Chapter Text
The morning sunlight shined in the living room window, casting warm, golden hues over the floor.
Mary sat cross-legged on the carpet, a stack of crayons beside her, watching as Dean waddled over to sit beside her. At one and a half years old, he was still clumsy in his movements, but eager to join in. She smiled, reaching for a fresh piece of paper.
"Alright, sweetie, let’s draw something. What do you want to draw?" she asked, handing Dean a crayon.
Dean sat down with a tiny grunt of effort, his chubby fingers wrapping around the blue crayon she’d given him. He stared at the blank paper for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. Mary watched, expecting the usual baby scribbles, random lines and loops that meant nothing. But instead, Dean looked at the crayon, then down at the page, as if he was thinking.
His little hand moved slowly, dragging the crayon across the paper with deliberate strokes. The lines were wobbly, not quite straight, but when he was done, Mary could make out the clear shape of an upside-down triangle.
She blinked in surprise.
"Well, look at you, Dean! That’s not bad at all!" She leaned closer, studying the shape, not understanding.
"What is it, baby?"
Dean lifted his finger and pointed, not at the paper, but at one of his picture books that lay discarded on the couch. Mary followed his gesture and saw it: a book with a pond on the cover.
"The pond?" she asked, tilting her head.
"That’s water, Dean."
Dean didn’t say anything, just gave a serious nod, as if that was all the explanation needed. His small hand patted the triangle he’d drawn, and he looked up at her, wide-eyed and expectant.
"Water.." he humbled out.
Mary chuckled softly, amused.
"Water, huh? Well, okay then." She picked up a crayon of her own, pink this time, and leaned over to his paper.
"What if we turn this into ice cream, huh?" She drew a soft line at the top of the triangle, forming the beginning of a scoop.
"No!" Before she could finish, Dean yanked the paper away from her, his expression turning frustrated. He shook his head, his eyes filling with an intensity that surprised her.
"No?" Mary asked, pulling her hand back with a playful smile.
"Alright, alright, I won’t mess with your drawing, buddy. You’re the artist here."
Dean huffed, still holding the paper protectively, and Mary chuckled again. She leaned back, picking up another piece of paper for herself.
"I guess I’ll draw my own then."
Dean’s crayon hit the paper again, his focus unwavering as he carefully traced another triangle. Upside down, just like the first. Mary noticed this time that his movements, while still unsteady, had purpose. He wasn’t scribbling like most toddlers; he was drawing. The same shape. Over and over.
Mary glanced at him, her own drawing forgotten as she watched her son. She tried to nudge him in another direction, just for fun.
"Hey, Dean, how about we draw a car? One like what Daddy has? Or maybe a ball?"
Dean didn’t respond. His hand just hovered over the paper, another upside-down triangle half-formed. When Mary gently reached over to guide his hand, his lip began to tremble.
"No!!" His breath hitched, and before she knew it, tears welled in his big, green eyes.
"No, no, baby, it’s okay!" She cooed, pulling her hand away and scooping him up into her lap.
"You don’t have to draw anything else. It’s okay."
Dean sniffled, rubbing his face against her shirt, small hands clinging to her as he calmed down. Mary rocked him gently, triangles already forgotten.
Dean’s breathing slowed, his little body relaxing in her arms. Mary kissed the top of his head and smiled to herself, whispering,
"We’ll just let you draw what you want. Who knows? Maybe you will become a big artist when you grow up."
The door creaked open as John stepped inside, wiping his hands in a dish cloath. He frowned as he heard the soft sounds of Dean’s sniffles, the remnants of a cry that had clearly just stopped.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice low with concern.
"I heard him crying."
Mary looked up at him, brushing her fingers through Dean’s soft hair.
"It’s alright, John. He just got a little upset. We were drawing together, and I think I pushed him too much. He didn’t want me messing with his work."
John’s frown deepened as he crouched down beside them. His eyes flicked to the scattered papers on the floor, each one marked with the same odd shape. He picked one up and studied it, turning the paper in his hands.
"What is this?"
"Triangles." Mary said with a small shrug, as if that explained everything.
"He’s been drawing them all morning."
John raised an eyebrow, glancing between the paper and his son.
"This isn’t exactly normal for a kid his age, is it? Drawing the same thing over and over?"
Mary let out a soft chuckle, gently bouncing Dean in her lap as he continued to calm down.
"Kids do strange things, John. He’s probably just fixated on triangles for now."
John wasn’t convinced. He stared at the upside-down triangles, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the paper.
"I don’t know, Mary. It’s... weird."
"Weird isn’t bad." She replied, giving him a look that told him to let it go.
"He’s just a baby. Maybe he likes the shape. Let’s not overthink it."
John opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, seeing the relaxed expression on Mary’s face and the way Dean was starting to smile again. With a small sigh, he set the paper down.
"Alright. If you say so."
Mary smiled gratefully, giving Dean a little tickle on his belly, which earned her a giggle.
