Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The kitchen is warm. 

There’s the sound of porcelain scraping against metal when he reaches across the counter to grab the glass of water he left there. Dean tugs on his shirt as he takes a huge gulp of lukewarm water, the heat getting to him. He doesn’t let this take his attention away from the kid standing beside him, handing over a bottle of meat seasoning.

“Now we’re gonna let the burgers sit for a bit,” Dean explains patiently. He watches as Jack nods, brows furrowed in concentration as he sprinkles the seasoning onto the piece of meat. “That way, it can soak up everything we put on it, and then the oven should be ready for us to put them in.”

“I didn’t know you could make burgers there,” Jack marvels. He looks up at Dean with bright eyes and a smile that’s so child-like. “Do you think it’ll taste different? Or will it be the same?”

Dean shrugs. “That’s what we’re going to find out,” he says, lightly nudging his side. “And then we’ll see if it’s good enough to try again.”

After the incident with the shifter therapist, Dean warmed up significantly to the kid. He still has days where he can’t look at him without being reminded of what he lost, but he’s okay enough to be around Jack. Most of the time.

And to combat the guilt that Dean felt over his behavior toward Jack, he started cooking with him. They both tended to be up late, so Dean took the time to teach the kid a few things. It distracted Dean from his nightmares and untoward thoughts, and it kept Jack busy since he didn’t need to sleep that much.

“So,” Dean says, clapping his hands together. “Is there anything else you wanna make while we’re here? We could have something else with the burgers. Like fries! You can’t go wrong with fries, and those are easy to make.”

“Maybe,” Jack says, and he sounds a little… off.

Dean glances over at him and frowns when he catches sight of the perplexed expression on his face. “Is everything alright?” he asks cautiously. “We don’t have to make those fries. It could be anything you want.”

“Oh, no! I’m fine with that! It’s just, um—” Jack shifts his feet, and now, he looks nervous. “I think I’m sensing something… angelic?”

Dean thinks his knees go wobbly. “Is it—” he starts, and his voice breaks for the briefest moment. He curls his hands around the edge of the counter and stares down at it, unable to finish the question. Dean doesn’t want to reawaken the hope he buried (or, at least, tried to bury).

“No. It feels smaller?”

“Smaller how?” Dean wonders. He swallows and looks at Jack once again, leaning against the counter. “Like a weaker angel?”

“Not weak, no,” Jack says. It’s clear that he’s struggling to make sense of what’s going on, so Dean remains quiet, patient. As much as he wants answers, it won’t help if he pushes for them. “Just very faint.” His eyes flit around the kitchen before settling on Dean, and then he says in a quiet voice, “Like a heartbeat.”

“A heartbeat,” Dean echoes. “But not another angel?”

“Not exactly,” Jack says slowly. He edges closer, hands raised in caution and eyes glowing gold. Dean stills when Jack rests a hand on Dean’s chest. “No,” he says. “Not here…”

And then his hand slides down, fingers skimming over Dean’s stomach, and Dean sucks in a breath when he feels the smallest brush of grace. It’s warm, like standing under the sun during spring, and it’s reaching for something, but Dean doesn’t know what. He looks up when he hears Jack’s soft gasp, and he’s surprised to see an expression of awe on his face.

“There,” Jack breathes. “I feel her.”

“Her?” Dean repeats, eyebrows climbing high. “What do you mean—” And Dean stops when his brain catches up. “Wait,” he says incredulously. He glances down at where Jack’s hand rests, now glowing with grace, and asks, voice faint, “Are you saying that this thing you’re sensing is in there?”

“She’s like me,” Jack says in wonder. “I can feel her grace reaching out.”

“Why?” Dean can’t help but ask. 

Jack furrows his brows, his eyes glowing brighter. It fades after a while, and he looks slightly solemn, blue eyes shining under the dim lights of the Bunker—tears, he thinks. “She’s searching for her other father,” he says quietly.

Dean’s heart leaps, and there’s a lump in his throat. He’s not sure he can believe all of this, not when Dean thought this sort of thing was impossible for him, especially at this point in life, but then he remembers all the signs. Dean felt queasy over the smell of alcohol, which put him off of it for a while, and he even got sick when he had some bacon the other morning. His anger, his grief, also feels more amped up than normal, especially whenever he thinks about—

“Cas,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. They had a night together—desperate hands and frenzied kisses—and then he stole the Colt from under Dean’s pillow. They never acknowledged it after that, and Dean refused to bring it up, locking away the hurt and the memories just so he could look him in the eyes. He sighs when he recalls the lack of protection, both of them too caught up in the moment to consider the consequences. 

Which shouldn’t exist since Dean’s well past his prime, and all those hunts should have ruined him. Being tossed around, stabbed, bitten, and clawed should have fucked things up down there, right?

But when has his life ever been normal?

“Is she,” Dean asks, licking his lips. “Is she okay? Or did I already mess this up?” Because even though the drinks made him nauseous, he certainly had a few now and then… 

“She seems fine,” Jack answers. “Healthy. There’s nothing wrong with her.” He tilts his head, and he looks so much like Cas at that moment that it steals away Dean’s breath. “She’s only a couple of months along.”

“Yeah, uh. That lines up with what I know,” Dean mutters. He takes a step back and covers his mouth with a hand. The kitchen is silent now as Dean loses himself in his thoughts, mentally rehashing everything he learned. He feels the warmth emanating from the oven, Jack’s eyes on his face, curious, and he sighs, turning back to face him.

He needs to start dealing with this. If it’s true (a very small if because Dean’s starting to accept that Jack’s not lying), then he has to think of his options. First things first, though…

“Jack,” he says carefully. “Can you do something for me?”

“Sure!” Jack replies with an eager smile. “Anything.”

“Don’t tell Sam about this.”

Jack’s smile falters, and he tilts his head quizzically. “I thought lying was bad,” he says slowly, a note of confusion in his voice.

“It’s not lying if Sam doesn’t directly ask you if I’m—” Dean cuts himself and huffs, unable to speak the word into existence. “Just let me get used to the idea, alright? I’ll tell him when I’m good and ready, and only then.”

“So, you want me to keep a secret?”

“I guess,” Dean answers with a shrug. “Only for a while.”

“I’ve never kept a secret before,” Jack murmurs, and then he nods, looking serious. “Alright, I’ll do it!”

“Thanks, Jack,” Dean says in relief. He reaches over and claps a hand onto Jack’s shoulder, patting it, and he’s rewarded with a smile. “How about we finish making dinner, huh? No use in wasting these perfectly fine ingredients.”

“Okay!” Jack says brightly, turning back towards the counter again. “Can we talk about baby names, too?”

“Not tonight, but I’m open to suggestions because naming her after her grandparents isn’t in the cards.”

“Aren’t you named after yours?”

“Yeah. Sam, too. I was named after our grandmother, Deanna Campbell, and Sam got his name from our grandfather, Samuel Campbell.” Dean mulls it over and then shakes his head. “She already doesn’t feel like a Mary, and I really don’t want to make up a variation of Bobby or John for her. She deserves something different but still meaningful, I think.” Dean scoffs, grabbing a potato and slicing it up. “We shouldn’t put too much thought into it, though.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t know if she’ll stay,” Dean admits. “Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to, especially with, uh, babies. I could end up losing her at any point.” He shrugs. “It’s part of life.”

“She will,” Jack says confidently. “I can tell.”

Dean glances over at him, a little confused. “How?” he wonders. “Because you did? Is that what you’re basing this on?”

“She’s strong,” Jack replies. “Like me, almost, but also different? Her grace doesn’t feel as strong as mine.”

“Probably because C— her other dad was a regular angel,” Dean says. He ignores the way his voice faltered at the near mention of that name. “And, uh, he was pretty limited in the grace department, but it wasn’t his fault. Some dick stole it from him for a spell and left him human for a while, and then when he found what was left of it…” He sighs. “Well, he wasn’t a full angel again, y’know?”

It hurts to think about him, and it’s even worse just talking about him, but Dean thinks it’s easier to tell these stories to Jack, who never got to know him the way Dean did. And maybe, somehow, the bun in his oven is listening, too.

“Really?” Jack’s eyes are wide with surprise. “What was he like? As a human, I mean.”

“Sad,” Dean says quietly. “Guilty. Lonely. But he was still strong, in spite of everything that life threw at him.” And especially what I did to him, he doesn’t say. “He liked PB&J,” he comments with a chuckle. “And he was sad that he couldn’t properly eat it when he got his grace back.”

“Why couldn’t he?”

“They tasted like molecules to him.”

Jack, wide-eyed and innocent, says, “I’m glad I didn’t get that trait. Then I wouldn’t be able to enjoy what we’re making!” He turns his attention back to the food, though a hint of a frown appears on his face. “I guess some of what I saw makes sense now.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh! I saw some of Castiel’s memories. A lot of it didn’t make sense to me, but I guess I just need to put the pieces together.”

The way Jack talks about Cas hurts, and it makes anger rise up in him. He turns his attention back to the food before he can say something cutting and rude. Dean doesn’t want to be like that anymore.

A part of him still blames the kid for Cas, but the logical part of his brain reminds him that Cas believed in Jack. He believed that Jack was worth bringing into the world, despite the angelic rules against Nephilim, and Dean has to remind himself of that anytime his thoughts stray away from him.

Besides, he’s tired of being angry all the time, but it also feels like that’s all he can be. How can Dean feel anything else when Cas is gone?

The rest of their cooking adventure is spent in silence. Sam returns from his run just as they’re setting the table, and Dean makes sure to rib him about being all sweaty and gross. He keeps up the pretense that nothing’s wrong with him, that he didn’t just hear the mind shattering news of the extra passenger in his body.

“Everything alright?” Sam asks him as he’s leaving the table, dirty dishes in hand. “You were a little quiet tonight.”

Dean stares at his little brother, soon to be uncle, and offers a half-hearted shrug. “Peachy,” he says. “Now, you better get in the shower before your hair gets all matted and gross, or else I’ll go at it with the hedge clippers.”

Predictably, Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he grumbles and moves past him, leaving Dean alone with Jack.

“I think he’d be happy for you,” Jack says. “If he knew, I mean. He only wants good things for you.”

“I know,” Dean says quietly. “But he’s going to say all of these things and then he might try to talk me out of it, and that’s not something I wanna deal with right now.” Because Sam would if he knew, since there’s a one hundred percent chance that having this child will kill him. “Remember that it’s a secret for now, okay?”

“Okay!” Jack’s smile is small and pleased. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning… If I manage to sleep.” He leaves the kitchen without another word, and Dean heads over to wash those dishes because no one else is gonna do it.

“You better not be like him,” he says to his stomach. “I want you to sleep through the night without any trouble, doesn’t matter how much angel grace you got in you.”

✦ ✦ ✦

He heads into his bedroom after he thoroughly cleans the kitchen (because if he leaves it for someone else then they’re going to mess up his kitchen). Dean then searches his cabinet until he finds what he’s looking for—a pink box depicting the image of a pregnancy test, one of the fancier kinds that says the words rather than shows the lines.

In all his years of life, Dean never actually got knocked up. He was careful in all of his hookups—no glove, no love—and he only ever had one scare. It was after he got out of Purgatory, after separating from Benny when Sam gave him the big ultimatum. He’d been feeling off for a while, and Dean had the wild thought of maybe since, well, the thing with Benny was pretty quick.

Once that thought entered his head, Dean was plagued with dreams of a vampire baby tearing itself out of him, hungry for blood. He ended up going out and buying a couple of tests, scared of the truth. Those dreams disappeared when it all came up negative, and all Dean could feel was relief at the time.

And now, well—Dean doesn’t know how to feel just yet.

He tears the box open and gets to work, leaving the test on the counter to check later. As much as he trusts Jack and his powers of detection, Dean wants more proof, something physical. He sets an alarm on his phone to remind him of when to check, and then hops into the shower, trying to ignore the anxiety and the urge to check it early.

His phone goes off when he’s scrubbing his body down, and Dean rushes to finish the shower. He barely dries himself, wrapping the towel around his waist as he pads over to the sink. Dean stands in front of where the test lies and lets out a breath, nerves going haywire.

“Come on, Winchester,” he mutters, slowly picking it up. “Don’t be a pussy.”

Dean’s vision blurs as he stares down at it, and he lifts his head to blink away the lingering water droplets. He brings it closer to his face, gaze focusing on the tiny gray screen near the end of the stick, and then he lets out a shaky breath when he reads:

PREGNANT.

He sets the test down and dries the rest of his body in a daze, mind buzzing with the news. It’s not like he didn’t already know, thanks to Jack, but to actually see that it’s real is a lot to process. 

Dean dresses in his most comfortable pajamas and exits the bathroom, where he stands in the doorway and stares at the mess scattered across his room. Several beer bottles create a clusterfuck on his desk, and he spies a few whiskey ones here and there. There’s some kind of musty stench, too, and Dean forces himself to clean it all up.

Bottles clink together as he carefully places them in a big black trash bag, followed by any wrappers or cartons from the days where he actually managed to eat some food. Clothes that were strewn about the floor are tossed into the hamper and the end result is his room looking somewhat clean. He even changes the sheets and pillowcases, wanting to sleep without the lingering smell of sweat from his nightmares.

When he’s done, Dean doesn’t even bother sitting on the bed or the chair at his desk. Instead, he sinks to the floor and takes a seat with his back against the door. He rubs a hand down his face, a few lingering droplets falling off his hair and onto the floor, and sighs.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Dean confesses into the silence of his room. He tips his head forward to stare down at his lap, mouth twisted into a frown. “But I can’t get rid of you, not when you’re a piece of him, too. I could never do that.”

Finally, he rests a hand on his clothed stomach. He’s only a couple of months along, according to his math, but Dean thinks he can feel the beginnings of a swell. Maybe. It could just be the extra garlic fries that he would sneak in whenever he went out on a grocery run.

“Guess those were the cravings,” Dean muses, and then chuckles. “At least it’s not something like pickles and ice cream, or whatever.”

He lets his hand fall away and brings his knees up to his chest, where he then tips his head forward to press his forehead against them. The situation still feels unreal, like this is some sort of joke that Jack and Sam planned out—but the kid’s not like that, and Sam doesn’t really do that type of shit anymore.

A part of him, the one that his father formed with rough hands, revolts at the idea of this thing forming inside of him, a mixture of cells created by the creature that bedded him. It’s an excuse, he knows. Dean’s using the rules that his father drilled into him in order to disguise the fear that’s rolling through him, unrelenting and immovable.

He doesn’t want to have this kid and turn into his father, all of his neglect and abuse and expectations that linger on his body like his old silver scars.

But there’s another part of him that ignores all of this in favor of all-encompassing affection for the child in his womb. Strange, how it seemed to creep up out of nowhere, but Dean also knows it’s partially due to the obsessive care that he has for his family and the quiet, resting desire that he carries deep in his heart to someday have one of his own.

Dean looks down at his hands, once covered in the blood and gore of monsters, calloused from his job, scarred over from various injuries, and thinks about his mother.

Did she ever do this after she discovered she was having a kid? Did she sit on the floor with her back against the wall, knees up against her chest, hiding away in the silence of her house? Did she stare down at her hands like he’s doing, wondering how she could trade violence for tenderness, how she could hold her blooming child with the knowledge of what she’s done in her hunting life?

Something must have clicked in her mind along the way because even with the fog that shrouds his childhood memories, he can still recall the way she cradled him close. It wasn’t because he needed it or because he was afraid, but because she wanted to do it. He enjoyed resting his head on her shoulder and playing with her golden locks as they swayed to a tune she hummed under her breath, dancing through the living room without a worry about monsters.

Could he do that?

He shuts his eyes and tries to picture it. 

A baby like Sammy once was with hair like his own, maybe, and bright baby blue eyes peering up at him with a familiar tilt to their head. Dean imagines cradling this child close and pressing a kiss to the top of their fragile head, the promise of safety echoing in his chest. He’d fall into a tune in the next second, ‘Hey Jude’ being the lullaby to carry them over into contentment, or maybe it’d be some other song they both like.

The baby might wiggle closer and tuck their button nose in the crook of Dean’s throat, drifting off while their tiny hand remains clasped in the collar of Dean’s shirt, the way he used to hold Mary’s hair.

Dean exhales shakily and wipes away the hint of moisture that gathered in his eyes. He tips his head back against the wall and lets a hand fall to cradle his stomach. There’s no obvious sign that there’s life in there, but Dean thinks he can feel it rounding out in preparation for what’s to come. There shouldn’t be any activity yet, but Dean thinks that he feels something in his stomach, and that’s enough to make his lips quirk the slightest amount.

“If only…” he breathes, but doesn’t dare finish the thought. 

Instead, his mind drifts back to the image he created before—except there’s an extra person added to it, one who sits on the couch and stares at them fondly. There’s no smile on his face, but the crinkle at the corners of his blue eyes radiates all of his joy, and that’s enough.

If only, indeed.

“You’ll know him,” Dean promises quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He smooths his shirt down and rises on shaking legs, and then makes his way over to the bathroom. Dean brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face, and then peers at his reflection, wondering if he’s got that glow that people always mention. Dean doesn’t notice anything too different. He still looks like his old self, just with the beginnings of something more in the middle.

It should feel wrong, and he has the quick, fleeting thought of agreement. Dean spent all of his life fitting into himself and made sure everyone saw him as his true self. Whenever he accounted for the possibility of children, he never let himself think about this. It always seemed too far from his reach, especially after his treatment, his hunting—something in there fucked up along the way, and he has the documents from a doctor to prove it.

And yet, he thinks, gaze dropping down to his stomach.

How could it have happened? Did a witch put a spell on him? Or was it a fertility god leaving their mark on him for shits and giggles? Dean sighs, placing his palms flat on the counter, and tries to think. Nothing comes up, unfortunately.

It was created the normal way, so he doubts that there were any supernatural influences, especially when most of the creatures out there are either afraid of Nephilim or they hate them.

“Oh,” Dean says aloud with sudden realization. He lifts up his shirt abruptly, gazing at the side where the scars from his first werewolf hunt used to be—until he was born anew, reconstructed from the harrows of Hell.

His skin was flawless back then, the callouses gone from his hands, and insides all shiny and pink. Everything but his mind was repaired, so that must have included… 

He sighs. “The one time I decided to forgo the fucking condom,” he mumbles. “All because it was him with me.”

And Dean, of course, trusted him more than anything. He was also very much caught up in the moment to think about things like that. Even then, he was still in the mindset that he couldn’t have kids at all, especially with all the shots that he takes to this day. Though, he may have missed a couple of doses in all the drama with Lucifer, being held by the government, and Cas being dead.

Obviously, he was wrong. Now he’s just left with a reminder of his loss, but he doesn’t plan on handling it the way he did with Jack. No, he’s going to be better, do better. Dean wants to be the parent that he wanted as a child.

( “I hate you… but I love you.” )

No. He won’t be like either of them.

“I got you,” he murmurs when he finally slips beneath the sheets. Dean rests a palm on his stomach, where his baby is soon to grow, and swallows hard. “I won’t go anywhere.” 

He’s not sure what he should do now. Will the baby feel it if he rubs his stomach? How big is she, even? Does she understand what’s going on? Well, maybe she does, if he considers how she reached out to Jack earlier, then there might be some intelligence in there.

“A girl, huh,” he says. “Telling you now, if that ever changes, then you have my support. Life was hard way back then for someone like me, but at least John had my back on that.” He frowns, thoughtful. “Wonder how Jack knew,” he says. “I feel like it’s too soon to know.”

Maybe because she’s a Nephilim like him? That’s probably the best answer.

Dean finds himself stroking a thumb across his abdomen. It’s soothing, in a strange way, and it centers him, too. A reminder that this is real.

It’s then that he thinks about Kelly Kline.

Did Kelly Kline feel this way, too? Dean wonders, spreading his fingers across his mostly flat stomach. Did she worry about Jack, slowly growing, unaware of what would happen to her? Or did she know and just not care, desperate to bring something good in the world? Did her connection to Jack form right away, or after she realized that she couldn’t get rid of the innocent being inside her?

Dean feels like he can finally understand why she ran off the moment she could, why she fought so vehemently to keep Jack in this world.

Nephilim are supposed to be abominations, meant to bring destruction to Heaven, Hell, and the delicate balance of the universe, but Jack’s different. Dean may not have liked him at first, but he’s starting to see why Cas wanted Jack to be born into this world and why Cas fought so hard for him.

“Cas,” Dean breathes for the second time that night. He shuts his eyes and buries his face in the pillow. The grief that wells up is familiar, but it’s a thousand times more painful now. Dean has evidence of his final connection to Cas blooming in his stomach.

Dean remembers Kelly Kline’s fate, too. He doesn’t want to die, not like this, but there’s no way he’s going to get rid of his baby—Cas’s baby. She’s all that he has left of him.

And what will happen when she comes into this world? Will Sam and Jack step up to care for her—lonely in a big old bunker while he’s tossed straight into the Empty?

Billie already promised his fate. There’s no heaven waiting for him, no reliving his greatest hits for all eternity, and it wouldn’t matter to him, anyways. He’d only care about going to Heaven if Cas was there, waiting for him.

“Can’t let them take you from me,” he murmurs.

And that’s what solidifies his plan to keep this from Sam. Like he told Jack, his little brother would do his best to convince him to get rid of the baby, knowing the mortality rate of having a Nephilim. He’ll also try his hardest to get Dean out of getting thrown into the Empty upon his death at the cost of himself, promises be damned.

God, poor Kelly. How did she deal with the knowledge that death was always a step behind her throughout her pregnancy?

He lets out a ragged breath and prays to Cas, hoping it’ll reach him somehow, wherever he is right now:

Come back, Cas. If not for me, then for her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Morning pulls him out of the comfort of sleep soon enough, and it drags him all the way to the toilet where dinner comes up in chunks. 

Dean takes a moment to appreciate the fact that he’s got his own bathroom before he’s heaving again, one arm around his stomach and the other holding onto the toilet for his life. He stops after a while, wrung out and exhausted, and the smell nearly causes him to brain himself on the lid. 

“Ugh,” he grumbles, flushing the toilet. Dean stands on shaking limbs and makes his way over to the sink, glaring at his red-eyed reflection. “You just had to give me morning sickness, huh?” he accuses, gaze flicking down to his stomach. “Is it because I finally knew that you were there? Were you saving it all for this moment?”

His stomach rolls with nausea again, and so Dean stops his complaining, in case his angel baby decides to do it on purpose. He thoroughly brushes his teeth to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth, and then decides to hop in the shower again because that whole process made him feel all sweaty and gross.

“Listen, kiddo,” he says as the hot water is beating down on his back. “We gotta work together on this, okay? I can’t have you sending me to the toilet all the time, or else Sam’s gonna know that you’re in there. If it has to happen, just make sure that I’m alone in my room… or out on the road by myself, where no one will care if you pull over to vomit.”

It’s weird talking to the baby like she can hear him, but Dean has to believe there’s enough sentience in there, being an angel baby and all, and it helps to keep him from freaking out.

There’s a baby in him, a baby he didn’t know about for a couple of months, a baby he may have hurt with all of his grief fueled drinking and his recklessness during his hunts. A baby that he made with an angel, marking her as the second Nephilim of the current century. 

A being that he considered a monster not long ago.

Dean has learned his lesson since then. His eyes were opened when Jack used his powers to protect Sam, finally able to see the good that both Cas and Kelly saw in him, and Dean’s trying to stick with that thought process, now more than ever.

He shakes off the guilt that follows and heads to the kitchen, intent on getting breakfast started for the day. There’s a lull in hunts right now, but thankfully, Dean hasn’t had any of the restlessness that usually comes whenever he’s in the Bunker for too long.

Dean checks the fridge first to see what he can work with, and he’s pleasantly surprised to find a carton full of fresh eggs. That sounds real simple and easy, so Dean just grabs them and brings them over to the table. He then grabs a bowl to mix them in, figuring it’ll be even easier to just scramble it all together.

Sam enters the room after a while, dressed in his running gear and carrying a water bottle. Dean glances over at him real quick and raises a spatula in greeting, and he nearly groans when he catches the look on Sam’s face.

“Did you get any sleep?” Sam demands, but it’s in that tone of voice that shows how worried he is deep down.

“I was up reading,” Dean deflects. “Not my fault.”

“Wow,” Sam says. Something in his face eases at that, and Dean catches a hint of a smirk on his stupid face. “You can read?”

“I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” Dean tells him, swatting him with a spatula. Sam dodges, of course, and he’s pleased to hear laughter spill from his lips. “Don’t forget, Sammy, I know where you live! You’re easily accessible to me!”

“Back at you, dumbass,” Sam shoots back. He walks over to the fridge and grabs a water bottle, holding up a hand. “I’m going out for a run. Keep a plate warm for me?”

“It’ll be in the oven,” Dean says with a wave of his hand. “Don’t spend too much time out there. And make sure you wear some sunscreen, it’s supposed to be eighty out.”

“Yes, mother,” Sam replies, rolling his eyes, and walks out.

Something twinges in his chest over hearing that, and Dean glances down at his stomach. “You’re not gonna have one of those,” he says. “And you won’t have a dad, either, and I’m sorry for that, but at least you’ll be raised by an Uncle who will love you like you’re his own and another Nephilim. Your older brother, I guess.”

He finishes up breakfast and plates one for Sam to eat later, carrying over two plates just as Jack walks in. The kid looks bright and alert, and he eagerly digs into his meal, even deciding to be bold and pour some ketchup onto his eggs as well.

“Thanks, Dean,” he says cheerfully when he finally leaves, with only a spotless plate marking his presence. Well, at least he doesn’t have to deal with a picky kid.

After cleaning up, Dean heads to the library to get some reading done. He figures he should refresh his memory on the whole Nephilim situation, in case there might be something that he missed.

And, of course, there’s nothing different. He read it all when news of Jack’s creation reached them. Dean tries to find something about the pregnancy of Nephilim, but he gets nothing, either.

“I don’t know what I need,” Dean mutters. He glances over at all the books lined up against the shelves and grimaces. “And I doubt I’ll find the answers that I need here. There’s enough information on Nephilim, but babies? I don’t think the Men of Letters cared too much to gather their information on that.”

He sighs, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands. Stress is starting to make his stomach roll dangerously, and Dean has to take a few deep breaths in order to quell the nausea that threatens to take over.

Jesus. He can’t let Sam find him like this.

“Alright,” he tells himself. “I know where I have to go now.”

✦ ✦ ✦

The aisle seems much too small for him, but Dean manages to slide his way in there, only able to face one way without knocking into something. He leans close to the shelf and squints, quickly reading through all the titles on the spines.

Baby, baby, baby, pregnancy, baby names, pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, baby, baby, baby…

Why are these books so intimidating? Dean wonders as he pulls out a random one from the line. There’s a picture of a woman on the white cover, visibly pregnant, and she’s cradling that big bump with a smile on her face. She’s wearing a pure white dress, and her brown hair is curled gently to her shoulders.

“This purity thing is annoying,” he mutters to himself. “ Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy, huh.” The picture unnerves him too much, so he ends up putting it back. He finds another book with a similar title, this one depicting the image of a baby, and tucks that under his elbow instead.

All the women seem to look so happy in these books, which is one of the only things that he notices as he flips through them. Their joy is palpable in each image, and Dean has to wonder if they ever freaked out like him, if they ever worried about their ability to be a parent, or if they decided to fake it until their happiness became real.

He grabs a book on newborn care as well, and he stops as he catches sight of the baby on the front, all chubby and cute with a gummy smile and a button nose. A different kind of grief washes over him at the reminder of his mortality, and Dean hastily places the book back, lips turned downward. 

There’s no point in even reading the book when he won’t be alive to utilize those tips.

He feels a little awkward as he keeps browsing the shelf, and the back of his neck prickles on occasion. Dean can see a couple of heads turning away when he glances around the room, and it makes him nervous. He dips a hand into his pocket from time to time to make sure that the hex bag is still on him (he slipped it in before he left the Bunker), but it doesn’t reassure him as much as he should.

Then again, what are the odds that angels and demons are out here in Lebanon, Kansas, searching for him, specifically? If anything, they’d probably be scouring the area for Jack instead of him, and even then, the angels wouldn’t dare to show themselves when they’ve got so few numbers. So, at least he can guarantee the safety of his own Nephilim. For now.

He takes his haul over to the front desk, where an older woman sits in front of a computer. She lifts her head and smiles at him, and he offers one in return.

“Good afternoon,” she says cheerfully. “It’s nice to see you again.” Her light brown hair has gotten longer since the last time he was there, curling around her ears and her temple, and her nails are painted purple this time.

