. Read it to Rae.” Roman passed them a paper pamphlet outlining the mass, what songs they would be singing, and some responses they were supposed to say.
Rae climbed into Dean's lap and started reading it out loud to him. The kid always floored the two of them with how smart she was. Dean felt the gaze of the lady sitting next to them, but tried to ignore it, smoothing Rae's hair. The choir standing off to the right, in front of a giant organ, began to sing. Roman finished whatever he was doing and sat down next to them. He smoothed Rae's hair, his hand brushing Dean's.
Dean reflexively looked to his left at the lady. When he caught her eye, she smiled and turned back to the little book she was looking at.
Roman relaxed once the mass began. “Just follow along in the book. You don't have to sing. If Rae gets fussy, distract her,” he whispered to Dean. But Rae seemed fascinated by everything happening around her. She paged through the book of songs intently. Dean could sit, stand, and kneel along with everyone else, even if he felt like he was going to get ejected by security at any minute.
*****
They came home to find their side door eerily swinging open. “Did you shut this?” Roman asked Dean, who was following behind him with a sleepy kid in his arms.
“I did shut it. And lock it. What the hell,” Dean spat.
“What’s wrong, pop?” Rae murmured.
“Nothing, kiddo. Here, let Daddy put you to bed.” He handed her off to Roman.
They went inside to find the place a wreck not of their own making. Their TV was gone, the drawers of the random living room furniture were open, the Christmas tree was tipped over, and all the presents that had been under it were gone. They stood in shock before Dean raced into the garage to look under the tarp where they were hiding the presents that Santa was going to be bringing Rae. “They're gone!” he whispered hoarsely. “All gone.”
Roman’s heart sank as he carried Rae up the stairs to her bedroom for an emergency early bedtime. At least her room had been left alone, but he could see someone had ransacked his and Dean’s dresser. He hoped Dean had hidden his cash stash well, but suspected he hadn’t.
“Okay sweetie, you have to go to sleep, otherwise Santa won’t come.” He got her shoes off but didn’t try to brush her teeth or get her into pajamas. The crisis would take precedent over routine. Thank god church had put her to sleep.
“I hope he brings me a marshmallow,” she said, rolling over onto her side. Roman pulled the blankets up over her.
“He can probably manage that,” he said. “I love you, girlie.”
“I love you too daddy,” she said into her pillow. “Tell pop not to be sad. Santa will fix it.”
Roman’s stomach flip-flopped. He didn’t say anything else, just patted her head, fixed her blankets one more time, and turned out the light, leaving her door cracked.
He went back downstairs. Dean wasn’t inside. He was standing on the front lawn, looking at the house. Roman opened the door, turning on the porch light and following him out. He saw what Dean was staring at: someone had spray painted “FAGGOTS GET OUT” in red across their door.
Roman pulled Dean into his arms, feeling the rage and tension coursing through his body. They both took deep, ragged breaths.
“Fuck this, I’m calling Seth,” said Roman. “Don’t even start with me, I—”
“I already did,” said Dean. “He’s on his way over.”
Roman looked into Dean’s eyes, and Dean sighed, looking away. “I wanted to go bust heads. I bet it was that fucking Wyatt asshole and his creepy friends. I fucking know it was. But…that’s not going to fix anything for Rae.”
An unfamiliar Range Rover with a familiar driver pulled up in front of their house. He had grown out the streak of bleached blond hair he had back when the three of them were last together, but otherwise he looked the same. Seth hopped out of the car, looking horrified at the house. They opened the door and let him in.
They stood, looking at each other for a second before they collapsed into one, giant, sobbing embrace.
“I’m so sorry,” Seth said. “On fucking Christmas.”
“I can’t believe you answered the phone,” Dean said.
“I will always take your calls. Roman, you too. Please. I miss you guys.”
“What do we even do now?” Roman asked.
“Do you have renters’ insurance?” Seth asked hopefully.
“What’s that?” replied Dean.
Roman rolled his eyes. “Um, we couldn’t afford to renew it this year.”
“Okay,” Seth nodded without judgement. “We should still file a police report.”
Dean scoffed. “Like the cops are going to fucking do anything for us.”
“I’m an attorney. Don’t call me if you don’t want to do things by the book,” Seth replied. “Also, it’s 6:30. We’ve got like an hour and change to replace the presents before everything closes tonight. The checkout line’s going to be a nightmare, but we can do this.”
“I only have four dollars left in my checking account,” protested Roman.