"See? He’s fine now. Just a phase, I’m sure."
"Yeah, I hope so." John muttered, casting one last glance at the drawings before standing up.
"Anyway, let’s eat. I’m starving."
---
A few minutes later, they were seated around the kitchen table, the smell of lunch filling the air. Mary set Dean in his high chair, carefully placing small pieces of food on his tray as John settled in across from them. Dean, now fully distracted from his earlier frustration, was happily munching on a small piece of bread.
John reached for the napkins, handing one to Mary and one to Dean, not thinking much of it. The napkin, folded in a triangle shape, was placed next to Dean’s plate. As Dean’s eyes landed on it, his face lit up with a wide, delighted grin. He looked at the napkin, then back at his parents, giggling uncontrollably.
Mary and John exchanged a glance, both a little confused at first.
"What’s so funny, Dean?" Mary asked with a warm smile, leaning closer to him. Dean just kept giggling, his little hand patting the triangle-shaped napkin as if it was the most amusing thing in the world.
"I guess he really does love triangles now." Mary said with a laugh, shaking her head.
"Kids are weird, huh?"
John chuckled, though he still felt a little uneasy about it.
"Yeah, I guess so." He watched Dean laugh, his worries momentarily easing.
Maybe Mary was right. Kids fixated on strange things all the time. Maybe Dean was just going through a phase.
Dean’s laughter filled the kitchen, and for the moment, everything felt normal.
---
Weeks had passed, and Dean’s fixation on triangles hadn’t wavered. Mary still found it endearing, watching as her son sat at the kitchen table with his crayons, his chubby fingers clutching them with growing precision. He no longer only drew upside-down triangles. Now, some were upright, and others had lines running through them, always horizontally. His tiny hands moved with care, as if he knew exactly what he wanted to create.
Mary smiled to herself as she washed dishes, glancing over at Dean every now and then. She wasn’t worried. Kids went through phases. Dean’s just happened to involve an endless series of triangles. She figured it was better than him drawing on the walls.
John, on the other hand, wasn’t as comfortable. He leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed as he watched their son’s scribbles with a deepening frown.
"It’s getting weirder.." he muttered, his voice low.
"Have you noticed? He’s adding lines now, crossing through them, but they are still only triangles."
Mary turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a towel, giving John a calm smile.
"John, it’s fine. He’s just experimenting with shapes. He’s learning."
"Learning what?" John asked, shaking his head.
"They’re all triangles, Mary. Every single one."
She sighed, walking over to where Dean sat, his tongue poking out as he concentrated on yet another triangle with a horizontal line through it.
"Dean’s just... artistic. It doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. I think it’s kind of cute."
John wasn’t convinced. His eyes remained on the drawings, unease growing in his gut.
"What if we take him to see someone? Just to make sure."
Mary raised an eyebrow.
"You want to take him to a psychologist? For drawing shapes?"
"I just think it wouldn’t hurt to get a professional opinion." John said. He stood beside Dean, watching him draw.
"It’s not... normal."
Mary studied her husband’s face, seeing the concern etched there. She didn’t share his worry, but she knew how he could get. If John was this unsettled, it would only fester. She sighed again, softer this time, and nodded.
"Alright. If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll take him to a psychologist. But I’m telling you, John, it’s just a phase."
---
A few days later, they found themselves in a warm, brightly colored office filled with toys and books. Dr. Harris, a child psychologist with a kind smile and gentle demeanor, sat across from them, Dean perched on Mary’s lap while John sat stiffly beside her. A stack of Dean’s triangle drawings lay on the desk in front of the doctor.
Dr. Harris examined the drawings thoughtfully, occasionally nodding to herself before looking up at John and Mary.
"So, you’re concerned because Dean has been drawing mostly triangles?"
John was the first to speak, his voice tense.
"It’s all he draws. Over and over. It’s been weeks."
Dr. Harris smiled reassuringly.
"It’s actually not uncommon for children to fixate on certain shapes or objects at this age. Some children will only draw circles, or just scribble in the same area of the page. Dean’s fixation on triangles is well within the range of normal toddler behavior."
Mary let out a quiet breath of relief while John was still tense.
"But why triangles? Shouldn't he just.. Scribble, like normal kids?"
The psychologist glanced down at one of Dean’s more intricate drawings, the triangles intersected by crisscrossing lines. She smiled.
"If anything, this shows that Dean has an advanced understanding of shapes and space for his age. His ability to draw relatively clean lines, never drawing over a previous art work, and his experiment with form suggests he has a talent for drawing. It’s also a sign that he’s likely highly intelligent. He’s exploring new ways to express himself through something he’s comfortable with."
Mary glanced over at John, her expression softening.
"See? I told you."
Dr. Harris chuckled.
"I know it’s easy to worry when your child seems to be doing something unusual, but trust me, this is nothing to be concerned about. Dean’s development is completely normal, if not a little ahead of the curve."