“You too, Marie,” Dean says with ease. He places the small stack on the desk. “I’ll just be checking out these today, if that’s alright with you.” Dean leans forward and says in a conspiratorial whisper, “My brother isn’t here today to ask you to hold some books for him, thankfully.”

Marie laughs. “You know that I never mind doing that,” she says, amused. “He’s one of our most avid readers here! If he didn’t have to go home to you, I imagine he’d try living here.”

“That sounds like Sammy,” Dean says with a chuckle.

She brings the books down to her level. “Expecting?” she asks, a kind smile on her face.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says. He drums his fingers along the desk and offers a weak smile. “Guess I’m kinda panicking over the whole thing.”

“I understand,” she says, amusement in her voice. “My husband did the same thing, you know? He went to this library and checked out all of these books, forgetting that I was the librarian of the day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean’s smile shifts into something stronger, real. “Was he embarrassed?”

“A little. He finally relaxed after I told him that I was just as nervous, and that I was spending my breaks reading all I could about pregnancy and childbirth.” She laughs, scanning the first book of the stack. “Is this your first?”

Dean nods.

“It’s always scary when it’s the first,” she says. “I’m sure you’re losing your mind right now, wondering how you can do it when you’ve got no experience.”

“You just read my mind,” Dean admits. He slumps down a little, peering at the screen as she scans more of the books. “I—uh, we already made the decision to keep the baby, so it’s just a matter of… preparing for their arrival and making sure that I know all that I need to know to make life better for them.”

The smile on the librarian’s face is softer, somehow. “I’d say you’re doing a great job already,” she replies. “Most wouldn’t think about what’s going on in the present. Instead, they’re worrying about formula and trying to learn how to change diapers, even when they’ve got plenty of months to prepare.”

“I think I’m good there,” Dean says. “Used to do that with my brother when we were younger, and it seemed to work out.” He glances down at the stack, at the book with the title What to Expect When You’re Expecting, and sighs. “I think I’m mostly worried about all the aches and pains that are gonna come with this.”

“I’m sure your wife is very happy to know that you’re focusing so much attention on this,” she says, sounding pleased. “Not many men like to venture out and learn about these things, preferring to let their wives deal with it on their own.” She leans forward and adds, “I recommend heading over to the store and picking up some prenatal vitamins for her. One of these books should have a list of what you need.”

“There are vitamins, too?” Dean groans, thunking his head on the desk. “Can this get any more complicated?”

“Absolutely,” Marie says, sounding delighted. “But that’s for you to find out as the pregnancy progresses.” She scans another book, indicated by the beep that comes out of the scanner. “How far along is she?”

“Couple of months,” he replies, lifting his head. “Give or take.”

“Wow.” Another book is scanned, and then she starts typing something up on the computer. “Are you hoping for a girl or boy? I think my husband wanted the latter for the first, but he was happy with our daughter regardless.”

“I wouldn’t mind a girl,” Dean says carefully. He definitely knows that it’s too early to tell the gender of the baby, so letting Marie know that he already knows would make things weird. “But really, I just want them to be safe.”

“I was the same way,” Marie says warmly. She places cards in all of the books, her hands quick and confident, practiced ease, a sign of how long she’s worked there. “Alright, and now you’ve got all your books! They’re due in two weeks, but you can return them at any moment to the drop box outside even before then.” She pauses and waves a hand. “You know the drill already.”

“Sure do,” Dean replies with a grin. He picks up all the books, holding them in both hands, and nods at her. “Thanks for the help, Marie,” he tells her. “And for the talk, too. It… It helped.”

She brightens and waves at him as he leaves, where he proceeds to rush over to the Impala and dump the books in the passenger seat after he slides into the driver’s side. Dean takes a moment to breathe in there, hands shaking a little. He pulls one of the books into his lap and flips it open, coming across a chart with different images of fruit.

“At eight weeks,” he reads out loud. “Your baby is the size of a raspberry.” Dean stops and glances down at his stomach. “A raspberry, huh?”

Suddenly, his phone rings. Dean jumps, fumbling with the book, and then quickly sets it down on the seat so he can pick up his phone. Sam’s name flashes on the screen, and he accepts the call. “Yeah?” he says when he holds it up to his ear.

“Dude, where are you?” Sam asks. “I got back from my run and you were gone.”

“Went into the town,” he answers. He taps a finger against the steering wheel. “Figured I’d do some grocery shopping while I’m out here.” 

“Really?” Sam sounds skeptical. Which is valid. Dean barely wanted to leave the Bunker after they got back from Kelly Kline’s cabin, and he was often forced out by Sam. Even then, all Dean did was buy more and more alcohol to try and bury the fresh bad memories in whiskey.

“Really,” Dean replies. “Wanted to feel the sun on my face, Sammy.” He thinks for a moment and then adds, “I’m also out of beer.”

Sam scoffs on the other end. “Of course you are,” he mutters. “How about you pick up a few extra things, huh? I’ll text you a list in a bit.”

“Just tell me now. I’ll remember.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will!”

“Dean, all the times that I gave you a list out loud, you conveniently forgot the items that were, to quote you, ‘hippie trash’ and instead gave me something with so much fat or sugar that I ended up throwing away.” Ah, there’s that same old bitchy Sam voice. “So, no, I’m not going to tell you the list over this call.” And with that, the call ends.

Dean laughs and locks his phone, dropping it beside him. He starts up the car, the familiar rumble offering a fresh wave of comfort, and pulls out of the parking lot. His phone dings with a message after a while, indicating another message, but Dean doesn’t bother to read it until he’s inside the store, shopping cart in front of him.

“Broccoli, grains, cauliflower, tofu? ” Dean’s nose wrinkles in disgust, huffing as he starts pushing the cart toward the vegetable section. “I swear he’s a pod person.”

He buys all the things on the stupid list just to make his brother happy and to get him off his back. If they get a little roughed up on the trip back to the Bunker, well, that’s not his problem. Sam can bitch about it all he wants, but at least Dean got him what he wanted.

✦ ✦ ✦

Dean’s in the kitchen, slathering jelly on one slice of bread, the other already covered in peanut butter. It’s his second one of the morning since he woke up at a godawful time because the little raspberry in his stomach decided to tickle a part of his brain and made him crave a sandwich that early in the morning.

So, Dean’s having another. Two-for-two deal, and all. Thankfully, no one else was awake to see him devour the first, so Dean decides to take it easy with this one.

Sam walks in, dressed and looking like he’s ready to take on the morning. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Dean says back.

“PB&J for breakfast? Strong work.”

Dean doesn’t even bother to look up, hearing the undertone of mockery. “Yep.”

“You want a beer with that?”

He pauses in his smearing and lifts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m cool?” he offers, confused. Dean can see Sam opening the fridge already and pulling out one of his beers from the most recently bought pack. Some of it is already gone, but that’s because Dean started dumping them down the sink to keep up the pretense that he’s still drinking.

“Come on,” Sam says. “Live a little.” The fridge closes and Sam walks over, placing the beer beside his plate.

Dean watches as a few droplets of condensation appear on the brown bottle, and glances up at Sam. “What’s going on with you?” he wonders.

“What do you mean?”

He just looks at Sam.

Sam looks back and then drops his gaze to the tablet in his hand. “Anyway, check this out,” he says, completely ignoring Dean’s question like the little shit brother that he is. “I think I found something.”

A case, of course it’s a case, and when Sam suggests leaving Jack behind, he’s mildly surprised. Even before Dean set out on the path to forgive the kid and show him that he can be better, Sam was so intent on being some kind of mentor for Jack, and that includes not leaving him alone.

“I mean, when’s the last time we worked a case?” Sam asks. “Just you and me.”

“It’s been a while,” Dean replies. He carefully places one slice of bread on top of the other, his second PB&J finally put together. Dean takes a bite out of it, making sure to be as obnoxious as possible when he’s chewing just to see the look of disgust on Sam’s face, and says, “I’ll go tell Jack, then.”

“You sure you don’t want me to do it?” Sam says, nose wrinkled.

“I got this,” Dean insists. He takes his plate with him and he makes his way through the Bunker and to Jack’s room, managing to eat a couple of more bites along the way.

Dean stops outside Jack’s room and hastily wipes his fingers on his pants. He raises a hand and knocks on the door once, twice, and only steps in when he hears Jack’s voice allowing him entry. The kid is sitting on the bed with a laptop in front of him, headphones resting around his neck, and he perks up when he sees Dean.

“Hey, kid,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “Sam and I are heading out to work on a case. Might be a hunt. Might not be. He decided that we’d leave you here to work it on our own, so I just wanted to let you know.”

“Oh.” Jack’s face falls. “I could help.”

“I know,” Dean replies, keeping his tone gentle. “But I guess Sammy wants to make up for something with me, so don’t take it to heart. He probably just thinks that I’m spending too much time in my room or something.”

“But you are spending too much time in your room,” Jack says with no scorn and more innocence. “Thanks for telling me, Dean.”

“You’ll be okay, right?” Dean asks, just to be sure.

“I will!” His eyes flick to Dean’s plate and he nods. “I think I’ll have a sandwich in a while,” he declares. “And Sam left me with a lot of movies. He also gave me the login information for something called Netflix? I think I’ll look at that, too.”

“Good on you,” Dean says. He glances down the hallway, both ways, and then steps further into the room, lowering his voice, “I also have a favor to ask. Is there a way you could… hide the baby? Make sure she can’t be detected by other angels or demons? I carry a hex bag around with me, but I want to be safer.”

“Sure I can,” Jack says brightly. He hops up off the bed and walks over to Dean, eyes already glowing golden when he rests a hand on Dean’s arm. They stand there for a few seconds, and Dean gets a burning sensation in that same area before it fades as Jack steps away. 

“That was easy,” Dean comments in surprise.

“All I did was strengthen the warding on your ribs,” Jack says proudly. “I was reading on how to do that, and it worked! I also etched a ward of my own onto your… ulna? Yes, your ulna. It should be just as strong since it’s tied to me, and it’ll keep her from being detected.”

“Thank you,” Dean says quietly, feeling some tension unwind from his shoulders. He takes another bite of his sandwich, watching Jack sit down on the edge of his bed. “We shouldn’t be gone for too long.”

“I know,” Jack replies.

“Alright.” Dean hesitates for a moment and then walks over. He ruffles Jack’s hair with his clean hand, and his heart aches a little at the wide-eyed look that Jack shoots him. “You take care, okay? Make sure you don’t get sucked into whatever Sam’s making you watch. Binging something day and night only makes it harder to sleep.”

“But I don’t sleep that much.”

Dean points the last piece of sandwich at him. “Exactly,” he says, and walks to the door. “Text me if you need anything, okay? You can also talk to Sam, too. There’s enough food in the fridge to last a while. Don’t open the door to anyone or anything, and make sure you clean up after yourself. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” Dean pauses in the doorway and looks back at Jack, who’s really just a kid in a young adult body. He’s staring at Dean, bright blue eyes innocent and unafraid, so much like the father he chose. It makes his heart ache to see it, but there’s none of that previous anger in that moment. “Add Indiana Jones to your list,” he says as his parting comment. “You need to be educated, and Sammy’s nerdy recommendations won’t help.”

✦ ✦ ✦

“Those bodies gotta be buried in the house somewhere,” Dean says as they rush down the stairs, turning toward his brother. Whispers fill the air around him, some brushing close to his ear, but not loud enough for him to hear what they’re saying—all the ghosts that can’t get free.

“Okay, so we check it, top to bottom.”

“There’s no time,” Dean says. Based on the activity going on around them, he’d say that they’re only moments away from being murdered by these ghosts. He drops his bag onto the floor and digs through it, shining his flashlight into the depths.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna find out where these bodies are buried,” Dean tells him. 

“So?”

“So, I’m gonna ask them.”

“What? How?”

“Easy.” His hand touches a metal case, and Dean pulls it out. He opens it, revealing two needles. “One needle stops the heart,” he explains, holding it up. “And the other starts it up again.”

He can already see the denial on Sam’s face, his litany of ‘nos’ following, but Dean can’t stand around and argue with him. “Look,” he says. “We can’t talk to him on this side of the veil, so I’m gonna go to the other side and work my way through all these Caspers until we find out where this freak hid the body.”

“Dean, you’re talking about killing yourself.”

“Yeah, well.” He pops the cap off with his teeth and spits it out to the side, gazing up at his brother. “It’s worked before.”

“That’s an insane risk to take.”

“Listen,” Dean says firmly, ignoring the anger on Sam’s face, the panic in his eyes, and the fact that he’s about to kill himself in front of his little brother. “I need three minutes, okay?”

“Don’t even—Dean!”

Dean presses the needle against his chest, fully prepared to let it pierce his chest and stop his heart. He throws out a quick apology to his child, hoping they survive through sheer will and angel powers, but the world stops before the needle can pierce his skin. Dean only notices because Sam’s frozen above him, face twisted into a mixture of rage and sorrow.

“Hey, Dean.”

He looks past Sam to the top of the stairs and sees a figure in black, one leather hand holding onto a gray colored scythe. Dean places the needle back in its case and slowly rises, making his way over to the bottom of the staircase.

“Billie,” he says quietly.

She stares down at him unblinkingly, though Dean detects a hint of the contempt that she always carried whenever she was around them. “We need to talk,” she says plainly.

“No,” Dean says, confused. “I saw Cas kill you.”

“How’s that working out for him?” she asks. He feels himself rear back a little, and she chuckles. “It’s funny,” she says. “to hear a Winchester talk about the finality of dying.” She doesn’t move an inch, but she seems taller, looming over him. “This reality—it has rules, Dean. So many rules. And one of them?” The amusement makes a return. “Kill one incarnation of Death, like you did, the next Reaper to die takes his place.”

His eyes dart over to the scythe in her hand, which stays in place as she pulls her hand away. “So, when Castiel stabbed me in the back,” she continues as she removes her gloves. “Turns out…” She wraps the same hand around the scythe, showing off the familiar white ring of Death. “I got a promotion. New job. New gear.”

“So, you died to become Death?” Dean can’t help but ask. 

“This universe can be so many things,” Billie replies. “and sometimes, it is poetic. That’s why we need to talk.” She gives him another stare before turning around, and suddenly he’s in another place, far from that creepy ass building with the freaky ghost.

“The hell?” Dean mutters, looking all around. There are shelves around him, each one stacked with black books, and the letter W on the side. The atmosphere is somewhat dreary, but he feels a weight pressing down on him, and he gets the feeling that he’s not supposed to be here.

“Welcome to my reading room,” Billie says. She moves ahead of him with her scythe, placing it on the far wall. “Know not to leave this lying around you. Don’t we?” She sounds amused again, like that’s some sort of inside joke between them, but Dean can’t bother to keep up the rapport.

“So,” he says. “Am I dead?”

“Are you?” she counters, stalking over to the desk in front of him. She peels off her leather trench coat and hangs it over the chair, gazing at him coolly.

“No,” he replies. “I didn’t get a chance to stop my heart. You didn’t let it happen, for whatever reason.”

“Yes,” she says. “I did.”

“And now you’re keeping me here?”

“I told you that we needed to talk,” she says. “Word on the interdimensional street is you’ve been slipping between worlds, Dean. I wanna know how you did it. Now. ”

“Well, I thought Death knew everything.”

“Then you can imagine how this one little blind spot is really bothering me.”

Dean stares at her. Even though she’s expressionless, he can tell that she’s unnerved by the situation, by the idea that he crossed into another world. “What’s in it for me?” he asks.

She crosses her arms, now looking utterly done with him (a face that’s too familiar). “What do you want?”

He thinks it over for a second. Dean could ask for Cas to come back, for Sam’s promised entry into Heaven, for protection of his little one, but all he can focus on is his job. “Free the ghosts,” he says after a beat.

“Excuse me?”

“Free the ghosts at the Meadows house,” he elaborates. “Let them move on, I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know.” Dean gives a half-hearted shrug.

Billie appraises him, and it feels like she’s peering into his soul, probably trying to find the truth to his words. “Deal,” she says with ease. Billie doesn’t say anything else for about a minute, eyes fixed on a point past his shoulder. Suddenly, she pierces him with her dark gaze and says, “It’s done.”

Dean narrows his eyes. It doesn’t look like anything happened… “How do I know I can trust you?” he asks.

“You don’t,” she replies. She moves around the table, walking closer to him. “But then again, I’m not the one breaking cosmic bargains left and right, now, am I?” There’s a hint of a smirk on her face.

He huffs out a laugh and says, “Yeah, it’s not like you to hold a grudge.”

“Don’t I?” The amusement fades from her face, and she clasps her hands in front of her. “So… spill.”

Dean wants to keep the answer to himself, unsure of how Death would feel about the birth of a Nephilim, but if she really freed the ghosts from their personal Hell, then… “Lucifer’s son,” he tells her. “Jack. When he was born, it created a little rip.”

“A little rip,” she repeats, sounding bemused.

“Mm.”

“Into another world? And you went there?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ll just say it’s, uh, it’s not Candy Land.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I do.” She steps closer to him, gaze laser-focused on him. “Because this whole multiversal quantum construct we live in, it’s like a house of cards. And the last thing I need is some big, dumb Winchester knocking it all down.”

“Hmm.” Dean’s lips twitch. “That does sound like us.”

She stares at him for a second longer and then tilts her head to one side. “You’ve changed,” she says. “When you bargained with me just now, you could’ve asked for so many things. I almost expected for you to ask for Castiel to make a return.”

“Well, I figure with you in charge, there’s no way for me to ask for that,” Dean tells her.

She blinks. “That doesn’t sound like the Dean Winchester I know and love,” she says, moving past him, arms behind her back. He turns to watch her stand in front of one of the W shelves. “The man who’s been dead so many times but it never seemed to stick, the man who risks it all for those that he loves.” She turns, eyebrows raised. “Maybe you’re not that guy anymore. The guy who saves the world, the guy who always thinks he’ll win no matter what.” Billie holds her head up high, and he feels like he’s being looked down on. “You have changed.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. Has he really changed that much? If he actually managed to sink that needle into his chest, he’s certain that he’d be feeling the same way, saying the same things, but the hopelessness that’s been following him since that night at Kelly’s house is a reminder that he truly has.

He was just about to kill himself to try and finish their hunt, not even caring that Sammy was watching, that Jack was waiting for them at home, that his and Cas’s baby is still growing in his womb.

“And you tell people it’s not a big deal,” Billie continues. “You tell people you’ll work through it, but you know you won’t, you can’t, and that scares the hell out of you. Or…” She ducks her head slightly. “Am I wrong?”

Dean offers a shrug. “What do you want me to say? Doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head. “I don’t matter.”

“Don’t you?”

He stares her down, and finally the grief spills over and pours itself into his words, “I couldn’t save mom. I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down.” He swallows. “So, I’m not gonna beg for anything. You stopped me before it could happen, but when it’s my time, then it’s my time, and I won’t beg for another chance at life even then.”

It’s still hard to think about, but the life blooming inside him is enough proof that he’s on a timer. When it runs out, the world will be gifted with another Nephilim—another orphan for the sad Winchester story, and he’ll be thrown into the Empty, cursed to sleep in his worst memories for eternity.

Billie regards him with a look he can’t read. “You really believe that,” she says. “You wanna die.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Dean…” Billie turns toward the shelves again. “Every notebook on this particular shelf tells a version of how you die.” She places her hand on one and looks at him yet again. “You specifically—” Billie touches one of the books. “Heart attack.” Another. “Burned by a red-haired witch.” And another. “Stabbed by a ghoul in a graveyard, and on and on…”

Dean’s eyes follow the stacks of books, all climbing up high to an impossible ceiling. It’s daunting to realize how many deaths there are, and Dean can’t help but feel smaller, insignificant. 

“But which one’s right?” Billie wonders. “That depends on you, on the choices you make.” She pauses, sweeping her gaze over them again. “But, unfortunately, none of these books say you die today.”

Is that why she stopped him? Dean wonders. He flexes his fingers at his side and continues to stare at her, waiting for the rest of this damn explanation.

Billie must see the confusion on his face because she elaborates, “Since I got this… new job, I stand witness to a much larger picture. Do you know what I see?” He shakes his head. “You. And your brother.” She doesn’t look pleased about it. “You’re important.”

“Why?” he asks.

“You have work to do.” She walks toward her desk, and he senses the dismissal. “That’s all you need to know. And trust me, having my eyes opened to the necessity of any humans, especially Winchesters, is not a thrill.”

He almost laughs but refrains from doing so, predicting that Billie wouldn’t like that. “You know, then,” Dean says. “You know what’ll happen to me if I see this through.”

She inclines her head. 

“Then you also know that I’m on a timer.”

“Are you?” she counters. “You wanna die, Dean, but I say keep living.” Billie stares him down and repeats her earlier words, “You’re important.”

A long stretch of silence follows, both on either side of the desk. Dean senses that this is the end of his time with Billie, so he steps forward, intent on gaining more information. “I need to know,” he says. “My—”

She raises a hand, and suddenly he’s back in the Meadows place, Sam standing in front of him. The needle is back in his hand, somehow, and Sam practically yanks it out of his hand. He grabs Dean’s biceps and shakes him, saying a lot of things that Dean can’t really register. Dean looks around the place and it feels lighter, like there’s no more ghosts haunting the place, and he finally believes that Billie kept her end of the deal.

“Dean?” 

“Huh?” He glances back at Sam, who’s looking at him in concern. “What?”

“You okay? You didn’t actually inject yourself, right?” Now Sam’s looking him over, as if he could see any visible difference. “Why’d you stop yourself?”

Dean opens his mouth, considers the situation, and shuts it. “I’ll tell you after we finish up here,” he says quietly. “We’ve gotta let the police know about this place.”

✦ ✦ ✦

A couple of cops exit the building with a body bag on a gurney, toting it over to the side where the rest of them lay. Yellow tape spans from tree to tree, separating him from the area. The cops leave him alone, for the most part, and Dean’s a little thankful for that. He doesn’t feel like talking to any of them.

Dean watches Sam as he talks to the mother of the kid that they failed. He can see the way she tries not to cry just yet, face scrunched up and body curled inwards. Sam says something to her, and then he makes his way over to Dean, shoulders slumped.

“How’d it go?” he still asks.

“About how you’d figure,” Sam says, standing beside him. They watch the police process a few things for a moment, and then Sam asks, “Hey, what happened back there? I mean, it seemed like you didn’t take the shot, and all of sudden, you’re standing in front of me looking confused.”

Dean shrugs. “I dunno,” he replies, starting to move towards the driver’s side of the car.

“Wait—hold on a sec, Dean. What about the ghosts? ‘Cause I checked the EMF after that. They’re all gone.”

“We can talk about it later.”

“We won’t talk about it later, you know that.”

Dean glances at him and away, gazing at the crime scene for a few seconds. He lets out a breath and steps closer to Sam, lowering his voice when he says, “I saw Death. The Death.”

Sam stares at him in disbelief and even shakes his head. “He’s dead.”

“No, s he’s not,” Dean replies. He clenches his hands, licking his lips. “It’s Billie. I guess she got a new gig. She’s the one that took care of the ghosts.”

“Why would she help us?”

“She wanted intel,” Dean answers. “She said that we were important, that we have work to do.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I have no clue.” Dean glances over at the grieving mother, who finally gave into her sorrow and is sobbing into her hand. It hurts to see physical proof of their failure, and Dean feels a fresh wave of self-loathing crash over him. He digs his nails into his palms, wishing he had the power to magically make it all better.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

He thinks about what Billie told him. “No,” he says, subdued, looking back at his brother. “Sam, I’m not okay. I’m pretty far from okay.” And Sam looks a little crushed at that, but Dean can’t stop to comfort him, he’s gotta continue while he has the momentum, “You know, my whole life, I always believed that what we do was important. No matter what the cost, no matter who we lost, whether it was Dad or Bobby or—” He takes a breath, glancing away. “And I would take the hit, but I kept on fighting because I believed that we were making the world a better place.”

Grief reawakens in his chest, one of the few monsters that he could never kill. It makes his stomach feel shaky, this type of nausea mixing in with the morning sickness, making him want to puke up his guts until there’s nothing left.

“And now Mom, and Cas.” His voice breaks a little. “And I-I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“So now you don’t believe anymore,” Sam says quietly.

“I just need a win,” Dean tells him, meeting his gaze for a split second. “I just need a damn win.” He then walks over to the driver’s side and slides in, starting the car and just sitting there while Sam’s still outside. Dean grips the steering wheel and rests his forehead against it, trying to wrangle his emotions into some semblance of control before Sammy finds him crying his heart out.

He’s going to blame the baby for that one.

When Sam enters the car, he drives off without saying anything else, one of his cassette tapes playing to fill up the silence between them. Dean tries not to think about what just happened, what he just learned, and he certainly doesn’t spend any time pondering the clock above his head, indicating how much time he has left on this earth.

It’ll be worth it, he tells himself. Dean doesn’t rest a hand in his stomach, so he directs the thought towards his baby. It has to be worth it.

Dean’s got a couple of reasons to keep living right now, sure, but if he has to die to bring his baby into the world, then he’s fine with that. Then, at least he has a chance of being with Cas…

His phone rings as he’s driving through the darkness, Sam asleep in the passenger seat with only his headlights and the street lamps guiding his way home. Steppenwolf’s ‘It’s Never Too Late’ continues to croon in the background as he picks up his phone. Sam’s already sitting up and stretching by the time he taps on the accept call button and holds it up to his ear.

“Yeah,” he says, a little too short, a little too tired.

The voice on the other end nearly makes him drop it, and he can’t even articulate a proper response. “What?” Sam asks, but all Dean can do is just look over at him in disbelief. He turns his attention back to the road, hand flexing against the steering wheel, and he responds with some affirmative hum.

He lets the phone fall to his lap when the call ends and he just keeps driving. Dean ignores all of Sam’s questions, instead focusing on getting to his mental waypoint, pushing the car to its limit as he tries to get there as fast as possible.

Dean pulls up to a somewhat sketchy area. Its dim lighting doesn’t do it any wonders, and the only thing out of place is the neon blue cross hanging off the side of a building. He parks a few feet away from the phone booth.

Getting the call and hearing Cas’s voice was not something he expected to come out of the night, but it doesn’t compare to seeing him in person, in that stupid dumb coat that he never thought to get rid of, with those piercing blue eyes, looking like nothing ever happened or changed, like Dean didn’t spend all these months grieving him, his loss a wound that could never completely heal.

He stops short just a few feet away from him, gaze flicking all over the angel. Dean’s distantly aware of Sam stopping behind him, probably as shocked as Dean’s feeling, but Dean can’t comfort him right now, assure him that it’s Cas (because Dean knows deep in his heart, his soul, that it’s him).

No, he’s too busy drinking him in, too busy making himself believe that this is real.

“Cas,” he says, but it comes out in a breathy whisper, something that somehow isn’t drowned out by the sounds of the city around them.

Cas stares back at him, and he seems just as surprised as Dean feels. “Hello, Dean,” he says in that rough voice of his. It’s almost like he never left, like he never died in front of Cas, like his wings weren’t burned into the ground and Dean had to wrap up his body, hands gentle and shaking, and place it on a pyre for him to burn.

Dean’s heart beats in his chest, faster now that he’s seeing the angel before him. His knees tremble, and he fears that taking a step closer might send him to the ground and break him apart. He takes a deep breath, lungs filling with smoggy, city air, and warmth spreads through his body.

And with it comes the sensation that everything is finally right.

Chapter Text

A siren wails in the distance, and trees rustle on the far end of the lot. Dean keeps staring at the angel standing in front of him, stomach flipping with nerves, excitement. “Cas, is that really you?” he asks, but he knows deep in his heart that it’s him—in his soul, even. It recognizes Cas’s grace, the imprint of it embedded on his soul from when Cas pulled him out of Hell.

“No, you’re—you’re dead,” Sam says. He sounds as stunned as Dean feels.

“Yeah, I was,” Cas says as he starts walking over. He sounds dazed, an undertone of disbelief to his words. “But then I… annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that he sent me back.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Sam replies.

Dean keeps drinking Cas in, eyes caught on the small twitch of his lips, the way his body is relaxed, shoulders slightly hunched as if strained by those wings on his back. “I do,” he says, voice wobbling at the corners (unnoticeable, he hopes). Dean walks closer to Cas, eyes locked on his form. “Welcome home, pal.”

I missed you, Dean thinks as he wraps his arms around Cas, hugging him tightly. I missed you so fucking much. You don’t even know what I went through while you were away, you don’t even know how much I mourned you. I realized that I need you in my life, Cas, and now I know that I can’t handle you leaving me again.