“So you guys can pay me back. Or don’t pay me back. Or let me make things up to you for being such a fuckhead for a couple years. Whatever. Let me fix this. It’s fucking Christmas.”
That sounded like the Seth he knew. Maybe he hadn’t changed that much at all.
*****
So Dean stayed home with the kid, gritting his teeth and calling the police to report the break-in while Roman and Seth sped off to Wal-Mart to raid the picked-over toy shelves. That permanent ban from the store was the gift that kept on giving, Dean thought to himself. But a squad car did come out, and a sympathetic blonde officer came up to the door to take his statement. She even came upstairs and had a look around at the damage, lifting some prints.
“It’s a damn shame,” she said. “Who would do this, and at Christmas? We’ve had a few other break-ins in the area but none with a hate crime component.”
“Sorry to bum you out,” Dean said.
“Thanks for not trying to go avenge this yourself,” she replied. “I’d rather take your statement on this than tag your damn body.”
“Well. I got a kid to look after. She’s sleeping upstairs. And, uh, a husband to keep an eye on too. I guess with people depending on me I gotta try to do right, you know?”
“I do. Here’s my card if you have any more information or you want to check on the status of the investigation.” She handed him a business card with her phone number and e-mail at the sheriff’s department. Then she handed him a teddy bear with a big bow and a santa hat on it.
“What’s this?”
“We take stuffed animals with us on Christmas calls. You know, in case there are kids. In a situation. I think this qualifies.”
He looked at it. Its head was a little squashy looking, but people said the same thing about him. It would do.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
*****
Seth and Roman got home after that, laden with gifts and paper to wrap them. They got a toy kitchen, dolls, clothes, a lightsaber, and some Legos, just to cover all the bases. And food: they got food. Pancake mix, real potatoes, milk, bread, cookies, chicken nuggets, beer, snacks, and a bag of marshmallows, for some reason. And a new TV. “It’s a present from me to you,” said Seth.
Dean showed them the teddy bear from the cop. Roman hugged him. “I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me. I can still bash heads if I want to.”
“Sure, pop,” said Roman.
“Shut up, daddy.”
Seth looked between them with a wry smile. “I am clearly missing out.”
“I’m missing out on the beer you bought. Fuckin get me one,” said Dean, breaking up the moment.
They wrapped every present in the paper they had bought, making increasingly elaborate bows until Dean cracked them all up by wrapping a box entirely in ribbon.
They hooked up the new tv to the antenna and watched crappy Christmas specials and ate Doritos and drank beer and talked about everything and nothing. They planned how to cover up the graffiti on their front door. They busted each other’s chops and bullshitted until they fell asleep all in one pile on the couch.
*****
Dean woke up to a tiny hand patting him on the face. “Pop. Pop!” He opened his eyes, crusty from sleep. The sun was just coming up. It was Christmas morning. “Santa came!” Rae said seriously, perched in his lap. “And I think he’s still here.” She gave a significant look toward Seth, stirring next to Dean on the couch, leaning on a snoring Roman.
Dean grinned slyly, thinking on his feet. “You caught him. We were his last stop, so he decided to sleep over.”
Her eyes widened.
Dean continued, whispering. “But he has a secret identity, you know, like Batman?”
She nodded seriously. “Batman is really Bruce Wayne.”
“Right. And Santa’s secret identity is Seth Rollins, and he’s pop and daddy’s friend. So don’t tell anyone that he’s really Santa, okay?”
“What am I?” said Seth, sitting up and rubbing his face.
“Rae knows your secret,” Dean said.
Seth looked between her and Seth. “Which one?”
“That you’re really Santa Claus,” Dean said, widening his eyes.
“Ohhh,” Seth said. “That secret.”
“Where does your beard go?” Rae asked, touching his face.
“Um, it’s retractable? But I’m done with it until next Christmas so it’s gone now.”
Roman’s snoring stopped, which meant he would wake up soon.
“Okay,” Rae said, sliding off Dean’s lap and kicking him a little in the process. He winced. “Can we open presents now? I was really good and I got a lot of them.” She started singing a little song to herself and dancing.
Dean nudged Roman to wake up. He got up to turn on the coffeemaker. Seth followed him into the kitchen.
“Is it always like this?” he asked. “Having a family?”
Dean thought about it for a minute. “Pretty much.”
They watched Roman stand up of the couch and scoop Rae up, swinging her around and around.
“You might think about getting one of your own,” Dean said. “Or just keep an eye out. You never know where you are going to find one.”