Shawn Mendes Imagines

Giving Birth (Final Part)

important af author's note at the end, pls don't skip!!

***
Shawn

"How is she??" Y/N's Mum [/Legal Guardian] asks as soon as I round the corner to the wide, open walkway. They told everyone to wait out in the hall, but for some reason, she was the only one standing here.

"Where is everyone?" I ask, ignoring her question.

"They all went home, sweetie," she bites her lip. "It's been five hours since she even went into the delivering room. It's almost three a.m."

"Wait, seriously?" I had no idea how long we'd been up. I was too distracted to be tired.

"So, is she okay? What's the hold up?"

I rub my tired eyes with the ends of my fingers, looking down at the white-tiled floor. "She's fine, but the baby is lying in a weird direction so they're thinking of retorting to a cesarian. They shut the curtain and told me not to look behind it," I pause. "I did. So now I'm out here."

"I expect no less of you, Shawn," her mum laughs. She still hated me at times for getting Y/N pregnant, but she couldn't help but always think of me as the charming boyfriend of her daughter that always brought her flowers when we joined together for meals.

Just then, I heard a dramatic and desperate cry of pain coming from the room behind us, where Y/N was waiting, and I look apologetically at her mum.

"Go," she tells me quickly. "Hurry. She needs you."

***

There is a lot of blood during the birthing process. Whether you are delivering naturally or not, they don't even try to clean it all up until you're done and the baby is in your arms-- so Y/N had to deal with it on top of everything else.

The whole room smelt of blood. I could almost feel the physical hurt, the struggle of trying to remain calm, the pressure on the doctor's to keep their promise of guaranteed survival-- it was textured, like pollution in large cities or heavy silence between enemies.

Y/N would only glance at me as I entered the room again, looking relieved, like her saving grace was here. Even though they wouldn't let me back for the cesarian, I knew she needed me; someone she trusts. She'd rather have her mum, I'm sure, but I'm the only one even allowed down this hallway.

"When do you start?" I mindlessly ask the doctor, who, thankfully, had his head blocking my view of anything I wouldn't want to witness.

"We got the baby to turn around," he answers me, looking over his shoulder. "She'll be fine to deliver naturally. She already had all of her contractions, so she's ready to go. We need you over here."

"Over there? W-- "

"Up there!" He points up to Y/N's head, and I sigh in relief. I did not want to be anywhere but near her head.

I swiftly cross the room, my feet pattering softly on the tile. Her legs were bent, her knees to her chest, slightly spread open like the doctor instructed earlier. Beads of sweat were still trickling down the side of her face, her teeth clenched.

"Jesus," she groans. "They don't warn you enough."

I run up to her side, her hand immediately finding mine as I drop to my knees beside her bed. Her fingers squeezed mine together with such force, I thought she might break my hand.

"Ready to push?" the doctor asks from the other side. She lets out a weird noise in response that might mean yes, but Junior was forcing himself out anyway, so it's not like she had much of a choice.