Please don’t leave me again.

He feels Cas return the embrace, not as tight—holding back on his strength because he remembers how delicate humans can be. Dean smiles, despite himself, and pulls away, giving Sam the chance to give him a hug as well.

“How long was I gone?” Cas asks when Sam steps away.

There’s no hiding the way his voice breaks when Dean answers, “Too damn long.”

Cas looks over at him, eyes piercing, and he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He huffs out a laugh and glances away, for a moment, to give himself the chance to rein his emotions in. “Much better now.”

“What do you remember?” Sam asks. He sounds cautious and Dean commends him for that, but he knows that this is Cas—no one could ever trick him on that, and he’s not counting what Asmodeus was doing over the phone.

“I came to in a meadow,” Cas says. “There was an old Windmill with a garden near a quiet brook. Then, I walked here.”

“That’s where Dean spread your ashes,” Sam tells him, like he’s not revealing something huge on Dean’s part. “After we burned you.”

Heat climbs to Dean’s face, but this time, he doesn’t feel embarrassed, not with the way Cas looks at him with pleasant surprise. “You like the Windmill?” he asks, keeping the eagerness out of his voice. “Thought it was a real calm, zen sort of place.” Perfect for you.

“I did,” Cas says, and Dean’s not imagining the hint of a smile on his face. “It was a nice touch.”

“Where were you, then?” Sam questions. “In Heaven?”

Cas’s eyes flick over to Dean and back. It’s only a second, but Dean senses that he won’t like the answer. “No,” Cas says. “No, I was in the Empty.”

“Really,” Dean breathes in shock.

“Apparently, it’s where angels and demons go when they die,” Cas replies.

“What was it like?” Sam asks.

You can’t just ask people that, Sammy, Dean thinks, but he leans forward to listen. He’s curious about the place, especially when he’s got a spot there saved for him, according to Billie. For a moment, it doesn’t look like Cas is going to speak, but then he opens his mouth:

“Well, it’s dark, and… nothing.” Cas looks past them, eyes somewhat hazy. “It’s like… nothing.” He pauses for a moment, and confusion enters his voice as he continues, “I was sleeping, and then I heard a voice that said my name, and I woke up.” He looks between the brothers now. “I thought you had done something.”

Regret festers at the back of his mouth, making the lingering taste of his earlier meal (a quick burger from a drive through) sour. “No, we…” Dean looks over at Sam and back, guilty. “We didn’t even think we could bring you back.”

I should have tried harder, he thinks, hands curled into fists. I should have been the one to bring you home.

“So, who was it?” Sam asks. “Chuck—uh, God?”

“No,” Cas says with a small shake of his head. “No, he has no power in the Empty.”

“Well, then who does?” Dean asks, because if there’s something out there that’s strong enough to wake Cas up and help him out of the Empty, then that might spell trouble for them. “Honestly, whatever it was, I don’t care,” he admits, and there’s no hiding the joy in his voice when he adds, “You’re back!”

“I suppose you have a point,” Cas says, looking thoughtful.

It’s Sam who gives out an idea, though. “Jack,” he says in a disbelieving voice.

And Cas looks up at him with that familiar, confused tilt to his head. It makes Dean’s heart lurch in his chest. “Jack?” Cas breathes. “Kelly’s son? He’s… okay? He’s with you two?”

“Yup,” Dean cuts in with a nod. “He, uh.” He rubs the back of his head, not sure how he could explain. “Obviously you know he was born the night you… that night, but when Sam and I went up to Kelly’s room, we didn’t find a baby. Instead, we found footprints leading to Jack’s room, and there was a young adult in there rather than… a baby.”

“He said that he had to grow up,” Sam says next. “That his mother said the world was dangerous for a baby.”

“Interesting,” Cas says quietly. He peers past them and asks, “Did you bring him with you, or…?”

“He’s at the Bunker,” Dean says. “Sam was confident that Jack would be fine on his own while the two of us went out on a hunt. So, if something happens, then you can blame Sam.” He ignores Sam’s indignant sputtering, more focused on the way Cas’s lips twitch, and continues, “We can… we can go home right now, Cas. You can meet him.”

Dean’s just desperate to have Cas back in the Bunker, a place where he can keep an eye on the angel and make sure that he never disappears again. He moves close enough to place his hand on Cas’s shoulder, the touch centering him, and starts guiding him to the backseats of the Impala.

“Come on,” he insists. “We can be there before it hits morning.” He squints up at the sky, where the half-moon remains hidden behind the clouds. “Maybe. Either way, the kid will be awake. He doesn’t sleep that much, y’know.”

“Will you tell me more about him?” Cas asks, and he peers at Dean with those stunning blue eyes of his. “I’d… I’d like to know. I don’t want to meet him blindly.”

Dean stares at him before nodding. “Of course,” he says softly. “Sam can tell you some things, too. He’s…” He stops and swallows, opening the door to the driver’s side. “He’s a good kid, Cas,” Dean ends up saying. “He’s going to love you.”

“I hope so,” Cas says.

✦ ✦ ✦

Jack’s sitting on a table in the library, tapping away on the keyboard. He doesn’t even look up when Dean walks over to him, simply asking, “How’d it go?”

“Well…” Dean begins, and then stops, unsure of how to continue.

“Jack, um…” Sam sounds the same.

The kid finally stops typing and looks up at them. He quietly observes Sam’s face, and then looks over at Dean. His brows furrow, and Dean can see confusion blossom on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, curiously.

Dean simply shakes his head and looks to the side, where Cas is slowly walking up the steps. 

“Hello, Jack,” Cas says.

Confusion lingers on Jack’s face, but now his attention is turned toward the other angel, both of them looking at each other like neither Dean nor Sam are still in the room. “Castiel?” Jack wonders. 

He makes Cas’s name sound even holier. It reminds Dean of all the times that he greeted his father after John returned from a long hunt, glad to see him back after such a long time away, relief and gratitude thrumming through him—another step added to the pedestal that he could never reach.

“Yeah,” Cas says with a small sigh. “It’s me.”

“No,” Jack says with a note of disbelief. He rises from his chair and slowly moves closer to Cas. “We burned your body, and what’s burned stays dead.” His voice trembles minutely. “How…”

“Well,” Dean says, gazing at the kid, the one who probably has enough power to pull this off (and damn, that makes him feel even worse for his past behavior). “That’s the question we’ve been asking.”

“Jack,” Sam says. “Did you, uh… Did you bring Cas back?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jack replies. He hunches his shoulders, it reminds Dean so much of Cas. “I wanted him back. I begged for him to come back, but…”

“Well, here he is,” Dean says, not bothering to hide the gratitude in his voice.

“Because of me?” Jack wonders.

“We don’t know,” Sam answers. “We don’t know, Jack, But we think maybe…”

And now, Cas looks back to Jack. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners, when he says, “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack relaxes, faces easing up. His eyes glimmer, and Dean’s afraid he might start crying. The kid slowly walks closer to Cas, much like a child’s first step toward a parent. “I missed you so much,” he says and wraps his arms around Cas, who returns the embrace immediately.

From this angle, Dean can see the contentment on Cas’s face, and the way he closes his eyes, completely relaxed. He commits it to memory because there will come a day when Cas does exactly this with their child, and he won’t be around to see it.

“Sam and Dean tell me you’re doing well,” Cas says after they part, breaking him out of his sad thoughts.

“I am,” Jack says with a nod. His face breaks out into a smile, and he turns toward the table. “Watch this!” Jack holds a hand out above the pencil lying next to the laptop and, to his surprise, it starts floating. He chuckles, looking back at them as he says proudly, “I can move the pencil!” Then, he takes a seat in front of the laptop and adds, “And I found a case. A hunter’s case.”

These kids and their energy, Dean thinks tiredly. How Jack can go from one subject to the next, he’ll never know.

“What kind of a—” Dean starts asking, only to be cut off by an excited Jack.

“Zombies!” He turns to look at Cas and says in a whisper that even Dean can hear, “I know what zombies are now.” Jack clicks something on the computer, bringing up an article that he must have found earlier. “You see?”

Perplexed, Dean asks, “Wait, where’d you learn to do that?”

“By watching you,” Jack answers happily. “And Sam.” He leans forward, eyes flicking to and fro, and says, “Three days ago, a vintage pocket watch with a personal inscription was sold at a pawn shop. But when they went to authenticate it, they found out that it’d been buried with its owner… twenty years ago. And when they checked out the grave, it was empty. Which means…” He clicks on the same button, his excitement obvious by the way he smiles. “... the dead are rising in Dodge City, Kansas.”

Dean perks up, and now he’s excited as well, except it’s for a different reason. Cas’s eyes flick over to him, and there’s a small amount of exasperation in them, because he knows why Dean would care about such a thing. Dean hides his smile by ducking his head, and refrains from saying anything (for now).

“Right,” Sam says. “Or maybe it’s a grave robbery, but…”

“Oh,” Jack says, deflating.

“Yeah, but, we should probably check it out,” Dean tells them. He offers a quick smile to Jack, who returns it and goes back to sitting up straight.

“Wait, really?” Cas asks.

“Yeah,” Dean replies with a shrug. “We’ve done more on less, haven’t we?” And now, he can’t contain his grin. “Besides, Dodge City’s kind of, uh, awesome.” He knocks his knuckles against the table in front of him, nodding. “Alright, well, two salty hunters, one half-angel kid, and a dude who just came back from the dead. Again.” Everyone stares at him with different expressions. Disbelief (Sam), confusion (Cas), and excitement (Jack). “Team Free Will 2.0,” he declares. “Here we go…” Dean pauses, considers his little raspberry (or olive), and adds, “In the morning.”

“I mean,” Sam says. “It sounds like you really wanna go right now.”

“Yeah, well, we need the rest,” Dean says. Now that he’s said it, he can feel exhaustion tugging at his body, trying to coax him to his soft, warm, memory foam bed. “It’s a three-and-a-half-hour drive. I’d rather have a clear mind when I get there.” Because there are definitely going to be a lot of things that Dean wants to look at in Dodge City.

“Can we eat, first?” Jack asks, eyes slightly wide and pleading. “I haven’t had the chance to make something and… I’m getting kinda tired of sandwiches…”

“You didn’t try to make anything else?” Sam frowns. “We have a ton of food around here, Jack. Remember those soup packets I showed you? Those only take like three minutes to make on the stove.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jack replies. He glances over at Dean and back, fiddling with the pencil on the table. “I don’t really know my way around the kitchen… Not like Dean.”

“I’ll head out and grab something,” Dean tells him. He checks his pocket to make sure his keys are still there and nods, turning on his heel. “Text me your orders and I’ll grab them.” He pauses and turns to look over his shoulder at Cas, raising a brow. “You coming with?”

“I don’t need to eat,” Cas replies.

“Yeah, but I need someone to carry all the food when we get back,” Dean explains, exasperated. It’s definitely not because he wants to spend more time with Cas now that he’s back. Nope. “And you’ve got that flashy angel strength, y’know?”

“Food isn’t that heavy, Dean,” Cas says, but he does follow Dean after a beat.

Dean ignores the look of amusement and offers a salute to his brother and Jack before making his way back up the stairs and out of the Bunker. The cold air greets him and Dean lets out a sigh, tipping his head back to look at the sky, for a moment.

“S’gonna stop being like this soon,” he comments. “Summer’s right around the corner.”

“And with it, all of your complaints about mosquitos, the one hundred-degree weather, the sweat making your shirt stick to your back on hunts, and other things,” Cas says dryly, but the twitch of his lips tells him that he’s teasing (teasing!) Dean.

He huffs and rolls his eyes, shoving Cas. Not that it does much, with him being the celestial being that he is, and he bites back his smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, striding over to his car. “Come on, let’s go get some grub.”

It doesn’t take long for Dean to roll into the parking lot of a twenty-four hour diner, one of his favorites when the insomnia is hitting hard and he just needs some coffee. He greets a few of the people by name and offers a wave, Cas silent at his side. Once he obtains the food, he gestures for Cas to take it.

“Dean,” Cas complains, but still, he takes the bags of food in hand, and the glare on his face lacks heat. “You are more than capable of doing this yourself.”

“I know,” Dean says cheerfully. “But it’s nice to see you work.” It’s nice to have you with me.

Cas keeps the food in his lap while Dean drives, tapping his fingers to the beat of Spirit in the Sky. He doesn’t even bother to hide his grin when he catches Cas’s subtle headbob, matching it perfectly. Dean lets his other hand fall out the wind, feeling the wind against his fingers, and marvels at the small ball of happiness resting in his chest.

Dinner is mostly a quiet affair, the only chatter coming from Jack, who continuously asks questions to an ever-patient Cas. It ranges from things that he read, going into wondering if Cas ever experienced something similar. Dean has to hide his smile behind a bite of food on several occasions, and he spies Sam doing the same thing.

Eventually, they all part for bed, but Dean doesn’t go just yet. He leads Cas to the library after Jack gives him another hug, and Dean guides him into one of the chairs. Dean pours Cas a glass of whiskey and then, after a second thought, pours himself one to keep up appearance. It’s not like he has to drink it, so… 

“Here you go,” Dean says, handing it over with a smile.

“I don’t drink,” Cas replies, but he still takes it in his hand. He says nothing else as Dean takes a seat beside him, and the two of them sit in a comfortable silence, one that Dean has missed over those long, painful months.

“You’ll stay, right?” Dean asks quietly, nudging Cas with his elbow. The simple touch reminds him that Cas is there, that this is real, and Dean allows himself to shift even closer, falling back into Cas’s orbit. “I mean, we got a room set up for you, and I’m sure the kid would be happy to see you again in the morning.”

“If that’s what you’d like,” Cas replies.

“I’m asking if you want to, Cas,” Dean says firmly. He huffs, then, and shakes his head. “Didn’t we go over this years ago? You should make your own decisions on how you feel, Cas. Don’t do anything just because someone else wants you to do it.”

This is why I never ask you to stay, Dean thinks, dropping his gaze to Cas’s hands. Warrior’s hands, and yet they curl delicately around the glass in his hand, whiskey untouched. I’m afraid you won’t stay for yourself, for me, and that it’s just a form of obligation for you.

“But it’d be nice,” he can’t help but add quietly. “No pressure, though.”

“I…” Cas pauses. He stares down at the glass in his hands. “I plan on staying, Dean. We have a case in the morning, if you recall. And even if we didn’t… I’d stay.”

“Okay,” Dean replies simply, ignoring the way his heart soars. “Awesome.”

They sit in silence for a while, Cas not drinking and Dean pretending to drink. At some point, he feels Cas’s eyes on him and he looks over, curious. “What’s up?” he asks, scratching at his jaw. “Do I have something on my face, or…”

“No, but there’s something different about you,” Cas says plainly. He’s staring at Dean intently, like he can read all the secrets just by looking at his soul. In all honesty, he probably could. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Dean knows the silence that follows isn’t a lull in conversation. Cas is waiting for an answer. “I’m just…” he starts. Dean chews on his bottom lip, trying to think of what to say in such a short amount of time. “I’m just happy to have you home, man. These last few months were rough without you.”

“Oh,” Cas says. Dean wonders if he imagined the little pleased not to that small word. “I—Where I was, in the Empty, I did not have the luxury of thinking for myself, but once I was awake, the only thing I wanted to do was come home to you.” A pause. “All of you.”

Heat rises to Dean’s cheeks, and he hopes to any mystical being out there that he’s not visibly blushing. “Right,” Dean says. He stares at Cas, catching sight of the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and then glances away. Maybe… “You should know something, Cas.”

“Yes?”

“I’m—”

The sound of footsteps makes his mouth click shut, and then Sam’s walking into the room with an open book in his hands. He lifts his head and stops, brows furrowed. “Uh,” he says awkwardly. “Did I just interrupt something?”

“We were just talking about how you need a haircut,” Dean says quickly. He nudges Cas with his elbow again, a smirk on his face. “Right, Cas? You agree with me, don’t you?”

“We weren’t—” Cas begins, but then he glances over at Dean, who narrows his eyes in his direction. “I was simply wondering if you did something different with your hair, Sam. It looks a lot more frizzier than normal.” There’s that awkward lilt to his voice, an indication of his bad lying skills, and Dean tries so hard to not crack up.

Sam glares at Dean. “Seriously?” he complains, stalking past them to one of the many bookshelves. “He’s back not even a full day and you’re already trying to turn him against me. Again.” He turns back to look at them, scowling. “And you gotta stop humoring him, Cas.”

“Sorry I’m his favorite,” Dean says haughtily, thumbing his nose. “Guess you gotta work hard to climb up the ranks.”

“So do you, Dean,” Cas says, mirth in his bright blue eyes. “Jack is already in first place.”

Sam laughs at that, head tossed back as he clutches his stomach with one arm. It echoes, covering up the way Dean sputters indignantly. Eventually, he just knocks his shoulder against Cas and lets a chuckle slip out, shaking his head.

“You spend too much time with me,” he accuses. 

Cas inclines his head. “That may be true,” he says. “But I don’t mind.”

Dean ducks his head to hide his smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, elbowing Cas. He watches Sam for a few seconds before turning to face his friend. “Let’s get outta here,” he says. “Leave the nerd to his reading.” As they walk out of there, he turns slightly and points at Cas, “You need your rest.”

“I don’t need to sleep,” Cas says, polite but amused. “I will probably end up reading in the library. Whatever we have on Nephilim, so I can understand Jack better and help him with whatever he needs.” He peers at Dean, then, and arches a brow. “You look like you need sleep.”

“Thanks,” Dean says dryly. “You say the sweetest things.”

But Cas is still looking at him, concern in his blue eyes. “You’ve been having nightmares,” he deduces, because he knows Dean so fucking well. “And you’d rather not sleep to avoid them.”

Dean reaches up and rubs his cheek when he feels heat bloom in them. “Don’t read me like that, man,” he mumbles, glancing away. “I’ve told you this before.”

“My mistake.”

Silence follows, and Dean just stares at the floor, at the stain on his boot. Is it blood? It must be. Dean should probably look into cleaning that.

“I could stay and watch over you,” Cas offers after a while. “As I said before, I don’t need to, so it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle to sit with you and chase away any nightmares.” He pauses, and then adds in a softer tone, “Only if you’d like for me to do so, Dean. I can be gone before you wake up.”

Not the first time you left me high and dry, Dean thinks, a touch bitterly, and sighs. “You don’t have to, Cas,” he says. “I’ve been dealing with plenty of nightmares, what’s one more night?”

“I chased them away before,” Cas says. “And you always seemed to function better after those nights.” He shifts closer, and Dean feels the brush of Cas’s hand against his arm. “Please, Dean. Let me do this for you.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “You can be really convincing, you know,” he says, but there’s more fondness than anything in his voice. “Alright, fine. You can sit in my room and go back to your old, creepy ways while I sleep. Happy, now?”

“Very,” Cas says. He moves past Dean, walking in the direction of Dean’s room. “Seeing you well rested is one of the few things that bring me joy in this world.” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice when he continues, “You’re much more manageable when you have more than four hours of sleep in your system, did you know that?”

“Hey,” Dean complains. “I’ll have you know that I’m always manageable… so long as I have coffee in my system.”

“Oh,” Cas says, amused. “I’m well aware.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and the rest of their walk is quiet. He’s hyperaware of Cas’s presence beside him the whole way there, and Dean has to fight the urge to reach out and grab hold of him several times. A part of him is still in disbelief that Cas is actually back, that all his months of suffering and pain are finally over.

They finally make it to Dean’s room, and he hastily opens the door, letting it swing open. His room is somewhat clean, signs of his depression no longer scattered around, and Dean counts himself grateful. He knows that Cas would never judge him for a messy room, but Dean can’t help but feel a little worried that he might.

“You can…” He gestures to his desk. “Sit there while I get ready for bed, I guess. If you’re still sure about sitting with me until I sleep.”

Cas is already walking over, sinking into the chair with little fanfare. He glances up at Dean, eyes slightly narrowed, and says, “Why would I change my mind on that?”

Dean holds his hands up in surrender, and then quickly makes his way into the bathroom without another word. He takes some time to wash the day off of him, mind going blank as he goes through the motions of washing his body and hair. Once done, Dean simply wraps a towel around his waist and goes about brushing his teeth, uncaring of the water dripping on the floor.

“Forgot clothes,” he mutters to himself. Dean sucks air in through his teeth, weighing his options, and then decides that it can’t be too awkward to walk into his room with only a towel. Cas has seen him at his worst, so what harm can a little bit of skin do?

“I just need some clothes,” Dean explains when he steps out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, shivering at the chill that brushes against his skin. Goosebumps rise on his skin, but he doesn’t know if it’s from the cold or from the way Cas looks at him. “Just give me a moment.”

“Okay,” Cas says, and Dean thinks that his voice sounds a touch rougher, too.

Or maybe it’s just his imagination playing tricks on him.

Dean gathers up a fresh pair of boxer shorts and his pajamas, and brings them back into the warmth of the bathroom. There’s less steam now, and the room feels more muggy than warm, but Dean would rather dress in there than beneath the eyes of Cas, who still remains unashamed in most instances.

“There,” Dean declares, finally returning to the room. He heads over to his sock drawer and pulls out one of the fuzzy ones, slipping them on. His feet keep getting cold, and he’s gonna blame the baby for that one. “But I doubt that I’m gonna sleep.”

“I could help you along,” Cas says. He rises and drags the chair closer, and then holds out two fingers. “It wouldn’t take much to put you to sleep.”

“No,” Dean says. “Don’t do that.” He slips beneath the covers, shifting until he’s comfortable on his pillow, and looks over at Cas, sitting beside the soft lamplight. “Gonna try and fall asleep on my own.”

“Of course.”

“But can I tell you something?”

“Always, Dean.”

Tell him now! Dean’s brain screams at him. He swallows and grips the sheets tightly, gazing at Cas’s face. Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and he sighs, mentally berating his cowardice.

“I was pretty fucked up for a while,” he admits after a moment of silence. Dean rolls onto his side and stares in the general direction of Cas. “And I took it out on the kid. I shouldn’t have, I know, but I couldn’t… You know how I get, sometimes.” He chews on his bottom lip, wishing he had the ability to see in the dark. “I’m trying to be better about it, though, so Jack and I, we’re… we’re okay, now.”

Cas stays quiet for a long moment, causing Dean’s anxiety to rise, and then he says, “I’m glad you’re working things out. Jack looks up to you.”

Dean huffs out a laugh and says, “I noticed.”

“You only see what’s on the surface,” Cas says, a note of teasing to his voice. “Jack’s still only a child, Dean, even though he doesn’t look the part. He looks up to you, searching for guidance, support, and there’s a high chance that he views you as a father figure.”

“I know…”

“He’s eager to please you, and he wants to make you happy.” Here, Cas pauses, and then says slowly, “Much like you used to do with your father.”

Dean turns onto his back again, bringing his arm up to cover his eyes (not that he’s seeing much). “I know that, too,” he says roughly. “And… I think that’s part of why I lashed out at him. I didn’t want him to see me the way I saw my father, and watching him copy the things I did… It reminded me too much of myself.”

“You’re doing exceptional with him,” Cas says in a warm voice. “And I thank you for that.”

“You shouldn’t,” Dean says. “If you saw how I was in the beginning…”

“But you changed, Dean,” Cas says firmly. “And you’re aware of what you did wrong. That speaks volumes. I’m certain Jack doesn’t hold it against you.” He leans closer, face close to Dean’s, and hums. “The way you see yourself lacks any weight when I look at you and I know that you’re more than your anger. You’re capable of such kindness, Dean Winchester, and there’s so much love in your heart; there’s no possible way for you to turn into the shell that your father once was.”

There’s a lump in Dean’s throat, suddenly, and Dean struggles to formulate a response. He says nothing even as Cas sits back in his chair, seemingly satisfied with his words, and Dean has to fight the burning that starts in his eyes. 

“Okay,” he says finally, exhaling shakily. “Thanks.”

It soothes the worries that were plaguing him since he first discovered the pregnancy, and also the few that surrounded his thoughts on his behavior toward Jack. He resists the urge to cover his stomach, knowing that Cas will question the gesture, and instead casts his gaze back on Cas, who is reading one of the many dog-eared books he has on his bedside table.

Good thing he hid those pregnancy books.

One second, he’s watching Cas slowly flip through the pages, quiet and almost like white noise, and the next, his eyes are growing heavy. Dean catches glimpses of Cas between each blink, but he doesn’t know if it’s real when Cas leans closer and brushes a thumb down Dean’s cheek, doesn’t know if he imagines his rough voice softly speaking Enochian before darkness gently pulls him down to sleep.

✦ ✦ ✦

The hunt goes right, and then it goes so, so wrong. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Dean enters the Bunker and pauses at the top of the steps, all of the day’s events weighing him down. He peers down, catching Cas’s gaze for a singular second, and then sighs. He slowly makes his way down the steps, each one heavier, and then walks over to Sam, who rises from his seat. Cas stays sitting and Jack… is off to the side, looking forlorn.

“Hey,” Sam says.

“Hey,” Dean says back.

“How’d it go?”

“Usual,” Dean answers. “Killed the bad guy, saved the girl.” He places his gun on the table and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, a headache threatening to come to life between his eyes.

“What about the, uh…”

“Took care of it.”

“Good.”

“Good?” Jack speaks up, voice quivering. Dean looks over at him, catching the slight anger on his face, nearly swallowed by the sadness and guilt. “How is that good?” He pushes himself up and walks over, saying, “I killed someone. What was his name? The guard? Did he have a family?”

“Jack,” Cas says. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“No, did he?” Jack looks at Cas, begging for the answer, and Dean watches as Cas looks away.

He thinks about all the times he wanted the truth and didn’t get it, all of the times his father sent him running in circles until he figured it out on his own, which made him feel so much worse. “Yes, he did,” Dean answers, meeting Jack’s gaze.

Jack stares back at Dean, bruises under his eyes the only sign of how much he was worrying about this. The guilt seems to get worse, but Dean thinks he spies a hint of something else, not quite relief, over knowing more about his accidental victim.

“Jack, look,” Sam begins in a soft voice. “This life, what we do, it’s… It’s not easy. And we’ve all done things we regret.”

“Just, don’t,” Jack says sharply.

Dean leans away slightly, and from the corner of his eye, he can see Sam backing up with both hands raised, as if trying to calm a wild animal. He wishes he could take it back in that instance because he can see Jack glance at them, confused, and then resigned, the realization written all over his face.

“You’re afraid of me,” Jack says quietly, with all of the vulnerability of a child. The shadows under his eyes only complete the image, and Dean feels the urge to take Jack into his arms, sweep away all the bad thoughts—if only to alleviate the guilt he feels from actually fearing Jack’s power for a split second.

“Jack,” Cas says, voice soft. “No.”

The kid turns away and says, “No, maybe you’re right.” One hand is clenched at his side, and he looks at them again. “Maybe I’m just another monster.”

Jack looks straight at Dean, searching for answers, for hope, and Dean says, “No, you’re not.” He moves around the table, past Cas and Sam, talking the whole time, “I thought you were. I did. But… like Sam said, we’ve all done bad. We all have blood on our hands. So, if you’re a monster, we’re all monsters.”

Is she a monster, too? Dean directs toward him. He knows Jack got the message from the way he stiffens, eyes flitting from Dean and away. It was a mistake, Jack. That doesn’t make you bad.

“No, you don’t…” Jack stares down at the floor. “Every time I try and do something good, people get hurt. I thought I was getting better.” He lifts his head, and the self-deprecation is plain to see. “I’m not…” Jack lets out a breath. “I don’t know what I am, but I know I can’t make the world a better place, not like this. I can’t even do one good thing.” There’s a pause, and then Jack says, quieter, “And I know that if I stay, I’m gonna hurt you.” His eyes flick over to Dean, and Dean knows what he means when he says, “All of you.”

Even the baby, Dean realizes. His hands twitch, and he resists the urge to curl them around his stomach. My baby.

“And… I can’t,” Jack says. His eyes shine under the lamps of the bunker, face more sallow. “You’re all I have.”

“Jack,” Sam tries. “Listen.”

“I have to go.”

“No, Jack,” Cas says, starting to get out of his chair.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers, and ducks his head. He lifts a hand, where he usually displays his powers outward, and Dean feels a flash of momentary panic. Time seems to slow as he tries to figure out what to do.