John finally relaxed, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t completely disappear.
"So... there’s nothing wrong with him? He’s just being a kid?"
"Exactly." Dr. Harris said, smiling warmly.
"He’s just being a kid. And a very creative one at that."
---
The ride home was quiet. Mary could feel the relief radiating from John, even if he didn’t say anything. She reached over and squeezed his hand, offering him a reassuring smile.
"You feel better now?"
John nodded, though there was still a small frown on his face.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Dean’s fine." Mary said softly, glancing back at their son, who was happily kicking his feet in his car seat.
"Kids go through phases. You heard the doctor. He’s just got a thing for triangles. He’ll grow out of it."
John exhaled, rubbing his hand across his face.
"Yeah, I know. I just... I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want something to be wrong and us not catch it."
Mary smiled gently.
"There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a smart kid.”
John chuckled a little at that, though the unease still lingered in the back of his mind.
"Yeah. Guess so. Our smart little boy."
As they pulled into the driveway, Dean was giggling again, pointing out the window at the trees. Mary smiled, looking at her son, who seemed to be without a care in the world. Whatever it was with the triangles, it wasn’t something they had to worry about.
---
The next week, John sat with Dean at the kitchen table, determined to guide his son’s attention away from the endless triangles.
Dean, clutching a crayon in his little hand, was already starting on another series of the familiar shapes, the paper filled with them. John watched, his brow furrowed. He didn’t want to push Dean too hard, but something still nagged at him. Maybe if he just gave his son a few gentle suggestions, Dean would shift to something more... typical.
"Hey, Dean." John said softly, picking up a crayon himself.
"What do you say we try drawing something new today? How about a house?"
Dean didn’t seem to hear him, his focus entirely on the triangle he was drawing, this one with lines crossed through it, just like the others. John sighed, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. He quickly sketched out a simple house, a square with a triangle roof, just to give Dean an idea.
"Look, see? A house." He pointed to his drawing and smiled at Dean, hoping to catch his interest.
"Can you draw something like this?"
Dean glanced at the paper but didn’t seem particularly interested. His crayon hovered over his own drawing for a moment, then he continued with another triangle, this one upside-down. John watched in mild frustration. His son’s determination to stick with the same shape was starting to wear on him.
"Alright, alright." John muttered under his breath, trying again.
"What about a person? Can you draw someone, Dean? Maybe Mom or me?"
Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, the crayon in his hand pausing for a second. John thought maybe he’d gotten through to him, but after a brief moment of hesitation, Dean lowered his gaze back to the paper and drew yet another triangle.
John’s shoulders sagged. He didn’t want to be the dad who forced his kid to do things, but this fixation on triangles still bugged him. He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to think of something else. Then, an idea popped into his head.
"How about the sun, Dean? Can you draw the sun?"
Dean froze, his hand hovering over the paper. He seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment, his little face scrunching up in thought. For the first time in what felt like forever, Dean didn’t immediately reach for another triangle. John leaned in closer, holding his breath as he waited.
After a long pause, Dean finally pressed his crayon to the paper. Slowly, carefully, he drew a circle. His line was shaky, but John could tell what it was. Then, with equal care, Dean added a dot in the center of the circle.
John’s heart leaped. He couldn’t help the broad smile that spread across his face. "Hey, look at that!" He exclaimed, his voice filled with pride.
"You did it, Dean! You drew the sun!"
Dean looked up at him, his expression neutral, but John was too overjoyed to notice. He stood from the table, snatching up the paper and heading toward the living room where Mary was folding laundry.
"Mary!" John called, practically bouncing with excitement.
"Look at this!"
Mary looked up from the pile of clothes, eyebrows raised.
"What is it?"
John held up the paper, his grin wide.
"Dean drew the sun! He finally drew something other than triangles!"
Mary squinted at the drawing, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"That’s great, John, but I told you, it’s just a phase. Kids get obsessed with things all the time."
"I know, I know!" John said, still buzzing with pride.
"But this proves it. He’s moving on!"
Mary chuckled, folding the last of the clothes and walking over to him.
"I’m glad you feel better." She said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.
"Now can you stop worrying so much?"
John nodded, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. Maybe Mary was right. Maybe this was just a phase after all.
---
Later that evening, as Dean sat quietly in the living room with his crayons, John kept an eye on him from the kitchen, waiting to see what his son would draw next. To his surprise and mild disappointment, Dean returned to his triangles. But now, something had changed.
Amidst the usual upside-down and upright triangles, Dean began adding circles with dots in the center. Sometimes they stood alone, and other times they appeared within the triangles themselves, as if they belonged together.
John’s relief from earlier began to fade, a knot forming in his stomach. Mary had reassured him, and the psychologist had said everything was fine, but now this new shape... it didn’t feel like progress.
Dean giggled softly to himself as he drew, clearly pleased with his new addition to the pattern. The crayon slid across the paper in smooth, deliberate motions, creating more triangles and circles with dots, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.