The lights in the Bunker burst while Sam and Cas are sent flying back. Dean only stumbles backward, a fraction of the power that was used brushing against him coolly, warmth simmering beneath his skin. He looks at Jack, who seems just as surprised as him, and then Dean glances at his brother and friend.

Knock them out, he tells Jack mentally, and Jack looks over at him with wide eyes. Can you do that, Jack?

How? Jack’s voice echoes in his head, rattles his brain, and Dean resists the urge to cringe and hold his hands up to his ears. I don’t want to hurt them.

Cas is already starting to sit up, groaning like Dean does whenever Dean rises from a crouch. Dean quickly directs the memory of all the times Cas put them to sleep using his powers to Jack, and then there’s a flutter of wings. 

Jack is suddenly in Cas’s space, crouched before him. “I’m so sorry,” he says mournfully, lifting two fingers and placing them in the middle of Cas’s forehead.

“Jack—” Cas manages to say before his eyes roll up into the back of his head and he slumps on the floor. Dean watches as Jack does the same to Sam and normally, he’d freak out over something so powerful touching his brother, but he has more important matters on his mind.

“I can do the same to you,” Jack says, standing in front of him. He has two fingers raised already, brows drawn together. “But you have to promise me that you won’t try to find me, that you’ll leave me alone. I don’t…” His hand falls, for a moment, and his gaze drops down to Dean’s stomach. “I don’t want to hurt her either, Dean.”

“You won’t, kiddo. And even if you managed to do something, by accident or on purpose, I think… I think she protected me from what you did.” Dean lifts his arm and glances down at it, recalling the warmth he felt only a moment ago. “Yeah, she must have.”

“Really?” Jack looks relieved. “That’s good to know.”

“I don’t want you to knock me out,” Dean says. He glances back at his fallen family, considers the situation for another moment, and then nods to himself. “Take me with you,” he finishes, looking back at Jack.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, sounding confused. “What?”

“Out of the bunker, at least,” Dean elaborates. He slowly lowers his hands and rests one on his stomach. “Something could have happened to her. To both of us, and the one way I can prevent that is to stay away from hunting, which means getting the hell out of here.”

“I…” Jack looks away. “I really need to leave, Dean. I have to be alone. I have to figure things out on my own.”

“I know, kid.”

“And I don’t want to drag the both of you down. There’s a higher chance that you’ll be in even more danger with me around.” His eyes are wide, innocent, and sad. Dean spies a hint of longing, too—he clearly doesn’t want to be alone. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Dean admits. “But I don’t want them to have to choose between me or her, and I already know who they’d pick.”

Jack smiles a little when he says, “And you made your choice.”

“And I made my choice,” Dean agrees.

There’s a beat, and then Jack looks past Dean to where Sam and Cas are sprawled across the floor. There’s a look of regret on his face, but it’s soon replaced by determination when he catches Dean’s gaze again. “Okay,” he says, and nods. “Is there anything you need before we go? They won’t get up until we’re gone.”

Dean imagines he’s using his powers to make sure of that, and the thought doesn’t bother him as much as it would have a couple of months ago. “I’ve got a bag ready,” he tells the kid, and then makes his way toward the bedroom, Jack following behind.

He packed it the morning after he decided to keep the baby. His determination to not let anyone else know fueled his desire to be ready at a moment’s notice, and so, he tossed in a few clothes, a bunch of cash, and a couple of other things he could never leave behind: his gun, Cas’s angel blade, family pictures, a worn copy of Slaughterhouse-Five, and, of course, a hex bag to hide from the other angels.

“I feel like I need to leave a note or something,” Dean says, mostly to himself, as he turns in a slow circle to stare at his room one last time. He doesn’t know when he’ll be back, if he’ll ever come back, and he’d like to commit it to memory. “That way they don’t worry about me.”

“Should I leave one too?” Jack asks worriedly.

“If you want,” Dean replies. “It’s more of a courtesy, really. I already know that it’s not gonna matter in the long run because Sammy and Cas will still be out there searching for us, trying to bring us home.” He rubs the back of his neck and sighs, a flicker of a memory appearing in his mind—his time as a demon, where Sam didn’t listen to his note. “That’s what family does when they really care about you.”

“Oh,” Jack says quietly. “And you think they’d do the same for me?”

“Of course. They’ll probably start looking the moment they wake up. First, they’ll check the Bunker from top to bottom, then they’ll start putting out feelers with our people.” He grimaces. “And they’ll do the same for me, too.”

Dean looks around his room for a pen and paper. He finds a pen, thankfully, and ends up grabbing a random envelope off his desk. Dean scrawls out a note, scratching a couple of things out as he writes. There’s a lot that he wants to say, but he knows that he has to keep it short and vague, enough to keep them away, but also not revealing too much. 

When he’s satisfied with the results, Dean hastily pricks his finger and smears it beside his name. Then, while sucking the leftover blood off his thumb, he brings it over to the bed and places it in the center. The Impala’s keys are tossed on top of it as well.

“You’re not taking your car?” Jack says, sounding surprised.

“Too much of a risk,” Dean says sadly. “A lot of people know about us and if they see Baby out there, then that gives them enough motivation to attack. As much as I want to cruise around in her, I can’t risk my other baby.”

“Right,” Jack says. He steps away, hesitates, and juts a thumb down the hall. “I’m going to get some of my stuff, if that’s okay. I probably won’t need much, but…” He fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket. “I liked some of the things you two gave me.”

“That’s fine,” Dean says. “I’m already done here.”

He exits the room, bag in hand and Jack at his side, and leaves the door open a crack, figuring it’ll be easier for Sam or Cas to barge in there searching for clues. Dean follows Jack to the other end of the hall, where they then enter Jack’s room. It’s plain, but somewhat lived in, as indicated by the rumpled sheets.

“I don’t think I’ll leave a note,” Jack declares. “They already know about what I plan on doing, so there’s no point, right?” He walks over to the plug on the wall and crouches down, unplugging the charger to his phone, which sits on his nightstand. 

“Oh,” Dean says. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t take my phone with me,” he realizes. “They’ll be able to track me that way, and I don’t need that.” Dean pulls it out of his pocket and stares down at it before letting it slip from his hands, clattering on the floor. “Well,” he says sadly. “Goodbye, phone. You served me well.” 

He brings his foot up, but stops when Jack shouts, “Wait!” 

Dean blinks at the kid. “What?” he complains. “I can buy myself a new one.”

“Just leave it here,” Jack says. “That way, you still get to keep it when you come back.” He frowns, then, and glances down at his own phone. “I’ll probably have to do the same thing…”

“I’ll get us a couple of burner phones on the way out,” Dean tells him. “We have some stashed away somewhere for the days when a creature breaks ours.” He pauses, seeing Jack’s look of surprise, and adds, “It’s more common than you think.”

“Right…”

“I just don’t know where we could go,” he admits. “We could probably go to Jody’s, but she’d have a lot of questions for us, and I’m not ready to answer them. Maybe Bobby’s cabin, but…” He sighs, shaking his head. “And if we stop at a hotel room, then they’ll be able to track us with our credit card information. Can’t use up all my emergency cash on that.”

“I’ve got a place in mind,” Jack says. “But are you okay with us flying there? I know you used to let Castiel do it, sometimes.”

“Uh, sure.” Dean steps closer to Jack, hefting the duffle bag up his shoulder. “Wanna let me know where we’re going?”

“A place that’s safe,” Jack replies. He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder and takes a breath. In one moment, they’re still standing in Dean’s room, and in the next, they’re in front of a familiar white cabin.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

Jack steps away from him, gazing at the house with a look that seems to be a mixture of serenity and sorrow. “I figured this would be the last place they’d look,” he says, turning to look at Dean. “I can sense the wards that Castiel put up, back then, and I can use my powers to strengthen them. You can probably add to it, too.”

“I’m sure I’ve got enough blood to spare,” Dean says. His eyes flick all over the area, catching the blackened marks on the ground where Cas’s wings once were upon his death. “You sure it’s okay, though?”

“I’m sure,” Jack says confidently. “My mother… she just wanted good things for me, and I remember feeling safe with her out here. It helped that Castiel was there to protect us, too.” He crouches down and picks up a small twig, fiddling with it. “Now, you’ll have me to protect you two, and my powers are a lot stronger. I can make sure no one finds you out here.”

“Not even Sam and Cas?”

“Not even them.” Jack looks up at him with a frown. “Though, I’m not sure why you’re still keeping it a secret from them. I’m sure they’d help you out.”

“Do you remember what happened to your mom?” Dean asks. He casts his gaze to one of the windows, where he once saw an ethereal golden light shining out of it, one of the few signs of Jack’s birth.

“Yeah,” Jack answers quietly.

“They’d be afraid of that happening to me as well,” Dean explains. He walks up to stand beside the kid, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Which it will, because there’s no record of someone surviving the birth of their Nephilim, and they’d do everything in their power to stop it.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad…”

Dean chuckles. “At first glance, no,” he says. “But Sam and I have got history—always trying to get each other out of deals, making some to keep the other alive, or even bringing each other back, and…” He lets out a breath, gazing out at the lake where the sun is slowly setting on the horizon, the water looking like it’s on fire. “I’m okay with going now.”

“What?” Jack sounds stricken. “How can you say that?”

“I’m tired, Jack,” Dean says honestly. He scrapes his boot against the ground, feeling the dirt and rocks shift beneath his foot. “Tired of going through the same cycle again and again—living long enough to save the world, dying to try and make a difference, coming back to life and being thrown into the cosmic consequences of our actions, and repeat. I just… I’m tired. I want to rest.”

Jack stands up, suddenly, and when Dean looks over, he’s pierced by Jack’s golden gaze. The wind picks up a little around them, leaves tumbling near his ankles. “But don’t you want to live for them?” he asks, and there’s a pleading note to his words. “Like how my mom wanted to live for me?”

“Of course I do,” Dean replies. “I’m just looking at it realistically, y’know? There’s no way I’m going to make it out of childbirth alive, even with Death promising that I’m important, even with God and Amara’s favor on my side. Even then, they wouldn’t allow the birth of another Nephilim.” He pauses and muses, mostly to himself, “I dunno why they haven’t said anything about you, actually…”

“I’ll find a way to make sure that you live,” Jack says, jaw set in a way that reminds him of Cas—stubborn and wholly determined. “You deserve to see her, you deserve to be with her. Dean, you deserve to live.”

Dean stares at him for a long moment and then ducks his head, a soft chuckle escaping. “You really believe that, huh?” he wonders aloud, and he can’t keep the smile off his face. “Alright, I won’t stop you, then.”

He doesn’t have to look at Jack to know that he’s smiling. “Really?” the kid says.

“Really.” He holds a finger up to stop Jack from replying. “ But, if it doesn’t work out, if I end up… moving on in spite of everything that you try, I need you to promise that you’ll be there for her.” Dean drops his hand and moves closer, clapping a hand onto Jack’s shoulder. “She’ll need a big brother,” he tells Jack softly. “One that’ll help her know right from wrong, and conveniently teach her how to control her powers. Think you’re up for that?”

Jack’s eyes go wide. “You mean that?” he breathes, and then a smile overtakes his face. “Of course, Dean!”

“Good.” Dean nods. “Sammy’s gonna need all the help he can get, and Cas…” He swallows when he thinks of his best friend, the one he was just reunited with and left behind. “Cas will be good with her, I know, but there’s still going to be a place for you.”

The kid doesn’t say anything else, but the smile that stretches across his face is radiant, almost like staring into the son. Dean nods once and starts making his way toward the house, stopping in front of the door.

“I have keys!” Jack says, moving past him. He pulls them out of his pocket, giving them a shake, and then goes to unlock the door. Dean does have to help him out a little, but soon enough, it swings open without trouble.

They enter the house and Dean sees that it’s untouched, a layer of dust coating the furniture. Dean flips the lights on, surprised to see them come on. He guesses that Kelly must have done something to keep paying the bills in case they wanted to stay here to care for Jack, never thinking that Jack would be forced to grow up fast in the extenuating circumstances.

“We should—” Dean starts, but Jack raises a hand, eyes flaring gold, and suddenly the place is spotless. He scratches the back of his head, bemused as he says, “I guess you can do that, then. Good job.”

Jack doesn’t respond. He slowly moves through the rooms, Dean following a step behind, and his hands trail across the walls. “I feel like I can hear her,” he says, voice distant. “Less like a ghost and more like a memory imprinted into this house.”

“Is it really okay for me to be here?” Dean asks. He lingers in the doorway to the dining room, staring at the table where he laid Cas’s body a few months ago. “We don’t have to say if there are too many… memories.”

“It’s fine,” Jack says quietly. “Really. I’m sure my mother would be happy to know that this place is getting some use.”

Jack goes upstairs after a while and Dean follows, their steps echoing in the large, empty house. They pass by a closed door, and Dean knows that if he were to open it, then he’d be in Kelly Kline’s bedroom, the place where she spent her final moments. Jack pauses in front of it, fingers ghosting over the wood, and then he moves on.

Dean wonders if he can sense the memory of her beyond that door. He remembers a time when he was too afraid to enter his childhood home, even after learning it was rebuilt, even during the case he worked at that exact place with Sam. Dean decides that he won’t use that room while he stays here, not wanting to taint what Kelly left behind.

They enter Jack’s room and Dean can already see how much love and thought Kelly put into it. Dean stares at the painting on the wall, the way a rainbow stretches across with the alphabet painted carefully over it and beneath it, a great big apple tree with J A C K spelled on each fruit, the letters blue, yellow, red, and green, respectively. The crib sits beneath the window with a rocking chair beside it, sunlight spilling in and casting holy light onto the small mattress in the wooden frame.

Jack was loved by his mother. Even though Kelly knew that she was going to die, she still put all of this work into giving him the best bedroom, a safe haven for him and whoever was going to take care of him after she was gone.

Dean watches as Jack slowly walks over to the crib, hands curled around the railing. His head hangs low, and Dean wonders what’s going on through his head.

“She left a video for me,” Jack says after a while. His voice is quiet, sad. “She said a lot of things, but the one thing she said a lot was that she loved me, and I remember that from when I was… still in the womb. I remember how much she loved me, how much she believed in me, how much she wanted to be born.” His breath hitches, and his words sound a little thick when she continues, “She tried to kill herself once, but I… I saved her. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want her to die, and I…” Jack turns back, eyes glimmering with tears, twin trails down his cheek. “I don’t want you to die either.”

“Jack…”

“I know you said you’d let me try,” he chokes out. “But I’m scared, Dean. I’m scared that I won’t find a way to help you, and that she’ll have to live in a world without you, where she’ll only know you through pictures and stories.” He brings a hand up and flexes it, and his next breath is shaky. “I have all of this power and I can’t even come up with a way to save you. What’s the point in all of this?”

“Jack,” Dean murmurs. He stares at the kid, at the despair on his face, and then makes his way over, grabbing both of Jack’s hands. “You can’t let yourself think that way,” he tells him, ducking his head to meet his gaze. “If something happens to me and you can’t stop it, then it happens, and I need you to know that it’s not your fault.” 

He swallows, remembering all of the grief that followed since he was four, and all the losses he had dealt with throughout his life. The guilt, the shame, the anger—everything he felt in the aftermath; the responsibility he placed on his shoulders to make sure no one else met the same fate.

“Your mom accepted it,” he continues in a gentler voice. “And I accept it, too. If you find a way to save me, then, great! If you don’t, then it’s okay, because I know she’ll be okay.” He glances out the window, where he can see the shadows of trees behind the white curtains. “I don’t want to leave her alone. I don’t want to miss out on her first steps, her first words, her first attempt on a bike—all that stuff. I want to be there for it.”

Emotion wells up inside him, mostly sorrow, and his eyes start to burn. “I might not even be able to hold her,” he realizes, voice breaking a little. “I might not get the chance to look into her eyes and see if I was right about the color, but I can at least make sure that she’ll grow up happy, safe, loved.”

“And I’ll make sure that happens,” Jack replies with a hiccuping breath. “I-I’ll make sure she’s safe, Dean, and that she makes it out of here if I can’t save you.”

Dean stops for a moment, staring at Jack, just another orphaned kid with too much responsibility in this world, and pulls him into a hug. He waits for Jack to return the embrace before speaking again, “I know you will.” Dean remembers himself as a kid, left alone with his brother, and says, “But you don’t have to carry that weight.”

“Why not?” Jack murmurs. “It’s what you did.”

“I don’t want you to be like me,” Dean says. “And I don’t want history to repeat itself. You deserve a life, Jack, and just being an older brother is enough.” He slides a hand up to the back of Jack’s neck, giving it a squeeze before pulling back to gaze at him. “It’s not fair to put all of that on you,” he says. “Just like it wasn’t fair of my dad to put it on me. I’m not going to ask you to do what I did, to be what I used to be, okay?”

Jack stares at him for a long moment before looking away, bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I understand.”

“Okay,” Dean says. He pats Jack’s cheek and then pulls away, turning toward the doorway. “How about we go out and get some dinner, huh? Maybe get some of those extra wards up and running while we’re at it.”

“That sounds good to me,” Jack says. He steps up beside Dean, head cocked in a way that indicates his usual curiosity. “But aren’t we supposed to be, ah, hiding? What if someone recognizes us out there?”

Dean purses his lips. “I guess you’ve got a point there,” he says, crossing his arms. “Maybe we can go grocery shopping, then. We can make something together, or buy some frozen food and toss it into the oven while we paint the walls with our blood.”

“That idea sounds safer,” Jack replies with a nod. “Do you want to use the truck? I think Castiel left his keys around here… somewhere…”

“Probably a good idea. I might need to get some clothes for myself, too. Didn’t really bring a lot with me.” Dean chews on his bottom lip and nods, making his way out of the room and down the steps, Jack following behind. “Might just buy a shit ton of things right now and store it away, that way I don’t have to go out as much.”

“Maybe I should go,” Jack says, biting his lip. “It’ll be safer, won’t it?”

“Safer for me, you mean?” Dean snorts. “Are you forgetting that all the angels up in Heaven are looking for you? You’re in as much danger as I am.”

“I guess you have a point…” Jack looks thoughtful, for a moment, and then he brightens. “I could hide you from them now,” he says. “If they find me, then they find me, but if they find both of us and discover what you’re hiding…” He shakes his head and steps closer, holding up a glowing hand. “Let me keep her safe.”

Dean doesn’t even have to consider. “Okay,” he says. “Go ahead.”

Jack rests a hand on his arm, and Dean feels warmth beneath his skin, on the cusp of being too painful. After various injuries, and his stint in Hell, it’s only mild on his pain scale. It feels similar to when Cas carved Enochian onto his ribs, way back when their only problem was Lucifer walking the earth.

“There,” Jack says, nodding. “That’ll prevent people from detecting her, and they won’t be able to sense the changes in you, also.” His stomach rumbles before Dean can say anything, and Dean spies a hint of red on his cheeks. “Uh, can we go to the store now?”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a chuckle. “We can.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Dean lets Jack pick out most of the food while he ventures out into the vegetable section and picks out a few things. He’s mostly relying on Sam’s knowledge and all the times Dean had to pick up this crap for him. Dean figures that it’s probably for the best since he’s got a bun in the oven, and said bun needs proper nutrients.

He finds Jack in the cereal aisle after a while. The kid’s holding a box of Cheerios in one hand, but his gaze is fixed at the end of the aisle, where a security guard sits on a stool, checking something over for another customer.

“Hey,” Dean says quietly. Jack jumps beside him, and Dean slides a hand onto his shoulder, squeezing it sympathetically. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“But I hurt someone,” Jack whispers. “Badly. What if the next person ends up dead, huh? What do I do then? I can’t just keep ignoring what my powers can do, what I’m capable of, I can’t.”

Dean… doesn’t know what to say. This is not something he can placate with simple words, with the knowledge of what their life can lead to—Jack hasn’t been involved as long as Dean and Sam have, and Dean doesn’t want Jack to follow in their footsteps for coping mechanisms.

“I don’t think anything I say will make things better,” he finally says. “But the fact that you’re trying to change, the fact that you want to control your powers to prevent it from happening again, says a lot about you, Jack. A lot of people don’t have the luxury to do so, and Sam and I… We sometimes had to deal with the ones who lost themselves in their power.”

“Would you do the same for me?” Jack asks, looking up at him with eyes slightly damp. “If I went too far, if I lost too much control, would you do the same for me?”

Dean stares at him for a moment. He doesn’t see a monster that he needs to fight, one that he needs to protect the world from; instead, he sees a frightened little kid who’s trying to do his best. “It’s hard,” he says. “When it’s someone you care about.”

He thinks about Cas and his stint playing God, all the souls of Purgatory trapped in his body, how he couldn’t kill his friend and had to summon Death to try and do it. “The guilt won’t go away,” he explains gently. “You just learn to live with it, and you try to do better, which you’re already doing. Give it some time, Jack…”

“Yeah,” Jack says glumly, but he seems lighter than before. “I guess you’re right.”

Dean nods, patting his back a couple of times. He looks past Jack and reaches for a box of Cookie Crisps, snatching it off the shelf. “I think I’ll go with this,” he declares. “Sammy doesn’t let me get this when we go shopping. He says it’s too full of sugar and a bunch of other crap I never listen to.”

“I’ve never had it,” Jack says tentatively.

“Yeah,” Dean says, nudging him. “Because of Sammy.”

They get a few other things, and Dean uses some of the cash he absconded with, glad that he had the foresight to take some money out. He has enough to last him for a while.

Dinner turns out to be some boxed lasagna because Jack wanted to try it, along with some baby carrots. Dean actually snacks on some celery while he’s waiting for the lasagna to finish up, and it doesn’t take long for him to start plating the food, bringing it over to the dining table that was left behind.

“I can’t stay,” Jack says at some point during dinner, a little subdued. “I want to get better at using my powers, and that means I have to go out and see the world on my own. All of these new experiences are just waiting for me, and that’ll help me understand myself better.”

Dean nods, setting his fork down. “I know,” he says gently. He figured as much when Jack was so eager to leave the Bunker. “But if you need a place to rest, you can always come here.”

It’s nice to see Jack light up over that. “Really?” he asks. “Anytime I want?”

“Anytime,” Dean repeats. “We’ll sit down at this table and you can tell me all about where you went and what you learned, if you want. Recharge your batteries and head out whenever you feel like.”

“Okay,” Jack says with a happy smile. “Thanks, Dean!”

They finish dinner and Dean walks him to the door. He holds out one of the extra jackets that he brought with him. “You be careful out there, okay?” Dean says after Jack takes the garment. “Don’t be afraid to call me or text me, either. Use the new number I put in—that’s the burner phone. It can’t be tracked.”

“I’ll make sure to keep mine on me and check in when I can,” Jack replies.

That’s not what Dean was going for, but the promise settles something in him, and the tension drops away from his shoulders. “Alright,” he says. He stares at the kid for a moment before dragging him into a hug. Jack tenses in his embrace, but eventually, he relaxes and returns it, face burrowing in Dean’s shoulder, much like a child seeking affection from their parent.

Guilt wells up inside him once again, and Dean’s glad he could at least make things right between them. This tentative relationship that they’ve got going on is nice, and Dean can see a spot in his family being made just for Jack.

He pulls back to look at Jack’s face, the delight in his eyes, and all he can see is Cas.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jack says. He presses his hand against the doorway, eyes flaring gold, and nods. “The wards will still be good. I’ll check on them the next time I see you.” He steps away and raises a hand, smiling, and he vanishes in a flutter of wings.

Dean stares at the spot for a long moment, and then heads back inside, the door swinging shut behind him. He cleans up all the plates and wipes down the table. Then, he sinks down onto the couch and lets out a breath, suddenly tired. 

He looks around this unfamiliar living, remembering the last time he was here—the screaming, the blood, and the losses—and swallows hard. Dean rests a hand on his stomach and promises in a whisper, “We’ll be okay.”

Dean hopes that he can keep it.

Chapter Text

Dean falls into a schedule while he’s at the cabin.

He sleeps in until about ten, where he then lies in his temporary bed, trying to get used to the sound of birds singing just outside his window. Dean eventually gets up and goes about making breakfast, something small and healthy, depending on how the baby feels. Meat slowly becomes the one thing that sends him running to the toilet the moment he starts smelling it, so Dean has to forgo bacon for a while.

Sometimes, he’ll go out and do yard work, ignoring the part of the ground where Cas once died. Other times, he’ll make a trip down to the lake with a chair and a fishing pole, something he went into the town to buy, and he’ll sit there for a while, enjoying the somewhat fresh breeze and the bite of fish.

Dean also gets these moments where he wakes up with too much energy, and he releases it by cleaning the house from top to bottom. When there’s still too much, Dean often goes on walks around the lake, or at one of the nearby hiking trails, and he discovers a newer appreciation for nature.

Jack visits now and again, usually just to stop and rest for an hour or so, or show off the new things that he learned with his powers. Dean makes sure to feed him during these visits, not knowing if Jack’s getting enough out there. 

At some point, Dean comes across two journals, both leatherbound, one a shade of maroon, the other plain black. He opens up the maroon one and finds pages upon pages of writing, where he catches the name Jack scrawled in a feminine hand several times.

“Oh,” he realizes quietly, letting it shut with a soft snap. “This is Kelly’s journal.”

He’s almost hesitant to open the next one, but then he feels nothing but relief when he sees that it’s blank. Dean sets Kelly’s journal down and holds onto the black one, staring down at it in thought.

Journaling seems like it’s more of a Sammy thing, but Dean also likes the idea of jotting his thoughts down, maybe detailing changes to his body throughout the whole thing. It would also be nice to have something on record about Nephilim pregnancies, in case something happens in the far off future.

He searches for a pen.

After he finds one, Dean heads over to the dining table and sets the journal down, sliding into the chair. He clicks the pen a few times while he wonders what he should write about, the lined pages mocking him with their blankness.

“How about the beginning?” Dean mutters to himself, and slowly marks the date of his first entry on the top right corner of the page. He then jots down another date on one of the blue lines, and writes about the day he discovered the pregnancy, his reaction to it, and everything that followed.

“It’d be fun to keep a journal for her,” he says after a while, taking a break from writing to fix up some lunch. He decides to fry some eggs, something simple and tasty. “If I somehow lived.”

As hopeful as he wants to be over Jack trying to figure out a way to save him, Dean knows there’s a higher chance of him not surviving the birth. He doesn’t bring it up around the kid, not wanting to upset him again, but Dean faces the truth on his own. The consequences of his choices are already set in stone, and he has a feeling that he’ll be seeing Billie soon, regardless of how ‘important’ he is to whatever’s going to happen.

He hears a sizzle, and steam rises in front of his face. Dean hastily wipes his face before he ends up adding even more extra salt to his eggs. One glance downward reveals the eggs to be crisp at the edges, brown everywhere else. He chuckles ruefully when his vision continues to blur and he shuts off the stove, tossing the spatula to the side.

There’s no way he can salvage this.

✦ ✦ ✦

Dean’s sweeping the dirt and leaves off the porch when he hears a flutter of wings. He feels a flash of panic, thinking that the angels found him, somehow, but then he remembers that Jack is the only one who has wings these days, and he should still be protected.

“Jack,” Dean says with relief. He turns to see the kid standing a few feet away, a smile on his face. “You didn’t let me know you were coming.”

“Hello,” Jack says happily, raising a hand. He’s dressed in a blue jacket this time, and it’s paired with a plain gray shirt, regular blue jeans, and brown boots reminiscent of what Dean and Sam usually wear. “Sorry about that, I just wanted to stop by really quick.”

“For lunch?” Dean prods, already opening the door to step inside. He can see the hesitation on Jack’s face, and then adds, “You can talk to me over a meal, can’t you? How about I make us some sandwiches? You scarf those down like there’s no tomorrow.”

Jack chuckles, scratching his nose. “Yeah, you got a point,” he admits, and then trudges up the steps. “Alright. I think I can spare some time.”

Dean makes some PB&J’s for them, mostly because the baby is still not letting him eat meat. He makes a couple of extras since Jack tends to need more food, which Dean attributes to him being a Nephilim. They sit across from each other, Dean with a glass of water and Jack with one full of apple juice, and they eat in silence for a while.

“So,” Dean says eventually. “Learn anything new?”

“I can heal myself,” Jack says brightly. There’s a smear of peanut butter on his lip. “I could do it before, I know, but it was more of a passive ability, something that happened automatically. Now, I can focus my powers on certain areas of my body and decide which should heal first.”

“That’s good.”

Jack nods. “I need to practice some more,” he says. “And then I’ll be confident enough to help you!” He smiles, then. “It’ll all work out, Dean. You’ll see.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean says with a smile of his own, though it’s a touch weaker, more tentative. He watches as Jack finishes off his sandwich, reaching for another, and then asks, “Anything else? You were gone for a while.”

“Oh, uh…” Jack sets the sandwich down on his plate, drinking some apple juice. He seems nervous. “You remember that portal you guys went through the night I was born? How it led you to another world?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies slowly.

“I may have found a way to get there,” Jack says. He fiddles with his plate, turning it this way and that. “I’ve been flying around, searching for a way to open a portal to that place, and I’m very close. I finally figured out a way I can do it, and I just need… I need to find the right person to help, and then I’m going to try it. I just wanted to let you know, in case…” He pauses and then adds, a little more subdued, “In case something goes wrong. Then, you’ll know where I am…”

“Why would you wanna go there?” Dean wonders. He stares at Jack, hoping the reason is not to find his father, Lucifer, and frowns. “There’s nothing in that place, Jack. Nothing but desolation.”

“I want to bring your mother back,” Jack says firmly. He drops his gaze, but his voice doesn’t waver when he continues, “It’s my fault she’s over there right now, trapped with Lucifer and whatever else is over there, so… I’ve been trying to find a way to open that portal again, and I think I’m pretty close.”

“Jack,” Dean says with a sigh. He clasps his hands together in front of him and stares at the kid, suddenly feeling tired. “There’s a chance that she’s dead.”

“Sam didn’t think so,” Jack says with a frown. He tilts his head to the side, looking like a puppy. “And I agree with him. I don’t think that she’s dead. My father… Lucifer, he doesn’t know anything about that world, and he’ll take his chances of survival with her by his side.”

“Or he probably popped her the moment they got there,” Dean replies. He squashes the hope rising in his chest and looks away, frowning. “That place isn’t like here, Jack. From what I saw, there was practically nothing but wastelands, and not many humans left. My mom’s a great hunter, I know, but there’s no way she can survive out there, especially with someone like Lucifer.”

“Maybe there’s some truth to that,” Jack says after a beat. He sits up straighter, the plates rattling with the movement. “But I still have to try, Dean. I’m the reason she’s in that place, and I’m the reason she’ll get out.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean says.

“That’s not what you believed in the beginning,” Jack says. “But I see now that you were just angry, sad, and I think there’s a part of you that still feels that way, even as you look at me right now.” He looks away, shoulders slumping, and continues in a much quieter voice, “I have these powers for a reason, Dean. Why shouldn’t I use them to save someone who deserves to be saved? Why shouldn’t I try to fix my mistake?”

“Jack…”

“Please, Dean,” he says. “Please let me do this. It’s the only way she can come back home, and I’m the only one who can do it.”

Dean stares at him for a bit longer; determination in his blue eyes, a stubborn set to his jaw. He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, and then points a finger at Jack. “I want daily updates,” he says. “Maybe more. I need to know where you’re going, who you’re with, and what’s the plan until you get there.”

Jack brightens, and he looks so genuinely happy that Dean can’t help but smile. “Okay!” he says cheerfully. “I promise to do all of that.”

“Alright.” Dean grabs another sandwich, splits it in half, and places one piece on Jack’s place. “Do you know where you’re going next?” he asks around a mouthful of food. “Or are you still figuring that out?”

“I’m going somewhere near Sioux Falls,” Jack says, also around a mouthful of food. Even after everything, the kid is still trying to copy him in some aspects of life. “I found a person who can help me. I just need to… ask her.”

“Her?” Dean frowns. “Is this another angel, or…”

“No, uh…” Jack looks away, tapping a finger against the table. “I’ve been practicing with some dreamwalkers to try and open a portal, and I’m pretty close. There’s just one left that I can talk to, and she’s staying at some sort of facility.”

“Dreamwalker, huh?” Dean goes through his mental catalog of creatures and powers, and hums thoughtfully. “The people that can see alternate realities in their heads, right? Usually when they’re asleep? Pretty sure those are rare. How’d you manage to find just one?”

“Oh, I listened!” Jack places two fingers on his head, and his eyes flash gold for one brief second. “Followed the prayers around until I came across one. He helped me realize that I could get there, but I needed a dreamwalker that was a lot more powerful, and he helped me find the next one. So, I’m gonna go to her and ask for her help.”

“There’s a chance that she won’t do it,” Dean warns cautiously.

“Why wouldn’t she?” Jack asks, genuinely puzzled. “Don’t most people like to help others?”

Dean snorts. “You would think,” he says. “But you said she’s in some sort of facility, right? Chances are that she’s not looking to help a world where she wasn’t helped.” He rests a cheek on his fist, staring at Jack. “I know a little something about that.”

“Well, I have to try,” Jack says fiercely. “I’m sure I can convince her!”

“Just be careful, alright? I don’t want to wake up and hear about you—”

“Blowing up half the city?” Jack says glumly.

Dean pauses and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I don’t want to hear about you getting killed while you’re trying to make a portal into another world. It’s Sioux Falls, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Jody was able to identify your body. There’s a high chance that Sammy and Cas reached out to her to try and find you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jack promises. He finishes off the rest of his sandwich and downs his apple juice, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “All done!” he announces happily, and then rises with his dishes in hand. “Do you need help with anything around here?”

“I was thinking we could add some wards around the area,” Dean says cautiously. “Maybe carve them into the trees and add a bit of blood in them… Not that I don’t already feel safe with what we’ve got, but I’d like the extra security.”

“That’s fine with me. I’ve got the time.”

After dumping the dishes in the sink, Dean takes Jack outside and he painstakingly carves Enochian wards into the trees with a knife. When that takes too long, he switches the weapon for a small torch and ends up burning it into the wood. He doesn’t have to worry about setting off a fire, thankfully, not with Jack there to put it out if it ever starts or gets out of control.

Jack powers the wards after he’s done, and once all the surrounding trees have wards, Dean feels warmth settle over his skin, energy making him tingle all over.

“Guess it worked,” he muses, relaxing. Dean feels so much better now. “Thanks, Jack.”

“You’re welcome,” Jack says with a smile. “It’s the least I can do since, well… I might be gone for a while.” He ducks his head, dragging the back of his heel against the ground. “I wish Cas could come check up on you, make sure everything’s alright.”

“It’d make things easier, wouldn’t it?” Dean replies, and sighs. He wraps an arm around Jack and pulls him against his side, staring at the still waters of the lake. “I don’t want him to know where I’m at, though. Not until I’m… ready, I guess.”

“You mean when the baby’s going to come out,” Jack says.

Dean chuckles. “How’d you guess?” he wonders, and then nods. “Yeah. That way he can be here for her if… if the worst comes to worst.”

“You should tell him,” Jack says. “About the baby, I mean. Call him and let him know.”

“That’s not really something you talk about over the phone, Jack.” He ruffles Jack’s hair and adds, “This is the type of news that deserves to be said in person, or at a party or something equally crazy.”

“But you don’t want to see him…”

Dean groans. “Stop making so much sense, kid,” he grumbles. He releases Jack and walks closer to the edge of their wardline. Judging by the scraping of dirt behind him, Jack decided to follow. 

Above him, nestled against the crook of a few overlapping branches, there’s a bird’s nest—the soft peeping of the chicks lulling his mind into a sense of calm. He stares up at the nest, protected by the mother bird that peers down at him with beady eyes, wings puffed up as if he was a threat, and sighs. “Alright,” Dean says finally. “I’ll tell him. Not now, but soon.”

“Good,” Jack says quietly. “That’s good.”

“Don’t forget about the updates,” Dean says, pointing at him. “I’ll drive my ass over there and make you respond to me if I don’t hear from you. Got that?”

Jack laughs. “Yes, Dean,” he says, in a voice that should have said yes, mom, full of mirth. His face goes serious as he looks up at Dean. “You get why I’m doing this, right?” he asks. “I… I know I’ve hurt people with my powers, I know how much damage they can do, and I just wanna do this one thing to prove to everyone that I can control them and myself. I’m not my father, I never want to be him, and this is one way I can show that.”

“I know, kiddo,” Dean says. He wraps his arms around Jack and pulls him in for a tight hug, one that’s reciprocated immediately. “I know.”

Jack leaves after that, with another promise of messaging Dean and an extra sandwich for his trip to Sioux Falls. Dean finds himself lingering at the tree where the birds rest, brushing his fingers over the mark burned into the tree.

“Here’s hoping they protect you, too,” he says, and receives a symphony of peeps in response. Dean turns on his heel and makes his way back into the house to write about the day, already feeling tired.

✦ ✦ ✦

Time passes, and with it comes an influx of Jack’s messages.

He keeps Dean updated on his plans, what he’s doing, and there are even a series of panicked messages when he runs into Sam and Cas. The kid does tell him that he didn’t reveal Dean’s hiding spot.

I mean, they did ask about you, Jack texts. But I made it seem like I couldn’t locate you, which I can’t! You’re hidden, even from me. I just remember where you are because I’ve already seen you there, and that circumvents the wards for me.

And then… he gets nothing.

Dean tries not to get worried, at first, thinking the kid may have gotten caught up in everything that he’s doing, but when he tries to call Jack, he gets an automated message telling him that the number is out of the area. The same happens with Cas and Sam’s phones, and Dean realizes that it may have worked.

“Well,” he says to himself, packing some clothes and weapons into a small duffle bag. “I might know one place that’ll have some answers.”

He locks up the cabin and then tosses everything into the truck. Dean pulls out and begins the long drive, hanging a hand out the window as he passes by all the trees. No music plays, the radio station not quite working all the way out here, but Dean doesn’t mind.

At the halfway point between the cabin and Sioux Falls, Dean pulls into a gas station to fill up the truck. It’s mostly empty around him, aside from a smaller car pumping gas and another parked in front of the little store. Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel, cautiously peering ahead, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

He’s craving something sweet right now.

Dean makes sure to lock the truck behind him as he strolls over to the store. The bell jingles above his head when he pushes the door open, and he makes a beeline for the candy section, eyes scanning the aisle with a precision he usually reserves for a hunt.

He doesn’t know what he wants exactly, but he figures that something will stand out to him as he keeps looking. Dean ends up grabbing a pack of gummy bears, and then a chocolate bar with caramel. The candy stays in one hand while he circles over to the (packaged) baked goods aisle, where he snags a sleeve of Oreos and some vanilla bread slices.

“Sammy would be having a fit over all of this,” Dean mutters to himself, and then glances down at his stomach. “But I gotta let you have what you want. Totally going with that if he ever complains about what I ate, yep.”

Dean also jots down his food intake in his journal just to make sure he’s getting everything he needs throughout his pregnancy. He bought a couple of books from a tiny bookstore in town, and the advice there seems to hold strong.

A bag of chips gets stuffed into the crook of his elbow, and two drinks, one being water, the other an electrolyte drink. He carries his items over to the cash register where he pauses, for a brief moment, when he smells rotten eggs. Normally he’d dismiss it since it’s a gas station, and they’re always bound to smell like something, but he’s only smelling it here.

“Christo,” he says when the cashier looks over at him.

Brown eyes shift to black, and the demon chuckles. “Dean Winchester,” the demon drawls, leering at him from behind the counter. “What a surprise to see you around these parts! Word on the street is that you’re missing…”

Dean swallows, hand reflexively climbing to his waist. It’s then he remembers that he left the knife with Sammy, and the angel blade is in the backseat of the truck, stupidly thinking that he’d be safe from any creatures—undetected, unseen.

He never accounted for the possibility of seeing one in the wild, nor the off chance that he’d happen to run into it.

“How about this,” Dean says carefully. He sets his items down on the counter and eyes the demon speculatively. “You ring me up and let me go on my merry way, and I won’t kill your sulfur smelling ass. That sound good to you…” His eyes flick over to the nametag, and he adds, “Mark?”

Mark, the demon, stares him down with a raised brow, and then slowly begins to slide the items closer, scanning them without breaking eye contact. “I could make you eat your guts right now,” it says in a bored tone of voice. “No one would think wrong of me for doing it, but I kinda like this job. It’s a lot better than the current state of Hell, if I’m being honest.”

“Uh…” Dean doesn’t know what to say about that. He shifts his weight, places a hand on his hip, and offers an unsure, “Good for you?”

The demon grunts, finally done ringing up everything. “Your total is a hundred bucks,” it says, not even looking at the screen beside him.

“Hey!” Dean barks. “That’s way more than what they’re priced at!”

“The rest is for my silence, of course,” Mark says smoothly. “I’m sure you’d rather be left alone, right? The others out there won’t be as kind as me, and they'll come gunning for you in numbers that not even you would be able to beat.” It holds out a hand, eyebrow raised. “So, what’ll it be?”

Dean grumbles and pulls out his wallet in quick, jerky movements. He slips a crisp hundred-dollar bill out and slams it onto the counter, completely ignoring his hand. Dean pauses and then pulls out another, slapping it there as well. “Least you can do is bag everything,” he says as the demon takes the money. “Also, gas on number seven.”

“Sure,” it replies with a shrug, doing exactly that. “Now, get out.”

He promptly leaves with his purchases in hand, wondering when his life got so crazy. Dean turns to look at the store, shakes his head, and then walks over to the truck, filling it up with enough gas. Once it’s full, he slides into the driver’s seat, tossing the bag onto the one next to him, and sighs.

Dean should go back in there and waste that pathetic thing, but he’s not looking to get into a fight anytime soon, not when he’s got something precious to protect.

Thankfully, his extra cargo wasn’t detected by the demon cashier. Maybe Jack’s magic on him is still holding up.

“We’re okay,” he murmurs. Dean starts up the truck and pulls out of the gas station, heading back onto the road and towards Sioux Falls. He blindly reaches over and pulls out one of his various snacks, ripping the packaging open with his teeth and dumping it into the cupholder. Dean looks down quickly, sees that he chose gummy bears, and reaches down to snag a handful. He stuffs it into his mouth, and then turns on the radio, where he gets a burst of static, for a moment, before a random song playing on an equally random radio station. It’s not his kind of music, but he still finds himself nodding along to the beat, some type of melancholy blossoming in his chest.

“  And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one

      'Cause most of us are bitter over someone

          Setting fire to our insides for fun

             To distract our hearts from ever missing them

                But I'm forever missing him…  “

✦ ✦ ✦

It’s almost dark by the time he makes it to Jody’s house, where he parks on the opposite street by the curb. Dean stares at the light on the porch with trepidation, wondering what she’ll say about his disappearance. There’s no way Sam didn’t already reach out to her, like he did when he went missing as a demon.

Dean takes a deep breath and tries to muster up the courage to get out of the truck. Finally, after what seems like forever, Dean exits the vehicle and locks it behind him. He slowly makes his way up the driveaway and to the porch, where he rings the doorbell, tucking his hands in his pocket while he waits.

The door swings open and Dean sees Jody standing there. Her eyes widen, and she looks flummoxed. “Dean!” she exclaims with pleasant surprise. “What—How are you here?” Then, Jody seems to get over her shock and crosses her arms, eyebrows raised. “And where have you been, mister?”

Dean instinctively ducks his head, shoulders coming up to his ears. “Have to be on my own for a while,” he says, dragging a heel across the welcome mat. “I can’t explain it, for our safety, but please trust me.”

He can feel the weight of Jody’s stare, and then he hears her weary sigh. “Alright,” she says, and the door creaks. “Come on in then.”

Dean follows her into the house, and she leads him into the empty living room, though it looks slightly trashed, with glass all over the floor. Dean glances at her quizzically, to which she shakes her head. Jody starts cleaning up in silence, moving stiffly, and Dean grabs the broom and dustpan off to the side to help her.

He feels exposed out here, but he trusts that Jack’s powers are still keeping him sufficiently cloaked. That, and the extra sigils he marked on his body using his blood to anchor them, just to be certain. 

There also might be a hex bag tucked away in his pocket. Call him paranoid, but there are definitely things in this world out to get him.

“So,” Jody says after a while. “You wanna tell me why you’re here?”

“Can’t I just drop by for a visit?” Dean offers, a little too weak.

Jody shoots him a pointed look, and it makes him duck his head, going back to sweeping up the glass. “Not when your brother and best friend think you’ve vanished,” she says. “Not when they’re running themselves ragged to find you.”

“So, they’re okay?” he asks, ignoring the way his voice wavers. “You saw them with your own eyes? They’re really okay?”

“Yes, Dean. They’re fine.”

Dean stops, gripping the plastic dustpan tighter. “Did they happen to mention someone named Jack?” he asks. “That’s who I’m looking for right now.”

“May have,” Jody says. “Talk of another world, too—and your mother. They have hopes that they’re together.”

“Oh,” Dean says quietly.

“Did you come here because of him?” And not because of your brother and friend, remains unsaid, but Dean can hear it loud and clear.

“Just wanted to know where he was last,” Dean replies. “Last I heard, it was in the general area. But if he’s in the other world that I’m thinking of, then Sam and Cas will have to go and get him out.”

“Not you?”

Dean shakes his head. “Can’t do much these days,” he says, and when he sees Jody open her mouth, probably to ask why, he quickly adds, “No, I won’t elaborate.”

“Mmhmm.” Jody looks done with him, but then she sighs. “Guess I can’t be too angry,” she says. “You usually have your reasons for being away.”

“Right,” Dean says.

“Can you do something for me while you’re here?” Jody asks in a much quieter voice. She comes closer and takes the dustpan from Dean, crouching down on the floor. Dean carefully sweeps the broken bits of glass onto it, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sure,” Dean says easily. “What do you need me for?”

“I want you to talk to Claire,” Jody says. She rises and dumps the glass in a big black trash bag, tilting it down into the depths and giving it a few shakes. “I don’t know how she’s doing after everything and as much as I want to be there for her, she doesn’t want to open up to me, and I’m getting worried.”

“What happened?”

Jody offers him a pained smile. “What always happens,” she says. “She fell in love, and then she lost them.”

“Oh,” Dean says quietly, because he knows exactly what that’s like. He almost wants to comment on how young she is to experience such a harrowing event, but stops himself, knowing that age doesn’t matter when it comes to losing people.

He thinks of himself at age four, losing his mother to the flames, and then he thinks of Sam at age twenty-two, losing his girlfriend to the very same fire. Dean thinks about the family that he lost, the friends, and all the times Cas was gone—exploded by two archangels, walking into the lake and disappearing beneath the surface, staying behind in Purgatory, stabbed by April, stabbed by that lance and so close to death, and killed by Lucifer again, before his very eyes, his wings burned into the ground.

Maybe he does know a little something about loving someone and losing them just as fast.

“I can talk to her,” he says, tipping the broom against the wall. “Is she here right now?”

“Yeah. She hasn’t really left her room.”

Dean leaves Jody to her cleaning and heads toward Claire’s room, pointed out by Jody. He reaches the door and stares at it, nondescript with its plain white color. He knocks on the door and waits for permission to enter. After a while, he finally hears her voice, quiet and tired, and Dean twists the doorknob to step into the room.

“Hey, Claire,” he says.

She’s lying on the bed, curled up on her side, wearing ratty clothes. Claire sits up the moment he speaks, eyes wild and surprised, hair a tangled mess. “Dean!” she exclaims and then scrambles off the bed. She makes her way over, and then—

“Hey!” Dean rubs his arm with a frown. What a punch… “That hurt!”

“You deserve it!” Claire fires back. “After making us all worry about you, not even letting Sam or Castiel know where you are! What the hell, Dean? How can you just waltz in here like nothing ever happened and they’re not super worried about you? Huh?”

Dean lets out a breath, holding up his hands in surrender. “It was wrong of me,” he agrees. “But I have my reasons, Claire. I swear.”

“Oh, yeah? What could be more important than saving people, huh? What’s more important than being there when someone needs you?”

To his surprise, her eyes start to shine with tears. She swipes at her eyes angrily, and Dean moves forward without thought. He carefully wraps his arms around her and she struggles against his chest for a moment, but then she stops and clings to him. Claire buries her face in his flannels, and Dean just gently rubs her back when she starts shaking.

Eventually, after she pulls away, he helps her to the bed, where she sits on the edge and wipes her face with her sleeve. Dean looks around and spies a tissue box on her bedside table, so he picks up the box and holds it out to her. She takes it with a soft “thanks” and dabs her face with it.

He also wonders if he’ll be like this when his little one needs comfort.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you,” Dean says. “But I’m here now, and I’m ready to listen.”

“Are you?” Claire says, but there’s a lack of heat to her words. “And then, what? You’ll just run off and hide away again?”

“Tell you what,” Dean says after a beat. “I’ll tell you what’s going on with me after you tell me what’s going through your head right now. How does that sound?”

Claire stares at him for a long moment, eyes red-rimmed but clear, and lets out a breath. “Have you ever—” she stops and chews on her bottom lip, hands tearing up the tissue in her hands. “This is gonna sound so stupid,” she mutters. “But have you ever been in love?”

Dean’s fingers slowly curl, nails barely denting his palm. “Yeah,” he admits. “A couple of times.”

“She—I met her at a hospital. Our eyes locked through a window, and I swear my whole world changed. It’s really hard to explain…” Claire lets out a ragged breath, head bowed and hands clenched on top of her thighs. “And I promised I’d protect her, but she ended up taking a hit that was meant for me, and she died before I could—I dunno, say something, I guess.” She sniffles and looks up at him, and then asks, “Do you know what that’s like?”

“Maybe not like that,” Dean replies. “But I do know what it’s like to lose someone that you love, all while being unable to do anything but watch it happen in front of your very eyes.”

“How do you deal with it?” she asks. “How do you move on?”

“Well,” Dean begins, unfurling his fingers. He rubs his palms against his jeans, letting out a breath. “I dealt with it badly, if I’m being honest, and I took it out on the people around me. I know now that it wasn’t fair of me, but you’re not really rational when you lose someone that you love.” He averts his gaze, staring out the window and into the darkness. “I couldn’t move on,” he continues. “We both know that grief, anger, really sticks with you.”

Claire swallows, kicking her feet, heels hitting the bed. “I feel silly,” she says. “Feeling this strongly for someone I only just met.”

“You’re not,” Dean assures. “Sometimes, you just know. It can’t really be explained.”

“When did you know?”

“I lost them,” Dean says. “And my whole world came crashing down. They took a piece of me with them, and I felt lost, broken. It hurt too much, more than anything I’ve ever felt.” He huffs out a laugh, rubbing his thumb over his jeans. “Always regretted not saying a word, but I feel like that might have been worse.”

“How long?” Claire asks quietly. “How long did you love them?”

“Don’t really have a timeline,” Dean says. “I wanna say always, because everything changed when they walked into my life, but I didn’t realize it until later.” He shakes his head. “I had years and years of pining to deal with, I know that much, but I don’t think they ever felt the same.”

“Years?” Claire repeats incredulously.

“Years,” Dean says with a nod.

“Makes mine look insignificant…”

“It’s not. I promise.”

“And it’ll never stop hurting?”

“It might,” Dean concedes. “But you’ll feel that loss like a weight on your shoulders. The pain doesn’t go away, but it does get easier to carry. You just gotta take it one day at a time.”

“One day at a time, huh?” Claire sniffles and nods. “Okay. I think I can do that.”

“And don’t forget that you’ve got a bunch of people you can talk to about this.”

“They wouldn’t understand…”

“Some might,” Dean tells her. “Either way, they’ll be willing to sit down and listen to you, and offer comfort when needed. And, hey—I’m just a simple phone call away.”

“But you’re still going to take off,” Claire murmurs. “And then, what? You’ll keep staying away from everyone, and I’ll have to lie to Sam and Castiel if they ever try to ask about you? What good is that going to do?”

“I mean, I’d appreciate it,” Dean says wryly. “Like I said before, I’ve got my reasons for being gone.”

“And you’ll tell me, won’t you?” Claire says, narrowing her eyes. “You said you would.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles, waving a hand. He stares down at his hands, both of them lax in his lap, and slowly curls his fingers inward, feeling the strain on some of them from past injuries, phantom pain dancing beneath his skin. “Can you do something for me, though?” he asks quietly. “Other than not telling Sam or Cas, I mean.”

“Sure. What’s another favor?”

“I’ll owe you one.”

“Yup.” Claire knocks their knees together. His remains unmoved, and hers shakes a little. “So, what’s up?”

“I’m, ah—” He swallows, his right thigh jumping with nerves. “This is kinda hard to say.”

“I’m listening, Dean.”

Just get it out, Dean thinks. He takes a deep breath, waiting for his rapid pulse to slow for a moment before exhaling. Dean doesn’t look at Claire when he finally says, “I’m having a baby.”

“Really?” There’s surprise in her voice. “With who? I didn’t think you were dating…”

Dean laughs, a touch of sadness entering it. “I’m not.”

“Then is this with, uh, the person you mentioned?”

“Yeah,” Dean replies. He bumps his heels against the bed and sighs. “This might sound a little crazy, but I mean it when I say that I’m having a baby.”

“Wait,” Claire says after a beat, tone bewildered. “Are you saying that you’re having it? Like. You’re pregnant?”

He grimaces after hearing that word. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

“Is this you coming out to me?” Claire demands.

“Uh…”Dean rubs the back of his neck, offering her a sheepish smile. “I guess?”

Claire stares at him for a bit, eyes wide, and then she slowly relaxes, her gaze dropping down to his covered stomach. He doesn’t think there’s any indication of his… pregnancy, with all of his layers, but he still blindly checks to make sure that he isn’t showing anything. “So,” she says. “You’ve got a baby cooking in there, huh?”

“Yup.”

“And the other person is the one that you mentioned? The one that you love?”

“Correct.”

“If I ask you something,” Claire says, abandoning her torn tissue on her lap to fiddle with the ends of her sleeves. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

And just like that, Dean knows what she’s going to ask. He drops his gaze to his lap and licks his lips, nervous flutters erupting in his stomach. “I won’t,” he says. “Shoot.”

“Is it Castiel?”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Nothing gets past you, huh?” he comments wryly. “Was I that obvious, then?”

“Both of you were kinda gross.”

“Both?” Dean snorts. “It was only me, kid.”

“I think there’s enough proof that it was both of you,” Claire says pointedly, nodding at his stomach. She then shrugs, but Dean catches the smirk on her face as she says, “But what do I know, huh?”

“I’m not going to talk about this with you,” Dean says. “But do you see why I had to leave?”

“No, not really.”

“It’s hard to explain, honestly.” Dean frowns, looking out the window again. “Since Cas is the other father, the baby is a Nephilim. Half-angel, half-human. All the angels believe them to be abominations, so I’ve been… hiding out, not wanting to put the others at risk because I want to keep the baby. And also, uh, the people who have the Nephilim, they don’t usually—” He stops and sighs. “They don’t survive, and I felt like Sam and Cas might have tried to convince me that it’d be better to get rid of her just so I can survive.”

“That sounds… really scary,” Claire admits, and her voice wobbles a little. “How can you be okay with that?”

“Because of her,” Dean says honestly. His hand twitches, and he pats his stomach a couple of times. “I did consider the consequences when I first found out, and I realized that I couldn’t do that. I was still… mourning. Hurt. She was a bright reminder of what I had lost, so how could I get rid of that?”

Claire stays quiet for a while. “So,” she finally says. “You’re just gonna die, then?”

“I’m hoping that I don’t,” he tells her. “Someone I know wants to try and find a way to prevent that from happening, but if I die bringing her into the world, then…” He meets her gaze, neither smile nor frown on his face. “Then I have to believe that it’ll be worth it.”

She stares back, and Dean spies a hint of sorrow in her glimmering eyes. Claire blinks, and the tears disappear, and her next exhale is much shakier. “I can’t say that I understand that,” she murmurs. “Not completely, I guess. I mean, my dad went off to continue being a vessel for an angel to keep me safe.”

“It’s what parents are supposed to do for their kids,” Dean replies. “Keeping their kids safe should be their top priority.”

“But what about their happiness?”

“You can’t guarantee that while keeping them safe,” Dean says, voice quiet. He thinks about Sammy and how much Dean sacrificed for him—everything and anything to keep the kid safe and fed, even when he wasn’t happy with their situation. “I know that, with my death, she’ll be protected by the people that I love.”

“But you think that they’d make you get rid of the baby if you stayed.”

Dean shrugs. “We tried to do the same for the last Nephilim,” he says. “Because we were afraid of the unimaginable power that would be brought into the world, and also because the kid was fathered by a pretty shitty angel. That fear won’t be around this time around, but it’ll be directed towards my probable death.”

“How can you talk about that so freely?” Claire demands. “Just thinking about doing something like that…” She shudders. 

When you’ve died a few times, it kinda gets old, Dean wants to say. He doesn’t, though, because Claire doesn’t deserve to hear that side of his history. “I’ve accepted it,” he says. “That doesn’t mean that I want to die, though. If there’s a way for me to survive without disturbing the balance of the world, then I’ll take it. She… I don’t want another Winchester to lose a parent so early in life.”

“Right.”

There’s a bit of silence, and then Claire asks softly, “You said her?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, smiling. “Jack felt her grace and confirmed it for me. He’s been keeping me company whenever he’s free. I think he’s excited to have another Nephilim in the world. A big brother to teach her how to control her powers…”

“Well,” Claire says. “If she needs a big sister to teach her how to be human, without all the flannel, then I guess I’ll be there, too.”

Dean glances over at her, eyebrow raised as he asks, “You really mean that?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I always wanted a sibling, y’know? Someone to spend time with whenever I was alone, someone to care for… I guess this is a way of having one.” Claire snorts and adds wryly, “Family is what you choose, right? Then I’m choosing her. And you. And Castiel. Sam, too.”

“You should count Jack as well,” Dean says. “You don’t know him, but he’s a good kid. Eager to please and wants to do good in this world.”

“Jack,” Claire says slowly, nail tapping against the wood. “The Nephilim, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean shifts so he’s leaning against one of her pillows. “Like I said before, he’s a good kid. It took me a while to see that because I was… angry at him. I blamed him for what happened to Cas, and I was desperate to see the evil in him to justify my feelings. It was wrong of me and it took me a while to see that he was just a kid who was forced to grow up, literally. I accepted him as he was after he saved Sam, and I saw that he just wanted to do good, be good, and it helped separate my anger from him.

“And now he’s, what? Your kid?”

“Mine, Cas, and Sam’s kid, I guess. He chose Cas initially, before he was born, then he kinda imprinted on me even when I was being a jackass, and Sam bonded with him after we took him home.” Dean shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. “It’s a little like three-and-a-half men.”

“Where is he now?”

“I think he’s stuck in another universe,” Dean says. “Not the one you went into to get Sam and Cas back, but a different one. At least, I hope he’s there.”

“I’ll try to be nice whenever he comes back,” Claire says. “But no promises.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Dean’s burner phone beeps and he pulls it out, squinting at the notification on his phone. It’s a reminder of the time, how he shouldn’t stay too late, lest he end up in one place overnight. Who knows what could happen… “I better head out,” he says reluctantly. “I don’t wanna get back to my place too late. And…” He sighs. “I need to make a call.”

“To who?”

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out when I finally work up the courage to do it.”

They both get off the bed, where Claire walks Dean to the door. She opens it and they step out into the hall, standing in a somewhat awkward silence. Finally, Dean places a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“You take care of yourself, okay?” Dean says. He wraps his arms around her in a quick embrace and pulls away in time to catch the smile on her face. “I don’t wanna get a call from Jody to come save your ass.”

“As if,” Claire snorts, punching his arm. She nods at his stomach. “And you be careful, too. Both of you.”

“Of course.” He pats her back. “And if you need a place to get away, you can head over to where I’m staying. It’s pretty remote and quiet, lots of trees around and a huge lake, too. Safe.”

“I’ll consider.”

“And you can meet her when she’s born.”

There’s a struggle on Claire’s face, eyes lit up with joy, but lips tugged down into a frown. Eventually, she stops and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Then, her lips pull up into a smile—gentle and sweet, with none of the anger that normally thrums through her. “I’d like that,” she says softly. “Thanks.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, crossing her arms, and says, “And thanks for talking to me. It… It helped, surprisingly enough.”

“Good,” Dean says. He pauses and then holds out a hand. “Give me your phone really quick?”

She passes it over without question, and Dean inputs the number to his burner phone. He sends a message to himself, simply saying that it’s Claire’s phone, and then hands it back. “There,” he says. “Now you can call me whenever you like. If you need some advice, or if you just wanna talk, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Claire says with a faint smile. She gives him another hug, and then says, “See you around, Dean.”

Dean heads back to the living room, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The living room is less of a mess, but Dean still sees the sparkle of glass here and there. He goes to help again, but Jody stops him with a shake of his head, gesturing to the door.

“Bye, Jody,” Dean says awkwardly. He’s about to wave goodbye to her when he’s suddenly pulled into a hug, a tight one that forces air out of his lungs. Dean doesn’t know what to do, for a couple of seconds, and then he slowly returns the embrace, allowing himself the chance to appreciate the offered comfort.

“I’m giving you until tomorrow,” Jody says when she finally pulls away. “And then I’m gonna call Sam and let him know that you stopped by for a visit. Will that give you enough time?”

“More than,” Dean replies, a little confused. 

She must see something on his face because she smiles kindly. “I may have overheard a part of your conversation with Claire,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I suppose congratulations are in order?”

“Oh.” Dean’s sure that his cheeks are dusted red. “Uh, thanks.”

“I understand why you have to leave,” she continues. “And why you need to stay away, but next time, can you do it in a way that causes less panic for the people that care about you?” She crosses her arms, arching a brow. “The last time this happened, Sam was a bit of a mess, and so were the rest of us.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling sheepish. “Yeah, that wasn’t my best moment,” he murmurs. “But it also wasn’t my fault. I was, uh, a demon… and I wasn’t really thinking straight… More along the lines of destruction and despair than caring about what my brother thought.”

“I can’t say that I understand,” Jody says, bemused. “But I’ll accept that answer for now.” She pauses, looking over her shoulder and back. “Do you need anything?” she asks. “I’m pretty sure I still have some things from when… from before.”

“Oh, no.” Dean holds up his hands, shaking his head. “I couldn’t take that from you, Jody! And besides, I have a bunch of newborn items back at the place where I’m staying. That should last me for a while, if I’m being honest.”

Or, a voice in his head whispers. It’ll last long for the person who’s going to take care of your baby. Not you.

“Let me give you something,” Jody says. “It’ll make me feel better.” She gestures to the couch. “Wait there for me?”

Dean sits, not wanting to be rude and deny the gift she clearly wants to give. He leans back against the cushions and gazes around the room, wondering what the hell happened to make it like this. Did someone break into the house? How did they even get to that other world and rescue Sam and Cas in the first place?

All these questions circle his head, and Dean tries to calm himself as the worry follows. He bites the inside of his cheek, the small spike of pain clearing out his mind, for a moment, and that allows him the chance to breathe.

I shouldn’t ask, Dean decides. Because then I’ll just feel guilty for now being here, and I might try to go back to the Bunker to fix things.

He doesn’t let himself think about the situation anymore.

Eventually, Jody returns with a small box in her arms. She places it beside him with a small grunt and leans back, wiping the dust off her hand with a smile. “There you go!” she says cheerfully. “You can take all of that!”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks cautiously. He uses two fingers to shift the opening a little, catching sight of something green. The name on the side of the box catches his eye and Dean tries not to frown, peering up at her. “You don’t have to give all of this to me, Jody. I wouldn’t want to… disrupt his memory, or something.”

“You’re doing nothing of the sort,” Jody insists, waving a hand. “It’s better for me to pass it off to someone who will take care of it, who will actually use it instead of letting it gather dust. Some of those things in there are brand new!” Her eyes grow distant, a note of melancholy in her voice, “He was a pretty big baby. Newborn stuff didn’t fit him, so we had these things lying around until I eventually packed it away.”

Dean drops his gaze back to the box. “Right,” he says quietly. “I, uh… Thank you, Jody. I’ll make sure all of these clothes get used.” He shifts and then stands up, wrapping his arms around her. “I appreciate it.”

Her voice sounds a little thick when she says, “Of course.”

He squeezes her and then pulls away, hefting the box up in his arms. “I better get going,” Dean says. “Gotta make sure the little one is in a safe place.”

“And is it?” Jody asks. “Safe, I mean.”

“Probably the safest place in the world right now,” Dean admits. “All thanks to Jack, of course, but that’s all I can say.” He smiles at her and starts making his way out of the house, where Jody lingers in the doorway as Dean loads the box into the truck.

“Take care of yourself,” she calls out. “And make sure you let me know when she’s here! I wanna meet here.”

Dean offers a two-fingered salute and slides into the driver’s seat. He starts up the truck under Jody’s watchful eye and carefully drives down the street. No music plays this time, and Dean instead hums some Metallica under his breath, trying to calm his nerves.

He’s got something important to do.

✦ ✦ ✦

Dean pulls over onto the side of the road, parks the car, and shuts the engine off. He stares at the phone booth in front of him, lit up only by a single lamp looming overhead. It’s a little sketchy to be out here when it’s so late, but it’ll be easier for him to do this without any witnesses.

He steps out of the car, the slam of the door loud in the quiet of this area. There’s a large field to the right of him, past the phone booth, and it’s blocked off by a long, stretching, plain fence, the kind that is easy to climb. The grass on the other end is wild and unkempt, a faded brown color that indicates lack of water or, perhaps, the changing season.

His breath fogs in front of him when he breathes out, and Dean shivers when a burst of cold air caresses his cheek. He zips up his jacket, gravel crunching under his feet when he finally stops in front of the phone booth. Dean stares at the intimidating thing, hands tucked into his pocket, and considers going back to his car.

The light flickers above his head, and he gazes up at it curiously, wondering if it’s a sign that he should just stop being a fucking coward and make the call. Dean sighs and pulls a hand out, a quarter balanced carefully between two fingers, and he picks up the phone with the other. 

The coin slips into the slot, and Dean hastily dials Cas’s number, figuring he’ll leave a quick voice message before trying to call his brother. He knows the angel won’t answer the first time, so he’s definitely taking the easy way out.

At least he’s calling.

It rings and rings and rings. Dean opens his mouth, preparing for when the inevitable happens—Cas not picking up his phone and letting it go to voicemail, when suddenly—

“What?”

Dean’s eyes go wide and he fumbles with the phone a little when it slips from his hand. He rights it and brings it back up to his ear, just in time to hear Cas say shortly, “I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait!” Dean gets out. It echoes in the silence around him. Now or never, Dean… “Cas.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath, a crackle of static, and then comes Cas’s voice, surprised and hoarse, “Dean?”

Dean feels something in his chest twinge, and guilt thrums through him. His stomach churns, and he feels like he might vomit again. “Yeah,” he says softly, leaning against the booth. “It’s me, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Hi.”

“Where have you been?” Cas asks immediately. “Where are you? Dean, is everything alright?” The questions tumble out quickly, Cas’s concern prevalent in each one.

“I’m fine, Cas,” Dean answers. “I, uh, didn’t expect you to answer right away, if I’m being honest.” He forces out a laugh and glances up at the sky, where the cloud-covered moon shines down on him, bleary and hazy, and adds, “Sorry it’s so late.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cas says. “It’s just nice to hear your voice.” A pause where Dean hears the shuffle of pages, and then Cas continues, “I noticed that you didn’t answer any of my questions.”

“Because I don’t want to, buddy,” Dean replies, ducking his head. The silence on the other end makes him feel nervous, and a lot guiltier than before. “Because I’m not ready to come home yet.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons.”

“And you can’t tell me? Or Sam?”

Dean licks his lips, and he feels bad when he says, “No.”

“Dean,” Cas growls, and Dean heads the undertone of exasperation, frustration—the things that Cas normally feels when he has to deal with Dean, probably. “Tell me where you are, Dean. Let me bring you home, please. ” He doesn’t need to say that he’s begging, Dean can read it between the lines.

(Please, Cas’s tremulous voice echoes in his head, the angel battered and bloody beneath him. His blue eyes peer up at him, wide and hurt and desperate, and Dean’s hand tightens around the handle of Cas’s angel blade, cold and unyielding. It shakes, Dean shakes, and he slams the blade down because even though he’s this far gone, he can’t help but listen to this plea—and it would break him to see Cas dead.)

“Cas,” Dean says raggedly, eyes burning. “I can’t. I really can’t. It’s not—” He exhales shakily. “I just can’t.”

“We need you.”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine without me.”

“Even when we’re planning to make a portal into Apocalypse World to save Mary and Jack?”

Dean shuts his eyes. “Working a rescue mission, huh?” he says. He makes sure to keep the envy out of his voice, privately wishing that he could be there to help save his family. But Dean has a new priority now, and he can’t risk her by walking straight into unknown danger. “Good luck, then.”

“Dean,” Cas says. Quiet. Sad. Less like Castiel, warrior of God, and more like Cas, Dean’s best friend. “When will I see you again?”

I want to see you before I die, Dean thinks. I want to have more time with you. I want to watch you meet our daughter and hold her for the first time. I want us to have the rest of forever—together and with her.

So many things to be said, and all Dean can reply is, “I don’t know, Cas.”

“I can’t hear you,” Cas whispers, sad and hurt. “I can’t even get a sense of your soul, the way I used to before you left. I had thought the worst, at first, but I still had faith that you were out there, somewhere.”

Dean stays silent. There’s a lump in his throat.

“I just came back, Dean, and now I have to sit in this bunker without you?”

“It’s the only way,” Dean rasps out. He lets out a shaky breath, gripping the phone tighter, as he weighs his options. Dean could continue to keep his extra passenger a secret, but since he’ll be gone for a while, then maybe… “Hey, Cas,” he says.

“Yes?” Cas sounds tired.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“It’s important.”

“I’m listening, Dean.”

Dean lets out a breath and hears Cas’s resounding one in response. His stomach churns with nerves again, probably mixing with the morning sickness, if he’s being honest. “Cas,” he says in a whisper. “I—” miss you. Wish you were here. Need to see you. Lo.

Don’t wanna die.

“Do you remember that night?” Dean finds himself whispering, and shuts his eyes. “When you took the Colt from me? Do you remember what we did?” Do you remember how I opened myself up to you and how you held me like you cared?

“Yes. What does that have to do with—”

“I’m pregnant.”

He blinks, surprised that he actually said it. Dean opens his mouth, but nothing more comes out. Cas doesn’t say anything, and Dean thinks that he stopped breathing, too. Cas doesn’t even need to do it, but he’s… Cas, and that’s one of his many quirks.

“Dean,” Cas finally says, rougher than normal. “Come home.”

“I can’t,” Dean says again, pleading this time in an attempt to get Cas to understand. “As much as I want to be back in the Bunker again, I can’t go back home knowing that—” He cuts himself off and tips his head back, eyes burning. “I’m trying to keep the baby safe, Cas. I want her to be born into this world, and that’s why I’m hiding away.”

“So, this is it.” Cas says quietly. He’s back to sounding sad, but Dean thinks that he detects some anger in his voice, too. “This is the last time we’ll speak.”

A tear slips down Dean’s cheek, and he hastily wipes it away. “I don’t know,” he says roughly. “I really don’t know, Cas.”

“And you expect me to be okay with that?”

“Don’t you remember leaving with Kelly?” Dean asks. “Hiding away from the world, from us, to protect her baby?” He sniffs, wiping away another tear. “Can’t you see why I need to do the same? Why I have to stay away?”

“The Bunker is safe for you, Dean. Probably the safest place in the whole world.”

“But you two want me alive,” Dean says. “And I’m afraid that you’d try to convince me to do something I don’t want to do in order to make that happen.” He drops his hand down, holding it against his stomach, and shakes his head. “I can’t take that risk, Cas.”

Cas stays quiet on the other end, long enough for Dean to fear that he hung up. He’s about to call his name when Cas speaks up in a voice that sounds thick, like he might cry. The angel of the Lord, warrior of God, might cry. “Were you just calling to say goodbye, then?”

That breaks Dean, and there’s no stopping the tears that spill over. “No, Cas,” he says. “I wanted to let you know that I’m okay, and that I’m still alive.” For now. “Please don’t look for me. I don’t want to come home right now.” He tips his head forward and rests it against the phone booth, taking a breath. “Stay safe in that other world, okay?”

“Dean—”

He hangs up the phone before Cas can say anything more, before he can try to convince Dean that going home is the best idea for him. Dean goes over to the truck with shaking limbs and climbs into the driver’s seat, where he stares out at the long stretch of road ahead of him, vision blurring with his tears.

Then, he screams, and he screams, and he screams, falling into a sob when he’s done. Dean clutches the steering wheel tightly, head bent over it, and gives into the heartbreak going on inside him, the reminder that he may never see Cas, his brother, Jack, or any of his friends again.

After he’s done, after the loud grief fades into quiet sorrow, Dean just stares out the window, wrung out and tired. The stretch of road ahead seems a little frightening in the darkness, with no sign of what’s at the end, but Dean finds himself comforted by the idea of not knowing what’s ahead.

Because then, he wouldn’t have to worry too much about the inevitable future.

Chapter Text

Castiel continues to sit at the table, staring at his phone with Dean’s words echoing in his head. It’s quite possible that they were his last words, considering the news that Dean dropped on him out of nowhere.

He looks up when he hears the sound of footsteps. Sam walks into the room a moment later, phone in hand and hair frazzled. Now, Castiel understands what Dean means when he pokes fun at the mess atop Sam’s head, and Castiel wonders how Sam can allow it to exist in such a way. Does he not get bothered?

Castiel shakes himself from these thoughts and scoots backward in the chair. The sound of it scraping against the wood catches Sam’s attention and he stares at Castiel, eyes bloodshot, bruises beneath his eyes. “Oh,” he says tiredly. “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello,” Castiel says politely.

“Have you found anything?” Sam asks.

“I…” Castiel drops his gaze back to his phone, where the recent call log displays an unfamiliar number, where he heard Dean’s voice only moments ago. “I got a call from Dean,” he finally admits, and there’s no hiding the disbelief in his voice.

He looks up to see Sam staring at him with similar emotion, and then Sam’s lurching forward, throwing himself down into the seat across from Castiel, eyes wild. “He called you?” he asks. There’s a note of hurt in his voice, and Castiel can almost hear the unasked question— why you and not me?

“Yes,” Castiel says calmly.

“Well, what did he say? Where is he? Did you manage to track the call? Record it?”

The questions come out fast, almost unintelligible, and Castiel simply stares at the man before him, wondering how Dean could do such a thing to his brother. It’s parallel to the last time Dean went missing, except Sam was much more frenzied, coming off the grief that followed his brother’s death before his very eyes.

( “I’m trying to keep the baby safe, Cas. I want her to be born into this world, and that’s why I’m hiding away.” )

“I didn’t get a chance to record or track the call,” Castiel finally answered. “But he sounded okay. Dean didn’t say anything about where he was located. Actually, he made it sound like he wasn’t ready to come home.”

“Why?” Sam asks. He tugs on his hair again, and it sticks out even when he pulls his hand away. “Why not? Something has to be wrong if he’s choosing to stay out there instead of here with us.”

Castiel opens his mouth, ready to tell him the news that Dean delivered, but he hesitates. It’s only a nanosecond for Sam, something he won’t catch, but it feels like an eternity for Castiel as his mind races. “I… don’t know,” he says finally. “But I have to trust that he’s okay. I would know if he wasn’t, considering…”

“Considering your so-called ‘profound bond’ with him?” Sam says, arching a brow.

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” Castiel says, bemused. “But essentially, yes. I like to think that I’d know if something were to happen to him, if he decided to do something reckless while he was away.” He looks down at his phone and carefully chooses his words, “He told me that he can’t come home yet, that he has his reasons.”

“Did he say anything about that?”

“No,” Castiel answers, blatantly lying to Sam’s face. “He didn’t.”

“Did you mention what we’re planning?” Sam asks next. There’s a hint of desperation on his face, and Castiel feels a twinge of guilt.

“Yes.”

“What’d he say?”

“He wished us luck,” Castiel says, a touch bitter. “Dean’s safe, alive, and he told us to stay safe when we finally venture into that other world.”

Sam runs his fingers through his hair again, tugging on a few strands sharply. He lets out a slow breath and shuts his eyes, and Castiel wishes he couldn’t see the open grief on his face. “Okay,” he says. “I’m still going to call some people and ask if they’ve seen him. I don’t care what he says, I want him home.” He moves around the table and places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, a familiar gesture, but the weight is not the same. “Thanks, Cas.”

He leaves the library, and Castiel waits. Once he’s sure that Sam is long gone, Castiel rises from his seat and slips his phone into the pocket of his trenchcoat. He then makes his way toward the bedroom and ends up standing in front of the door to Dean’s room for several long seconds. After letting out a breath, Castiel twists the knob and walks inside, quietly closing it behind him.

He stands in the center of Dean’s room, a place he never dared to enter since Dean went missing. Castiel turns in a slow circle, eyes cataloging all that he has seen before. They catch something new—a stack of books piled on Dean’s bedside table, barcodes on the side indicating that they’re from the library.

He slowly walks over and picks the first one up. Then the next, and the next, and the next. They’re all pregnancy books, he realizes, and Castiel feels a wave of sorrow pass through him.

Dean was facing this alone, perhaps frightened over what was to come—and why wouldn’t he, considering the way his body was going to change after he already made it change for himself. And because he ran off, Castiel knows that Dean is most likely dreading the fate that awaits him.

“Dean,” he murmurs. Castiel flips through one of the books, finding an old liquor store receipt between two of the pages. There’s a small chart that has weeks compared to fruit. He mentally calculates the date as he stares at the page, and then says aloud, “Kumquat.”

His second child, which currently resides in Dean’s womb, is approximately the size of a kumquat.

Castiel sets the book back down gently and brings that hand up to his chest, placing it where his heart resides. His vessel, his body, rarely showed human reactions, once upon a time, but now that he’s less angel, veering into something that is suspiciously human, he finds that those things occur more often.

Currently, his heart is beating fast, and there’s warmth emanating from the area. He’s… happy with the idea, but he’s also scared, because he knows what it means for Dean Winchester, the man who changed him so completely.

A sigh escapes as he drops his hand. He moves over to the desk, next, and picks up the note that Dean left behind. It’s wrinkled now, some of the words already fading from his and Sam’s handling of it, but Castiel can hear Dean’s voice loud and clear as he reads it:

Sammy, Cas,

I have to go, too. I promise that I have my reasons, and I need you both to trust me on this. I’m sor

Don’t try to find me. I’ll keep running if you do. I swear, there’s nothing wrong with me, and no one is forcing me to do this. See you when I see you.

Stay safe. Both of you. I l

— Dean

There’s a smear of something coppery beside his name, and Castiel knows that it’s Dean’s blood. Of course the man would do such a thing to assure his family that the note was real, of course he would.

Castiel brushes his thumb over the dried blood and invokes his grace. He knows without looking that his eyes are glowing, that his wings have manifested into shadows behind him. Castiel uses what remains of Dean’s essence and tries to find him, reaching out with his power to scour the earth, hoping to hone in on an approximate location for Dean.

And like every other time that he tried this, he gets nothing.

He sets it back down, makes sure it’s tucked beneath something so it doesn’t fly off, somehow, and then moves into Dean’s bathroom. This is a place he only ever entered once, back when Rowena cast the spell on him that made him lose control of himself. It was after it wore off, and Castiel had complained about feeling itchy in his own skin, like the spell caused his grace to settle incorrectly.

(“Come on,” Dean had said, and he steered him towards his bedroom, then his bathroom, where he removed everything except Castiel’s boxers. He was then pulled into the shower, and Dean showed great, tender care in the way he handled Castiel beneath the spray of the hot water, uncaring that he was ruining his shirt or his jeans.

He lathered soap over Castiel’s body and massaged Castiel’s head with both shampoo and conditioner, fingers firm, but soothing. It was such a contrast to the violence that Dean usually showed towards his enemies and the protectiveness that often leaked out whenever Dean was around his younger brother. It wasn’t something he ever experienced before, and that feeling carried over when Dean tugged him out of the shower and gently toweled him dry.

“Dunno if that’ll help,” Dean said quietly. “But it makes me feel better whenever I’m… restless. S’like my skin is stretched over in all the wrong places.”

Castiel let out a breath, then, and idly reached for his grace. It still writhed inside his body, uncomfortable and weak, but it had felt better. “It does,” he replied quietly. And then, he dared to slide a hand up to Dean’s bicep, where he slotted it above the space where the handprint once stood out, where it still remained on his soul. “Thank you.”

Dean’s smile was small, sweet, and he ducked his head, as if embarrassed. He helped Castiel to bed, Dean’s bed, even though the angel needed no sleep, and Castiel rested with the scent of Dean around him, something that made him feel unexplainably safe.)

His eyes fall on the trash can, curious. It’s empty except for a couple of tissues, crumpled up in a mockery of use. Castiel leans down and pushes the trash aside. There, at the bottom of the empty trash can, lies a strange stick. Castiel cocks his head as he stares down at it before picking it up. He squints at it and reads, somewhat faded and blinking rapidly: PREGNANT.

“So,” Castiel says quietly. It echoes in the empty bathroom. “It’s true.”

He wonders why he didn’t notice.

When he first came back, he did think that something was different about Dean, something that made him stand out from the rest. Castiel had convinced himself that it was just his love casting a rose-colored lens on Dean, their reunion making everything sweeter, but the thought stuck with him, and Dean gave nothing away when he brought it up.

( “You should know something, Cas.”

“Yes?”

“I’m—” )

“Were you trying to tell me even then?” Castiel wonders. He sets the test down on the counter, eyes tracing over the word. “Why didn’t you tell me before you left? I could have—” He cuts himself off, mouth clicking shut. I could have tried to convince you that there was another way to do this, he finishes.

He supposes that Dean wasn’t too far off in his assumptions.

Castiel finally musters up the energy to leave Dean’s room, locking away the phantom memories that make him want to bleed himself dry just to manifest them, and lingers in the hallway. He takes a deep breath, one hand clenched at his side, and then starts walking toward Sam’s room.

If there’s anything he can do while Dean’s away, it’s this—look after Sam the way Dean would. Or, at the very least, make an attempt at doing it.

“Come in,” Sam says when he knocks on the door, and Castiel opens it, watching as Sam looks up from his book, the bags under his eyes more prominent in the soft lamplight of the room. “Hey, Cas,” he says. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d like something to eat,” Castiel says. He feels awkward, suddenly. What was he thinking? “I could go out and get you something.”

“I’m not hungry right now,” Sam says. “But thanks.” He sets his book aside and stands, swaying on his feet for a moment, a telltale sign of exhaustion. “Now that you’re here, Cas, can I ask for a favor? It’s nothing too big, I swear.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, standing up straighter. “What can I do?”

“Can you go check up on Jody and the girls?” Sam asks with the smallest frown. “We didn’t really get a chance to do that after we got back from The Bad Place. And I don’t wanna leave the Bunker in case…” He sighs, and shakes his head, looking tired.

“In case Dean wants to come home,” Castiel finishes. He stares at Sam for a long moment and then looks away, asking, “Will you send me the address? I can start heading over right now.” He smiles, then, and adds, “It’ll be nice to see Claire and make sure she’s doing okay.”

“Great!” Sam’s smile seems a little brighter, and he looks less stressed. “I’ll be here if you need anything, alright? And if you hear anything else from Dean… please call me.”

“I will,” Castiel promises. “As long as you make sure to rest at some point. Dean wouldn’t want you to lose sleep over him.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Sam says politely. He turns away from Castiel, then, and looks through his bookshelf for something. “Text me when you get there.”

Castiel shuts his door and leaves him be. He goes back to Dean’s room, just for a moment, and ends up leaving with those pregnancy books that he checked out. It’s late, which means the library won’t be open, but Castiel can take a quick detour to drop them off at the return box, lest Dean get any more charges.

He’ll pay for them another day, that way Sam won’t have to deal with them and question why Dean was there in the first place.

✦ ✦ ✦

It doesn’t take long for Castiel to arrive at Jody’s house. The lack of a need to sleep or stop to stretch is a partial reason why he makes it there before the sun rises. He’s aware of the human need for sleep, so Castiel drives around for a while and even stops to sit in a local park, simply watching nature come to life as morning bleeds into the dark sky, shifting it to shades of pastel that he could never name.

Finally, when it’s nearing the afternoon, Castiel drives to Jody’s house and parks on the street. He makes his way out of the vehicle and up the driveway, unsure if his presence will be welcome.

The door opens before he can walk up the steps, and there stands a woman matching the stories that Sam and Dean told him in the past, a bright smile on her face. “Sam told me you were coming,” she says. Jody peers at him, blinking, and adds, “Wow, your eyes are really blue.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replies, a bit confused. He can’t help but let out a surprised grunt when she wraps her arms around him, unsure of what to do. Castiel eventually, tentatively, returns the embrace.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Jody says as she pulls away. “Dean has told me a lot about you. Before…” Her mouth twists and she turns away, heading into the house.

Castiel watches her for a moment before realizing the silent permission that was granted to him, and he steps inside, making sure to shut the door behind him. “I see,” he says when they go into the living room. “Sam and Dean always sang praises about you whenever you came up. It is nice to finally meet you as well.”

Jody leads him into the kitchen and smiles, opening the fridge. “You want anything?” she asks. “A drink, or a snack…”

“I don’t eat or drink,” Castiel says politely. “But thank you for the offer. I merely came over to make sure you were okay.” His eyes flick over her person, trying to catch any injuries that are visible to the human eye. “And I wanted to check on Claire. How has she been faring over here?”

“She’s good,” Jody says, taking a seat at the dining table. “A little rough around the edges, but who isn’t?” She chuckles, then, and adds, “Honestly, she reminds me of Dean.”

A door opens in the distance before Castiel can respond, and he hears the soft pad of footsteps coming closer. Eventually, Claire walks into the kitchen, wearing a canvas jacket, a black shirt, and a pair of plain blue jeans. Her socks have small purple flowers on them, and she seems surprised to see him there.

“Oh,” she says, sounding a little awkward. “Hi, Cas…”

“Hello, Claire,” Castiel says politely. “It’s nice to see you.”

“You too, I guess,” she says, shuffling her feet. She meets his gaze for a second and then looks past him, at Jody, and says, “Uh, I was just gonna ask when lunch was ready? I know you talked about it a while ago…”

“Should be soon,” Jody says. “How about you take, uh, Cas here and show him your room, huh? I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.”

He watches as Claire narrows her eyes, a long moment of suspicion hanging in the air. Then, she sighs and looks over at Castiel, beckoning him over. “Come on,” she says. “But don’t touch anything, okay? I finally have everything set up the way I want it.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, following after her.

The door remains open as they enter her room, still somewhat plain, but also lived in, and Claire goes to sit on the bed. She leans back against her pillows, not looking at Castiel, and the atmosphere feels… somewhat strange.

“So,” she says suddenly. “Why the random visit?”

“Sam asked me to check on Jody,” he answers. “I supposed he was worried after everything that happened, but he’s busy trying to look for his brother… and other things.”

“Oh, right. Dean’s missing, huh?”

“Yes,” Castiel says carefully. “He left around the same time Jack left. Or, they left together. Jack gave no indication of knowing where Dean was or that he knew, and now that Jack’s gone…” He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “There go our answers, I suppose.”

“And you haven’t heard from Dean? Like, at all?” 

Clare stares at him, the weight of it giving Castiel the urge to curl in on himself. He turns to fiddle with something on his coat, just so he won’t have to look her in the eyes when he says, “I haven’t heard from him, but I’m sure he has a reason for being away.”

“What makes you say that?” Claire asks, a note of reproach in her voice.

“I know Dean Winchester very well,” Castiel says wryly. “He tends to believe that his choices are right, and he’s stubborn enough to make sure everyone else sees it, too.” He can’t stop the sigh that escapes, and he finds himself stepping towards the window, gazing out into the street, simply watching. “That also includes leaving to escape certain consequences, or to avoid causing more pain to those that he cares about.”

“Oh,” Claire says. “I guess you do know him pretty well, huh?”

Castiel hums in response. He brushes his fingers over a crack in the window, and it’s repaired by the time he leans away. “Do you remember how I was?” he asks, turning to look back at her. Castiel leans back against the windowsill, hands clasped in front of him. “Back when we first met, when you first saw Sam and Dean?”

“You mean when you took my dad from me?” Claire asks, but there’s no anger or resentment, this time, only a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “Yeah. You were kind of an asshole.”

“Dean says the same thing,” Castiel replies with a chuckle. “I was… a soldier, a mere puppet to what I thought were God’s orders. The more time I spent with Dean, the more I had doubts, and I realized that I should be questioning what was going on around me. Why weren’t the angels putting more focus on stopping the seals? Why were they so fixated on the Winchester brothers?” His lips twitch, and he looks to the side. “Dean taught me about free will, in a way that allowed me to discover it for myself and free myself from the expectations of Heaven.”

All he gets from Claire is a soft exhale, and Castiel takes a moment to breathe, flexing his hands before he continues. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he says. “Some that have kept me out of my former home. And yet, Dean continues to forgive me and welcome me into his family, offering to help if I ever need it.”

“Where are you going with this?” Claire finally says.

Castiel shrugs. “I’m no stranger to running away,” he tells her. “So, I understand why Dean does it, but… I wish he could see that he didn’t have to do it. I wish he’d see that we’d never do something he didn’t want to do.”

He feels Claire’s gaze on him and when he lifts his head, he catches sight of her questioning stare, blue eyes so much like his own (like Jimmy’s, rather). Suddenly, they narrow. “You know,” Claire accuses. “You know what’s up with him, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure that I know what you’re talking about,” he says stiffly. “And if I did know something, I wouldn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, enough with the loyalty crap,” Claire says, waving a hand. “He told me himself that he’s got a bun in his oven and that you were the one who knocked him up.”

“What do you mean he told you?” Castiel asks. He twitches but stops himself from moving closer to demand answers, knowing it might scare her. “When did you see him? How did you see him? Did he tell you where he’s staying?”

“Alright, cool it,” Claire says, raising both hands. “He stopped by last night, wanting to check up on us. I guess he found out about the whole… other world thing, somehow, and wanted some information. Then, we talked for a while. He told me about his little miracle and then left. Dunno where he went.” She narrows her eyes. “And I wouldn’t tell you if I knew.”

“I know,” Castiel says. He can see it in her eyes, and the stubborn set to her jaw. “Which is why I have to believe that he knows what he’s doing. I won’t go searching for him, but if I come across him, then I’ll try to convince him to come home.”

Claire nods, and then asks, “Does Sam know?”

“No,” Castiel answers. He gazes down at his weathered hand, feeling the grace beneath his skin, and curls his fingers inward, until his nails press against his palm. “I’m not sure how to tell him. Mostly, I’m afraid of how he’ll react if he knew the truth.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Maybe to you,” Castiel concedes. “But I’ve known the Winchesters for… almost a decade now. They tend to lose their minds when the other is in danger, and won’t stop for anything until they’re sure that their brother is safe. If Sam found out about the child…” Castiel trails off in thought and then shakes his head. “He would destroy himself in the process of trying to get Dean back, or even make a deal with Death herself to ensure his survival, all at the cost of his own soul.”

“Intense.”

Castiel chuckles. “Such is life for the Winchesters,” he says lightly. “And for me, I suppose.” He purses his lips, for a moment, and then adds, “It would be better if it came from Dean rather than myself. The brothers tend to get upset over any secrets kept between them. It caused many rifts in the past.”

“This isn’t just some secret, Cas,” Claire says. “This is a baby. As much as I can understand Dean’s need for secrecy, don’t you think his brother should know that he’s gonna be an uncle? That he might…” Here, Claire’s voice wavers. “That he might end up losing his brother?”

He glances at her sharply, and then asks carefully, “What do you mean by that?”

“Dean told me,” Claire says with a tiny sniffle, something he wouldn’t have heard if he were human. “He said that people who have… angel babies, whatever they’re called, don’t survive childbirth.” She gazes at him steadily, eyes shining, and huffs, shaking her head. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” she says, a touch bitter.

He grows serious, then. “I know what fate awaits him when he has our child, and it’s not something he can easily escape, but I’m hoping…” Castiel sighs and continues in a quieter voice, “I’m hoping that something out there allows him to live.”

“And that’s really all you can do?”

“Yes,” Castiel says sadly. He shifts, gazing down at his dress shoes. “Nephilim… They’re very dangerous, Claire. We— They have a rule up in Heaven to destroy them before they could destroy them in return, or the world. This is not something new. It is ancient, passed down by… God, because even he fears something that can undo all the rules he laid out during his creation of the world.”

“But have you ever seen a Nephilim do that?”

“I probably have,” Castiel says. “I just don’t remember.”

Claire snorts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sure you understand by now that angels… They’re not what you expected.” He waits for Claire to nod before continuing, “You see, angels are supposed to be warriors of God with unwavering loyalty. They’re not meant to question anything or ask questions, and doing so could lead to reconditioning.”

“Reconditioning,” Claire repeats incredulously. “You mean brainwashing?”

“I suppose that’s a much simpler word,” Castiel muses. “Yes. Angels who go through that are reset, for lack of a better word, and it’s like they’re born anew.” He rolls his shoulders back, the weight of his broken wings a reminder of all that he did in his life since rebelling against his brethren, and lets out a breath. “Apparently, I was a frequent visitor to the reconditioning section of Heaven.”

“Oh,” Claire says. “Jeez, I’m sorry. That sounds really bad.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replies. “Like I said, it could have happened, but I don’t remember. And even then, if there’s a rule in place, doesn’t that mean it’s there for a reason? Or that it may have been broken before?” He shakes his head. “Even if I don’t remember, there were still plenty of stories passed down from angel to angel about the dangers of Nephilim, what signs to look out for when they’re born, and the mortality rate of the parent that births them.”

“Can’t you use your angel powers to make sure that he lives?”

“I could try,” Castiel says, eyes dropping to his hands. He spreads his palms, staring at the weathered lines, and sighs. “But I’m not at my full strength, I haven’t been for a couple of years now. Some day, this power will dwindle to nothing, and then I’ll be as human as you.” Castiel curls his fingers inwards, a spark of light emanating beneath his skin, and adds, “But, if I’m able to, I would sacrifice all of my grace to ensure Dean’s survival.”

“Wow,” Claire says next. There’s a note of relief in her voice. “That’s good, I guess.” She stares at him with an expression of reproach, and her next words are slow, careful, “What if you can’t do that?”

“Then I must hope for another solution,” he answers. “A world without Dean…” Just thinking about it makes his chest twinge with pain, sharp and biting. “It’s not one I’d want to live in. So, if worst comes to worst, then all I can do is hope that he somehow survives.”

“Your lives are pretty crazy,” Claire comments. “I’m sure something good will come out of the woodwork and help you with that.”

“Yes, but at what cost?”

Claire doesn’t respond.

Castiel smiles wryly. “We’ve all fallen into this cycle,” he explains. “Where we save each other from a fate worse than death, and then we keep doing it, over and over and over again. Dean, most of all, has given up everything time and time again for his family, all at the cost of himself. He wouldn’t want us to upset the balance for him again, not when it can put the child at risk.”

“I never thought of that,” Claire says. Her eyes glimmer in the light of her room, and Castiel’s suddenly afraid that she might cry. “Sorry…”

“It’s quite alright,” Castiel assures. “We tend to think… irrationally when faced with the idea of losing those that we l—care for.”

“You can say it,” she says. “It’s not like I’ll tell anyone. Besides, anyone that I would tell already knows.”

“Already knows what?” Castiel asks, confused.

She gives him a look that reminds him of Dean—unimpressed, brow raised and lips pursed. “Everyone already knows that you’re in love with him,” she says plainly. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious, and there’s proof of it growing in Dean’s stomach.”

“I—” Warmth blooms across Castiel’s face, and it even crawls down to the back of his neck. He averts his gaze from Claire’s knowing eyes, nearly overwhelmed by the embarrassment that rushes through him and wets his lips. “Is it truly obvious?”

Claire’s answer is quick and amused, “Yes.”

Castiel huffs out a laugh, shoulders slumping. “So many creatures made comments about us,” he muses aloud, mostly for Claire’s benefit. “But I could never accept it, back then. Angels aren’t meant to feel the way humans do, and they’re not supposed to fall in love with them.”

“What happened with you, then?” 

“I was given a mission,” Castiel says. “The most important mission of my life.”

“And that made you fall in love with Dean?”

He smiles, then, and glances over at her. “Are you aware of how Dean and I met?” he asks. She shakes her head and he continues, the memories washing over him, “The mission I was given was to rescue the Righteous Man from Hell. The initial descent was… nerve-wracking, one might say, but the angels and I were diligent. We fought demon after demon as we dove deeper into those fiery depths, until finally, I was able to break formation and fly down further, beckoned by the call of the soul that I would one day become intimately familiar with.”

Claire wrinkles her nose, but she doesn’t say anything. In fact, she seems rather enthralled with the story, and Castiel’s happy to share this moment with her.

“It’s something I’ll never forget,” he continues, a touch wistful. “The moment I saw his soul. Beautiful and bright, the very definition of Righteous, and when I touched him…” He trails off for a second, his grace coiled tight in his chest, trembling, and he clears his throat. “When I touched him, I could feel all that he felt, and in that moment, all I could feel was love. Here was the soul of a man lost in the depths of Hell, a place full of unspeakable things and vile creatures, and he still carried a pure emotion like love in him.”

(The very touch of you corrupts, Hester’s words to Dean echo in his head, a scattered shard from a time when his mind wasn’t his own. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!)

“In that moment, I was lost,” he concludes. “But it was not something I could comprehend until later. After everything that I did, after I became human and understood the hardships of humanity, after I regained my sense of self, died, and came back… I understood what it meant somewhere along the way.”

“So,” Claire says softly. “You always loved him, huh?”

“Yes,” Castiel says with a faint smile. “Dean Winchester is a remarkable man. He helped me learn the importance of free will, and the care that he shows for the world, for his loved ones… How could I not?” The ache in his chest only increases, and the longing that follows is only a reminder of the lack of Dean in his current life. “Even now, despite all of his hardships, his soul still shines.”

“Wow. You’ve got it bad,” Claire says. There’s no mockery to her words, though. Instead, there’s a hint of melancholy in her blue eyes. “But I get it, I guess.”

“Kaia?” Castiel guesses.

“When we met, it was like my whole world changed,” she murmurs. “I know the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing is pretty cliché, but that’s what it felt like to me, and I was so sure that she felt the same way… I felt something whenever she looked at me, when she trusted me to protect her, and then I couldn’t even do that.” Her eyes glisten yet again, and a tear manages to slip down her cheek. 

“It’s not a cliché,” Castiel says gently. “If that’s what you felt for Kaia, then that’s what you felt, and this is coming from an angel who fell in love with a man the moment he touched his soul in Hell.”

Claire laughs and ducks her head, droplets of tears creating dark stains on her pants. “Does it always hurt?” she asks next. “Loving someone… losing them…”

“Yes,” Castiel answers honestly. “It’s the most painful thing I could ever imagine. Even dying doesn’t compare to losing him. And loving him…” He takes a breath, feeling the way it fills up the lungs that he doesn’t need to use, and exhales slowly. “It’s worth it. He doesn’t feel the same way, I know, but just being around him is enough for me.”

She snorts. “What do you mean he doesn’t feel the same way? Didn’t you two make a baby together?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean he returns my feelings.”

Claire just looks at him, but she doesn’t say anything more on the subject, making Castiel feel like he missed something. “Are you gonna go looking for him?”

“I haven’t stopped, and I certainly don’t plan on stopping now.”

“Are you going to tell Sam?”

“I don’t know. Like I said before, it would make things worse if I were the one to give him the news. Secrets between the brothers tend to cause a rift. It gets repaired eventually, yes, but certain secrets would cause a bigger eruption between the two if it came from someone else.” He sighs and adds, “I dislike being caught in the middle of their arguments.”

“I’m sure everyone feels the same. They can get loud when they want to.” Claire pauses, and then adds, “I understand what you’re saying, but I still think Sam should know.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “And I also feel like that should be Dean’s decision as well, not mine. He’s the one that’s having the child.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Claire says, but there’s an undertone of mockery to her words. She rolls her eyes and begrudgingly adds, “Alright, I see your point. I guess we’ll have to leave it to Dean to tell him.”

The conversation drifts to safer topics, neither of them wanting to linger on Dean’s mortality. Claire talks about a hunt that she’s looking into, but she also touches on the idea of staying with Jody for a bit longer. Which makes sense, considering what she just went through, and who she lost.

Eventually, it’s time for him to leave, and Claire actually wraps her arms around him in a quick embrace before he exits her room. “Don’t be a stranger,” she says, muffled against his coat, and then pulls back. “You have my number. Feel free to text me, if you want.”

Castiel smiles, warmth bursting in his chest. “I’ll be sure to do that,” he promises.

Jody also hugs him before he leaves. If he were a human, he’s certain that this embrace would crack his bones. “It was very nice to meet you,” she says as she’s walking him to the front door. “Sam and Dean had nothing but good things to say about you.”

“And the same goes for you,” Castiel replies. He offers a fleeting smile, which fades when he recalls something that Claire said about Dean. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For letting him come in,” he says. Jody’s face doesn’t change beyond the small twitch of her eyebrows. “I know he must be feeling guilty for not being here for you, and seeing you must have helped alleviate that guilt. And, of course, his worry for Jack… and us.”

“And his little one,” Jody adds. “You don’t need to thank me for that, really. I’ve told them time and time again that they’re free to drop by whenever. It’s no big deal.”

But it is to Dean Winchester, Castiel thinks. He doesn’t voice this thought, instead waving at her before making his way over to the car. It’s green with a white roof, a classic that Dean appreciates from time to time, and it’s still in pristine condition. Castiel had thought about taking the Impala, but there was no way he could sit in the driver’s seat like nothing was wrong.

The car is almost meaningless without Dean there to drive it.

As he pulls away from Jody’s house, Castiel leans over to turn on the radio. A song from Led Zeppelin plays, one of the thirteen that’s on the tape that Dean made for him, and Castiel hums along. He wishes, not for the first time, that Dean was sitting beside him. The hunter would probably laugh with delight if he found out that Castiel knew the lyrics to all those songs, and then he’d sing as loudly as possible just to get Castiel to join him.

“Dean,” he whispers as he drives down the empty road. There’s no way for the other man to hear him, but Castiel keeps praying nonetheless. “Please stay safe, wherever you are. Our last call… It’s not a goodbye, it can’t be. I’ll find you, and I’ll save you from your fate. Whatever it takes.”

The promise nestles deep in his grace, alongside his age-old duty of watching over his charge, the one that became a part of him rather than an order. 

“I have something to tell you,” he confesses, the words nearly lost in the soft rumble of the car. “And I’m afraid of what you might say, of ruining our friendship, of losing you, but I need to say it before it’s too late. I hope… I hope you understand that I’m not expecting anything from you and that I need to say it for my own sake.”

Another song starts playing by the same band, one he doesn’t recognize, but Castiel lets it fill up the car to combat the loneliness that settles inside him. He rolls his shoulders back, wings shifting, and hopes with every atom in his body that there will come a day when Dean will sit beside him once more, hands moving around as he explains the meaning of the song in an attempt to give Castiel a better understanding of good music.

Streetlights flicker on as he drives by, the sky shifting from shades of orange and pink to purple and blue, stars appearing one by one. He tries to enjoy the beauty of the world around him, but it’s dampened by the longing in his heart as he continues the drive to a home without the one that he loves.

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, Dean wishes he could drink.

After speaking with Cas on the phone, after his subsequent breakdown in the truck out in the middle of nowhere, Dean fell into a small depression. It didn’t help that he had no Jack around to keep his spirits up, what with the kid trapped in another universe, so Dean just felt… listless around the cabin.

He finds himself picking up his phone every now and then, hovering over Cas’s number. There’s a part of him that’s desperate to hear the angel’s voice again, but he also knows, logically, that there’s more of a chance for Cas to convince Dean to go back home, and Dean’s resolve might break.

Dean also calls Jack’s number whenever he has the energy to do so, and he receives that same automated message, an indication that Jack is still in that other world. He almost wants to drive back to the Bunker and yell at both Sam and Cas, urging them to get a move on and get the kid out of that desolate world, but it’d be unfair. They’re already doing all that they can, he knows.

Some days, Dean manages to venture outside, and he always finds himself near the spot where Cas died before his very eyes. The wings are somehow still burned into the ground, undisturbed by the winds or any other natural element. He finds that it’s easier to speak his mind here, vent the thoughts that rattle his brain and pretend that Cas is somehow listening.

Dean finds himself outside one morning, the cool breeze being the only indication that the changing season is almost upon him, with a bowl of fruit in his hands. It’s the only thing he can handle today, the little one making him nauseous at the thought of anything else in his mouth. He sits beside the burned wings, beneath one of the trees, and leans back against the trunk, piercing a piece of mango with a fork.

“Feels weird to be eating this,” he comments aloud, slipping the piece between his lips. He crushes the cube between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, sweet juices spilling out. “Sammy would be making fun of me by now, and I bet you’d be sitting proudly, glad that I’m finally taking care of myself, or whatever.”

He goes with a few blueberries next, picking them out and popping them into his mouth. Dean stares off to the side, the glimmering waters nearly blinding him, and lets out a slow breath. “This place is nice,” he says. “But it doesn’t feel like home. I think… I think I’d wanna live in a house like this, though. Just, out near a lake, or maybe in a forest or on a farm. Dunno. It’d be nice for the kiddos to grow up in.”

Dean stretches out his legs and places his bowl in his lap, covering his stomach. He chews on his bottom lip, thinking. “I’m tired,” he confesses quietly. “I already said it to Jack, to Sam, but I don’t think I’ve told you. Probably in different situations, but not… not like this.” Another blueberry slips past his lips. “I think I’m getting to a point where I want out of this life, man.”

He thinks about his mother yet again and casts his gaze downward, at the bowl of fruit that’s not even halfway finished. “I guess I can kinda understand why she wanted a normal life,” he says. “After everything she experienced in her life as a hunter, it makes sense that she’d want to get out with the man that she loved. But then I can’t help but wonder—did she ever think that she’d die in a hunt? How that would be the only way she’d go? Did meeting John change her?”

Thinking about his father makes his mouth twist—with rage or sorrow, he doesn’t know. He stabs at another cube of mango and shoves it into his mouth, chewing on it this time. “S’funny,” Dean says as he eats. “I used to want a family just like them. Perfect house, perfect wife, perfect kids, perfect life. It changed as the hunts kept going, and then it changed again after I… after we…” 

Heat rises to his cheeks, and he finds that he can’t finish his sentence. It’s a bit frustrating, not being able to say the word out loud, but Dean figures that there’s a part of him simply waiting for the right time. Or, probably waiting for that time to never happen, which sounds better since nothing will get fucked up in the process.

“I don’t think…” he starts, and stops, sighing. “You probably don’t even feel the same way. How could you? Especially for someone like me? I know you said it before, when you got hit with that stupid Lance of Dickhead, and it almost felt like…” Dean chuckles ruefully, shaking his head. “Nah, there’s no way. You were saying it to all of us. We’re family, s’all.”

The memories of that night wash over him, Cas’s pale face, the inky darkness creeping all over his skin, still worrying about their safety in spite of the death that was inches away from his person.

“It was weird to hear you say that,” Dean says. “As someone who knew you when you were practically emotionless, barely starting to doubt the orders given to you, it was weird. But nice, because it showed me how much you grew during our time together, and that… It gave me some hope, I guess.” He huffs out a laugh and says, a little too self-deprecatingly, “What was I thinking?”

Another breeze passes over him and Dean sighs, tipping his head back to gaze up at the rustling leaves. He feels… well, he still feels like absolute crap, emotionally wrung out and all, but he feels a little better after “talking” to Cas. 

“Maybe I should call him again,” he muses. “Or Sammy.” He gives it some more thought and decides that he’d rather not deal with any more emotion. “Or maybe I should go on a walk.”

He’s got all this energy now, so might as well.

Dean finishes off the rest of his fruit and goes back inside to grab the black canvas backpack he found lying around, filling it with some snacks and water bottles. He then grabs his angel blade out from his duffle bag of weapons, along with a gun, and places the angel blade on his waist, the gun in the backpack.

“Can never be too careful,” he mutters. After a moment’s hesitation, he goes over to the fridge and pulls out a jar of blood that he saved from the last time he refreshed the wars (call him paranoid). Then, he scours the drawers for a paintbrush he saw a while ago. 

He walks out of the cabin and over to the truck, unlocking it, tossing the backpack into the back, and carefully maneuvering himself around the seat. Dean opens the jar and dips the brush inside, and carefully paints some wards onto the inside of the truck where no one will see, just to have some extra protection from whatever might be out there. Once he’s done, Dean rebottles the blood and takes it back inside, leaving the doors to the truck open to let the wards dry.

He slips the blood into the fridge and lets the brush fall into the sink to wash for later. Dean takes the chance to pee while he’s at it, because apparently being knocked up means peeing about fifty times a day, and then he’s ready to go.

✦ ✦ ✦

Dean doesn’t drive far, only the other side of the lake. The area is mostly empty, with a couple of other cars in the parking lot, and he sees a family standing by the entrance, smearing sunscreen all over any exposed parts of their bodies. He glances down at himself, jeans, shirt, and flannel combination, and then back at them, their leggings and activewear and grimaces. Well, it’s clear that he doesn’t go on many walks.

“Whatever,” he declares, getting out of the truck. He snags his backpack from the back seat on the way out, locks the truck, and then heads out to the trail, moving past the family and the smell of pungent sunscreen. One of the kids glares at him, for some reason, and Dean resists the urge to stick his tongue out back at them.

“Don’t be like that,” Dean tells his stomach once he’s alone. “Honestly, just don’t stare at strangers.”

The trail is mostly flat and surrounded by trees, with a few benches here and there to observe the scenery or take a break. He hears running water in the distance, and wonders if there’s some sort of waterfall nearby. Maybe he’ll run into it along the way.

Eventually, the path starts to slope upwards, and Dean considers it, already sweating in some places. He sighs and slowly pushes himself to go forward, wanting to at least find the waterfall. It’d be nice to sit there for a while and collect his thoughts.

He keeps climbing up the small hill, regulating his breathing the way the internet told him to do (yes, he wanted to be prepared for his hikes). As he nears one of the larger trees, Dean thinks he can hear the sounds of someone eating, probably a raccoon eating the body of a deer or something, and he hopes to any being out there that the corpse doesn’t give off a strong enough smell to make him throw up.

Dean stops when he passes through a small opening between the bushes, coming across a body hunched over another. Horror floods through his body when the eating sounds continue, followed by a slurp, and his hand falls to his waist where he hid his angel blade. He slowly pulls it out and tries to make his way over as quietly as possible, ready to vanquish the monster in front of him.

There’s a crack of something beneath him, suddenly, and he watches the body in front of him stiffen before turning, black eyes meeting his stunned gaze.

“Demon,” Dean hisses.

“Winchester,” the demon says back, but it sounds more amused than anything. It rises as if it just emerged deep dark corners of Hell, sulfur and flames following its every step. “Look at you… Out here all by your lonesome… Where’s your giant of a brother, hmm? How about that pet angel of yours?” It moves closer, a hungry gleam in its eyes, blood smeared across its mouth and dripping off of its chin. “Why isn’t one of them looking after little ‘ol you?”

Dean grips his angel blade tighter, swallowing hard. He holds his head up high, narrows  his eyes, and retorts, “What’s it to you?”

“Whoa, whoa! Chill with the anger!” The demon holds its hands up, and Dean can see fresh, wet blood smeared across its fingers. “I’m just asking questions, as a demon to a former demon.” It grins, then, sharp teeth coated in red. “Is that so wrong?”

His eyes slide past the demon, for a moment, and he realizes that the body on the floor is actually a woman. Her stomach is torn open, hands lax at her sides and her eyes shut. If it weren’t for the blood and gore all over her, Dean would think that she’s simply asleep.

The demon catches his stares, because it turns to look, and then tosses its head back with a cackle. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” the demon tells him. “I was just on my merry way when I caught this delicious scent, and I followed it out here to the middle of nowhere. To my surprise, there was this little lady walking along without a care in the world, big belly protruding.” It licks its lips, a dreamy look on its face. “You don’t even know how good they taste when they’re just ripe.”

Dean swallows and takes a small step backwards, fear sparking in his heart. His free hand twitches with the urge to cover his stomach, as if that’ll protect it from harm, but he refrains from doing anything else. The demon looks back at him, and Dean manages to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

“Well,” he says. “Good thing I’m here.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not gonna let you do it again.”

The demon scoffs, crouching low. “As if,” it snarks, and then throws itself at him.

Dean dodges the pounce and slashes the angel blade in the general direction, almost smiling when it hisses and screeches. The sound disturbs some of the birds in the trees above them, and he can hear them flying away, leaves falling around them. He allows his body to relax, loose and languid with a lazy smirk stretching across his lips.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, watching as blood drips onto the dirt. “Got a little boo-boo?”

Steam rises from the wound that Dean just inflicted, and the demon glares at him, breathing hard. “You think you’re so smart,” it snarls. “One of these days, something big is gonna take you down, and we’ll all be the ones having the last laugh.” 

It moves toward him, swift and angry, and Dean readies himself. “I’m counting on it,” he says, landing another hit against its face before it punches him. It raises its arm again and Dean holds up an arm to shield himself.

But the demon doesn’t punch him again. Instead, it manages to scratch the back of his hand. Dean hisses, yanking himself away from the foul creature. Blood wells up instantly, trickling down his skin and onto the dirt between them. He cradles his hand close, fretting over the wound, but stops when he hears a long, exaggerated sniff. 

Slowly, Dean lifts his head, and finds the demon peering at him with a tilted head, curiosity written in its demonic features. “Oh,” it breathes, a wet rattle in its chest, and then a grin spreads across its face. “Is that what you’ve been hiding this whole time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean spits out while the fear makes a return. It knows, a voice whispers in his head. It knows!

“Don’t think about lying to me, Winchester,” the demon drawls, practically leering at him. “I can smell it all over you now. There’s something cooking in ya, something powerful.” It steps closer, prowling, and there’s a hint of a growl to its next words, “But not ready, oh no, so I’m just gonna have to take you, let it cultivate, and then I’ll pull it out of your body and feast upon it, bones and all.”

Nausea makes his stomach churn, and Dean resists the urge to gag. “You’re sick,” he spits out.

“And you,” the demon says. “have just what I need to become powerful.” 

It crouches down and then launches itself at him with a frenzied snarl. Dean barely has time to fix his stance before it’s knocking him to the ground, slamming his head against dirt. The angel blade goes flying from his hand, and he chokes on his own spit. The demon leans down, hot breath ghosting over Dean’s cheek, a long tongue leaving a trail of spit against his jaw. Dean finally gets his bearings, pushing a hand up against the demon’s face, trying to push it away.

“Give it up,” it hisses, burying its fingers in Dean’s hair and yanking hard. Dean bites back his cry and struggles more, knowing the next hit might be strong enough to knock him out. “I have you right where I want you.”

His hand finds the demon’s throat, and Dean feels warmth build beneath his skin. The grip on his hair goes slack, and he catches sight of the demon’s surprise before smoke rises from his skin. It rips itself away from Dean, curling in on itself, and Dean stares down at his hands, the silver glow disappearing beneath his sleeves, heat traveling up to his face, healing the headache that was starting to bloom.

“What is this?” the demon questions, sounding frightened. 

Dean remembers the last time something like this happened—Cas with his eyes glowing gold, grabbing Dagon’s hand like he didn’t just get the crap beaten out of him, and burning her to ash. “A miracle,” he rasps out, and then throws himself at the demon, pressing his hand against its face.

The demon screams and writhes beneath him, as if in pain, and then throws a hand out, tossing Dean away with the last of its powers. Dean lands on his back with a harsh groan, the glare of the sun temporarily blinding him. The smell of something burning reaches his nose, and he sits up in a panic, only to watch in stupefied belief as the demon bursts into flames. Its shrieks echo in this quiet part of the trail, until the sound slowly dies down and there’s nothing but a handful of dust in front of him.

Dean carefully moves until he’s on his knees, staring down at his shaking hands. The scratch from earlier is gone, but his skin is still stained red. He exhales shakily, realizing that the baby saved his life, much like Jack did with Dagon way back when.

“Thank you,” he breathes, a bloodied hand sliding over the small curve of his stomach. His clothes are gonna get ruined, but he doesn’t care. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you better, sweetheart.” Dean feels a small spark of warmth beneath his skin, and light seems to pulse at the tips of his fingers, his stomach fluttering in a way that reminds him of a butterfly taking off. He smiles helplessly and says, “Bet you wanted to keep me safe, too.”

Dean actually has no way of knowing that, only a fervent hope that lives in his chest. He hopes the baby understands the affection that he carries for her, how much he’d sacrifice for her to live, and a part of him wonders if she returns the love. 

“Alright,” he says after a while. “We’ve gotta…” Dean swallows and looks over the mutilated body of the woman he couldn’t save in time, and pushes himself up to stand. “We gotta deal with this properly. She deserves more than this.”

Dean walks over, taking care to not disturb the crime scene too much. Her face is pale, eyes closed, lashes stark against her cheeks. The woman’s red hair looks like another bloodstain, a halo of red around her head, and her white dress is a mess of gore and blood. Her arms are splayed out, some of her nails tinged copper—she fought until the end, trying to protect her unborn child.

“That could have been me,” he realizes, voice quivering slightly. Dean rests a hand on his stomach, his touch featherlight. “That could have been us. ”

He pulls out his phone with shaking hands and calls the police. It takes a few tries, but eventually, he manages to dial. Dean puts the phone to his ear and waits for the call to collect, clearing his throat when he finally gets someone on the line.

“I’d like to report a dead body,” he says, pitching his voice a little higher, with an inflection of a fraction of the fear that he’s feeling. “I-I came across her during my hike, and it looks like she was eaten.” Dean adds a shaky breath for effect, a hint of a sob as well, and continues, “I’m on a trail by the lake. Please hurry before someone else can find it.”

The person on the other end asks for his name, but Dean just reiterates his message, along with his precise location, and ends the call. He looks over at the glimmering lake beside him, tranquil compared to what transpired here, and then he drops his gaze to his phone. 

Dean hastily opens it up and pulls out the chip, the memory card, and stuffs those into his pocket. He grips the pieces tightly and pulls his arm back before tossing his phone towards the water. It sails above it for a bit and then plops down into the water. He watches the rippling surface for a moment and then moves to scoop up his angel blade, making sure he leaves nothing behind.

He starts making his way down the slope, though he makes a detour at one point and heads toward the sound of rushing water. Dean finds a small waterfall, the one he heard earlier, and sits down beside the small pool of water at the bottom. It leads to a small stream that’s probably beside the trail.

Dean dunks his hands in the water, a full-body shiver traveling through him when the icy cold touches his skin. He gets to work, scrubbing the blood off his hands. It’s only his own, but he figures it’d be a bad look for someone to walk out of the forest with blood all over their hands.

After a moment’s consideration, Dean then shrugs off his flannel and peels off his bloodied shirt, pulling a clean one out from the backpack. He’s glad he always had the foresight to pack an extra set of clothes with him whenever he went out—a habit that stuck with him for so long thanks to his hunting lifestyle.

He pulls on the gray shirt and rolls the dirty one in his flannel, stuffing it into his backpack after. Once he’s sure that there’s not a speck of blood on him, Dean shoulders his backpack and starts going down the trail again. He spies no one else on the way to the truck, and he hopes that no one else finds the body.

Dean gets inside the truck and sits there, hands wrapped around the steering wheel, staring ahead at nothing. Everything that just happened plays out in his mind, and Dean can’t fight the fresh wave of anxiety that crawls over his skin, making him feel itchy and restless. 

If he hadn’t gone for a walk, then he never would have found this demon, never would have stopped it before it killed more people. If he’d gone earlier, then maybe he could have saved that woman, or maybe… maybe he’d be the one on the ground, his unborn child eaten.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “But for how long?”

He feels another flutter in his stomach, and the strange sensation invigorates him. Dean rests a hand on his stomach and leans back against the seat, sweeping his thumb across the small bump. The fluttering continues and Dean manages to crack a smile when he realizes that the baby is doing that.

“Thanks,” he whispers, taking a breath. Dean starts up the car and begins to drive away from the parking lot, making his way back to the other side of the cabin where his safe haven stands.

Along the way, he sees a couple of police cars, an ambulance following behind. They pay him no mind, and he has to wonder if it’s due to his wards, or to the circumstances that are pulling them toward that side of the lake, where a woman lost her life and her child.

When he pulls into the yard to the cabin, Dean quickly shoves the door open and stumbles over to one of the many bushes, throwing up everything in his stomach. He’s gasping by the time he’s done, some tears streaming down his cheeks, and Dean rests an arm against one of the trees, pressing his feverish forehead against his chilled skin.

“Sometimes, I forget,” Dean murmurs. “I forget what demons are capable of, and I forget how much they don’t give a damn about things. Haven’t run into an evil bastard like that for a while, and it’s fucking… It’s a lot to deal with.”

He lingers for a bit longer before pulling away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean stares at the ward burned into the bark of the tree and traces over it gently. The motion delivers a wave of comfort and he knows that nothing will happen to him here; they’ll be perfectly safe out here.

With that thought in mind, Dean goes back inside. He’s not going to look at the local news, nor is he going to do anything too strenuous. Instead, he wants to take a nap and forget everything that transpired that day. 

Dean peels off his clothes and dumps them into a corner, and then he sits in the shower for a while, hot water beating down on his head. He feels renewed when he steps out, and when he finally slips into bed, dressed in worn pajamas, sleep comes easily. Thankfully, no bad dreams follow.

✦ ✦ ✦

As the weather starts to change, warmth seeping away and leaving behind a fresh chill that carries the anticipation of the next season, so do Dean’s feelings for the cabin.

It starts to feel less like a safe haven and more like a prison as time passes. He can’t help but feel so fucking alone out there, and it festers in his chest like a wound, a reminder that he was the one to put himself there. 

Dean often busies himself by cleaning around the house whenever he gets huge bursts of energy, and he cleans until the place is spotless. Other times, he’ll sit at the dining table with a small snack, scrawling away in his journal. He writes about the growth of his unborn child most of the time, the only way he can keep track of how far along he truly is, as well as his thoughts and worries as the pregnancy progresses.

He also spends time looking at his reflection, critical gaze noting all of the new changes to his body. Strangely enough, his baby bump remains the same size, and he’d worry about his child if he didn’t read up on those crazy stories about people barely gaining weight and not realizing that they were pregnant until they were in labor.

At least he had Jack there to tell him, or else he’d be in the same boat as them.

“Please be okay,” he often whispers in the dead of night, one hand curled around his terribly small baby bump. “I don’t want to have fucked this up already. Please, please, be okay. I can’t lose you.”

Sometimes, he’ll feel a strange flutter in his stomach in response, and it always makes Dean smile because he knows it’s the baby moving in there.

More time passes. He sets up a new burner phone, using the memory card from the previous number. Dean expects to leave it in a drawer somewhere, but he ends up using it at least twice a week thanks to Claire.

He gets calls from her and their conversations revolve around her updating him on her life, asking about the baby, or her fishing for information on various monsters. He wants to voice his worries about her going out hunting again, but since she willingly calls him for information, he ends up giving it to her, with heartfelt warnings and pleas for caution. She tends to tease him about it, but he can hear the gratitude underlying her voice.

His messages to Jack remain unsent.

Each bubble has a small red exclamation point beneath it, and it’s another reminder that Jack is still trapped in that other world. Still, Dean continues to send the messages, taking comfort in the fact that he’s putting these thoughts out there, and that he believes Jack will return one of these days.

“I know Sam and Cas are gonna get him out,” Dean says into the phone as he stirs the pasta around in the simmering water. “But I’m just worried that they’re gonna get there and find out that he didn’t make it, or something.”

“Isn’t he part angel?” Claire asks on the other end. Her voice sounds a little far away, and Dean hears some air—she’s probably driving somewhere. “Or was that something you made up just to mess with me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “No, it’s true,” he tells her. “You and I both know that being an angel, even part, doesn’t mean that they’re indestructible. Plus, he’s a kid who barely got a hang of knowing how to use his powers…”

“You’re such a mother hen,” Claire says. “I’m sure he’s doing fine in this… what did you call it? Apocalypse World? Why do you even call it that? What makes it so different from this one?”

“Well, there was nothing for miles in there, the angels were part of the reason for the destruction of that earth, and survivors were slim,” Dean says. “I’d say that’s enough to consider it an Apocalyptic universe. I mean, it’s basically what I imagined back when the actual Apocalypse was going down.”

“You should write a story about your life.”

He snorts and says, a touch exasperated, “Someone already did.”

“Really?” There’s no reason for Claire to sound this gleeful. “What are they called? Can I find them in the bookstore? Please tell me I can find them in a bookstore. I need to read them. For science, or whatever.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Dean says cheerfully. “Last I heard, they did so badly that they weren’t put on shelves. Or maybe that’s because I threatened the author so he’d stop writing them. Then again, he turned out to be—” He pauses, huffs, and says, “Nevermind.”

“You can’t just stop like that! Tell me what you were going to say!” Claire demands. He hears a thud on her end, followed by a loud horn, and Claire cursing at someone, calling them a series of rude names.

“Wow,” Dean says with a wry grin. “Wonder who corrupted you enough to teach you all those words.”

“Ha ha,” Claire replies. “You know some of that is from you, right? All of these phone calls have taught me that you’ve got the mouth of a sailor.”

“John was a Marine,” Dean muses. “I guess that’s pretty close.”

“Your angel baby’s first word is probably going to be ‘son of a bitch’ or something. Or maybe it’ll pop outta you already saying that.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It could happen, Dean.” He hears the sound of a turn signal, gravel crunching beneath the tires. There’s a moment where Claire fiddles with the phone, and then her voice is much closer as she says, “Your life is weird enough.”

“You’re… weird enough,” Dean says, dumping salt into the pot.

“Wow. You got me, Dean. I’m hurting so much right now. I might even go tattle on you so you lose your golden star,” Claire mocks. “You’re such an old man, you know? There’s even a word for people like you, but I’m not gonna use it.”

“You literally used it last week,” Dean deadpans. “It’s ‘boomer.’ I already know.”

“Whatever,” Claire says dismissively. She sniffs, and then he hears the sound of a bell chiming. “Alright, I gotta go. I’ll call you back after I’m done, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Dean grumbles. “Text me if you need anything else.” He bites his lap, tapping his finger against the stove. “If you need backup,” he says quietly. “I’ll start driving the moment you let me know, okay?”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“You’re not letting me do anything,” Dean says. “I’m telling you that I’ll do it. I know how dangerous it can be when you don’t have someone to watch your back. I’ve been there. So, just letting you know that I can be there for you.”

There’s a beat, and then Claire says, quiet and full of gratitude, “Got it.” She sighs, and Dean hears the smile in her voice when she adds, “Call ya later.”

“You got it,” Dean replies, and hangs up. He sets the phone aside and peers inside the pot, poking at some of the swirling pasta strands. They still feel a little tough beneath his spoon, so Dean covers it and leaves it to boil, heading over to the dining table and grabbing the tablet lying there.

He found it tucked away in a closet, and Dean started using it to keep up with the daily news, as well using it to search up information on monsters for Claire. When he unlocks it, he finds a page for vampires, and he quickly exits out of it, bringing up the weather report for Washington.

“Expected snowfall, huh?” Dean glances out the window, where the sun shines through and casts a golden hue across the floorboards, and the blue sky is lined with fluffy, white clouds. “I feel like that’s a stretch.”

He’s proven wrong many hours later when a blanket of white covers the ground around the house. Dean grimaces at the thought of clearing the yard of it, just so the truck won’t get stuck, and places a hand on his lower back. Already, it starts to twinge, as if the idea of doing such a job is enough to make it ache.

“I just won’t leave the house,” he says. “Besides, it’s not that bad.”

Like always, he jinxes himself with that statement, and the snowfall becomes a constant presence in his life. Dean’s grateful that the heater in the cabin works, or else he’d freeze his ass off and turn into a hunter popsicle. He makes sure to go out before the snow gets too bad and stocks up on plenty of food to last for a while, just so he won’t have to walk out in that weather again.

A holiday passes, and all he does is carve a typical pumpkin face into a styrofoam plate and tape it to the fridge. His baby starts rolling around in his stomach, kicking like she owns the place. The snow doesn’t let up.

Another holiday passes, and all he does is make a small chicken, finally over his aversion to meat, and ignores the overwhelming loneliness that seeps into the marrow of his bones. His baby grows bigger, and the worry trickles away over his weight gain, pleased that there’s nothing wrong. The snow doesn’t let up.

Finally, there comes a day when Dean looks into the fridge and finds it lacking. He nibbles on his bottom lip and glances out the window, frosted over thanks to the cold, and sighs. “Well,” he says, mostly to his stomach. “I guess we’re gonna have to go out since you’re so determined to eat me out of house and home.”

His hand flies to his side when he feels a kick, hissing in pain. Sometimes, it really fucking hurts when she kicks. Other times, it makes him want to pee. There’s really no in-between. “You’re a brat,” Dean says fondly, rubbing that spot. The next kick is a little gentler, and he laughs. “Yeah, yeah. I still love ya, sucker.”

He’s about seven and a half months along now. Dean got a little bit bigger, but he still looks like he ate too much at Thanksgiving (which he did because damn does he deserved it). Time seemed to fly by with all of the snowfall, and the fact that the sky got darker sooner thanks to both the snow and daylight savings, so Dean’s still got enough time on his side before the baby’s gotta come out. He still hasn’t gotten an answer from Jack, and he hasn’t tried to call Sam or Cas, but he does have conversations with Claire whenever she’s free, and that’s enough to stave off his sorrow.

Dean feels another kick and smiles, shutting the fridge. He goes upstairs and changes out of his pajamas, piling on layer after layer until he’s sufficiently warm. The baby keeps moving around in his stomach and only settles when he sits on the couch to catch his breath. He keeps a hand on his covered stomach, barely able to feel the bump beneath his jacket, and hums a few notes of Hey Jude.

This is what he was doing when he first felt the baby kick. Dean was watching a random foreign film on the TV, which he found when flipping through the channels, and that’s when he felt something pressing against his hand. Dean had sat up in a flash, thinking he imagined it, and tentatively pushed his fingers against that very same spot, and he most definitely cried when the baby kicked again and again and again. It was a relief to feel his baby, more proof of her existence, and now…

“Now you won’t stop using my organs as punching bags,” he grumbles when she starts up all over again. “Seriously, do you even sleep in there? Is this what you’re going to be like when you’re born?”

She settles down again and Dean sighs, slipping his gloves onto his hands before pushing himself up off the couch. He wobbles a little when he stands, somewhat off-balanced now that he’s in his third trimester, and then walks toward the front door once he’s sure that he won’t tip over. 

Dean shivers when the cold air brushes against his face. Snow crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way over to the truck. He wipes off the smattering of white on the windshield and then slides into the vehicle, starting it up and sitting there for a minute to warm it up. Dean wiggles around in his seat to get comfortable, and also to warm his ass up because it’s fucking freezing in there.

“Alright,” he says as he starts the drive into town. “Let’s go get some food, baby.”

When the trees get left behind in favor of streetlamps, Dean spies Christmas decorations here and there. Garlands wrapped around poles, lights hanging from buildings, windows decorated in colorful art depicting warped versions of Santa and his reindeer—the whole nine yards. He doesn’t even try to turn on the radio, knowing that he’ll only find Christmas music to blast his eardrums.

He drives for a bit more and then carefully parks in front of the building that tends to get a ton of action no matter what day it is: the new Planned Parenthood that moved in from another city. Dean only parks there when he’s sure that he won’t find a good spot at the store (which he’s sure he won’t, considering the holiday season that’s almost upon them), and he doesn’t mind the small walk from here to there.

To his surprise, there’s barely anyone out on the sidewalk. Normally, Dean spies protesters blocking the path to the entrance, waving signs around and shouting at the people who dare to go inside. He punched a couple of those Bible-loving freaks when he parked there before, and that was enough to make them go utterly silent whenever he came up.

Now, Dean’s attention is caught by the plain gray building. He stares at the words on the side of the building until the white letters blur together, and all he can see is PARENT, a beacon to lure him in. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel and chews on his bottom lip, trepidation settling in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he exhales and shuts off the car, slipping out with a shake of his head.

“Come on, Winchester,” he mutters. “You can do it.”

Dean pulls the hood of his jacket up and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, slowly making his way down the sidewalk, up the steps, and into the building. A gust of warm air greets him when he steps inside, and Dean quickly shuts the door behind him to prevent the cold from creeping in.

A woman at the front desk perks up, a manicured hand waving him over. “Welcome!” she chirps when he draws closer. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh…” Dean peels off his gloves, leaves them in his pocket, and scratches the side of his jaw. His scruff is more prominent today. “I… I was wondering if you guys do ultrasounds?”

“We sure do!” she answers, still cheerful. Damn. What the hell does she have in her coffee and where can Dean get a taste? “I’m just gonna need your ID and you’ll have to fill out these forms for me, and then it’ll be as easy as pie!” She hands over a clipboard with papers attached to it, as well as a pen. “Now, are you waiting for someone to join you, or…?”

“It’s, uh…” Dean stares at the clipboard. “No. I’m alone. It’s for me.”

“Oh!” Somehow, the pep doesn’t diminish. “Alright, make sure you note that in your form! We don’t have any patients right now, and the sonographer is in today, so you’re in luck! You’ll probably be called in right away.”

“Right.” Dean relaxes, glad that she didn’t make a big deal about… him. “I’ll just, uh.” He gestures toward the empty seats. “I’ll go sit over there.”

He goes before she can say anything else, and starts writing down all of his information. Dean leaves the insurance part blank because, well, he’s considered dead in most places, his social security number is long gone, only there in his memory, and he doesn’t have any. He hopes he doesn’t have to pay on the spot, or maybe… maybe he can risk making a payment on the card just so he can have money for food.

I’ll decide what to do later, Dean thinks as he walks over to hand the clipboard back, along with his ID. Everything on it is real, everything except his last name, and all Dean can do is hope that it’s enough for his spur-of-the-moment decision.

“Okay, we’re all set!” the woman says. His eyes flick over to her nametag—Darcy—and back to her hazel eyes. She smiles with white teeth, almost sparkling. “They’ll call you in when they’ve got everything ready, so just sit tight and wait it out.”

“Thanks,” Dean says. She nods, brown hair bobbing, and fixes her attention back on the computer in front of her. Dean goes back to his previous spot and slumps in the somewhat comfortable chair. It’s an ugly blue color, with white polka dots here and there, but it’s squishy enough to make him want to sink into it and stay there for a good while.

He actually ends up dozing off, and he only realizes this when he hears the call of his name. His hand instinctively flies to his side, where he normally keeps his weapon, and then all he feels is embarrassment when he sees who called him. 

“Uh, sorry,” Dean says, standing. He looks over at the woman standing beside an open door, a clipboard in her hand, and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m here.”

“Great,” she says pleasantly. Her black hair is up in a bun, and her olive skin shines under the light. The wrinkles near her dark eyes are the only indication of her age, and even then, Dean’s still unsure of it. “Come with me.”

“Uh, sure.”

Dean stands up and follows her down a long, dimly lit hallway until they reach one of the various rooms around them. It’s darker than the rest of the building, with brown walls and a machine that hums in the silence of the room. She guides him over to the bed and he sits down, watching as she moves about the room.

“Before we begin,” she says. “I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Maggie, and I’ll be doing your ultrasound today. Now, I’m gonna step out for a moment, but is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“I feel like I should be worried about how small my stomach looks,” Dean says, hand twitching with the urge to cradle his baby bump. “But I don’t feel like there’s anything wrong with me, so…”

“The size of the bump isn’t an indication of whether or not the fetus is healthy,” Maggie explains. “Everyone has different body sizes, and this contributes to how the bump will look. You’re tall and broad, mostly made of muscle, so it’s no surprise that your bump is small.”

“Ah,” Dean says, finally relaxing. “Okay. Uh, thanks.”

“No problem,” she says with a smile. “Now, I’m gonna need you to shed your jacket and flannel just so you’re in a shirt. Please unbutton your jeans as well and pull them down so they’re not covering the bottom half of your stomach, I don’t want it to get in the way of the ultrasound and I’m sure you don’t want any of the gel on them.”

“I’ll do that,” he says, already starting to pull off his jacket by the time she steps back outside. He looks around and piles his outerwear on a small table beside the bed, and then unbuttons his jeans, which now fit his waist without a belt thanks to the baby, and pulls it down to a point just before his happy trail gets a little too happy.

He’s lying on the bed by the time Maggie comes back, holding a tube of… something in her hand. Probably the gel that they use for ultrasounds.

“Sorry about that,” she says. “I forgot we ran out in this room, so I just grabbed some from one of the others! Thankfully, we don’t have anyone else in for the day, so I’ll just have to replace it later.”

“Is it normally this empty?” Dean asks curiously.

“On the weekdays, yes,” Maggie replies. She sits down on a chair in front of the machine, setting the tube aside and pressing a few buttons. The screen lights up, and she starts typing away. “It tends to be pretty busy during the weekends. Though, we do get a patient here or there during lunch, which is why we rotate staff around just to be prepared.”

Dean doesn’t think she’s supposed to be talking about this, so he just hums in response. But, there is something he wants to know… “Do you get a lot of people like me?” He pauses, and then adds lamely, “Trans people, I mean.”

“Now and then,” Maggie answers, grabbing a small tube off the side of the machine. “For many different reasons. So, you don’t have to worry about a thing, Mr. Page.” She flashes a smile in his direction. “You’re under good hands.”

For a moment, he’s confused as to who he’s addressing, but then he remembers the name on his fake ID and smiles back. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess I’m a little nervous. I’ve never… done this before, and I’m already in pretty deep.”

The gel she puts on his stomach is cold, and he jumps. Maggie laughs and shakes her head, an apologetic curve on her lips. “We usually warm it up,” she says. “But I guess it wasn’t working. Sorry about that, I shoulda warned you.”

“S’fine,” Dean assures. He watches as she smears it across his stomach, and it feels so fucking weird, but he’s not going to complain, not when it’ll help him see his baby. After a while, she presses a couple of buttons on the computer thingy beside her—the sonograph, he thinks. 

She picks up a wand and flashes a bright smile in his direction. “Alright,” she says, pressing it against his stomach. It’s not too firm, nor is it too light. “Now, let’s see if we can find the little one in there… How far along are you?”

“About seven months,” he answers. “Almost eight.”

“And have you had an ultrasound before?”

“Uh, no…” Dean flicks his gaze away, staring at a spot past her shoulder. The wall has a crack on it, mostly covered up by one of the posters telling him to wash his hands. “Never really had the time and… I couldn’t.”

“I get it,” she says. There’s no judgment in her voice and for that, he’s grateful. “I’m glad you’re getting the chance to see the baby now, though.”

“Yeah, uh. I’m pretty excited to see her.”

“A girl!” There’s a note of wonder in Maggie’s voice. “Well, congratulations to you!”

Dean smiles, then, and meets her dark eyes. “Thanks,” he says with quiet joy. “Feels a little surreal, but… I’m happy to be here.”

“It’s an experience, that’s for sure,” Maggie says, her attention now on the screen in front of her. All Dean sees is something dark and fuzzy, and she taps on a few extra buttons as she continues, “No girls for me, sadly, but I’m happy with my three boys. I do have a granddaughter on the way, though, and I’m pretty excited about that.”

Maggie moves the wand around again, and suddenly, Dean spies a shape on the screen. His eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat when he sees physical proof of his kid—of Cas’ child. Suddenly, a sound fills the room, and Dean realizes it’s a heartbeat.

His baby’s heartbeat.

Dean breaks down in tears. Thankfully, Maggie’s kind enough to not say a word.

✦ ✦ ✦

(He folds an ultrasound photo and tucks it behind his driver’s license, placing the second one in his journal. The third he hangs on his fridge, wanting to look at it during his final days.)

✦ ✦ ✦

Dean slips out of the truck with a small grunt, reaching inside to snag his beanie before slamming the door closed. He puts it on and pulls it past his ears, which were starting to grow numb from the cold, and squints in the direction of the bright-ass supermarket, fluorescent yellow lights gleaming through the windows.

He’s only here because he’s trying to satisfy a craving that popped up, and it wasn’t something he could make at the cabin with what he had. There’s also the fact that Dean’s energy seems to be limited these days, so, he drove to the store in search of the canned version of Tomato Rice Soup.

Shivering, Dean carefully makes his way through the parking lot, the recent snowfall making the ground a little slippery. Dean tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shivers, silently bemoaning the cold weather. Why was Washington so fucking cold this time of year? Why couldn’t it have California weather—unpredictable, and almost always sunny?

Dean stands a couple of feet away from the doors, grimacing at the Christmas decorations outside the store. A bell rings close by, and he glances over, irritation rising when he spies one of many fake Santas, shaking a golden bell in front of their donation box. He pointedly ignores the jolly fucker as he makes his way into the store, sighing in relief when a burst of warmth hits his cold skin.

He loves Christmas, don’t get him wrong, and he always wished that he had the time to celebrate the holiday season, but being away from his family takes the magic out of it.

“If Sammy were here,” Dean mutters as he holds a can of Campbell’s Tomato Rice Soup up, squinting at the expiration date. It’s cutting it close, but it’s on sale, so… “He’d be calling me a Scrooge, and then he’d complain about me wanting to celebrate. Cas, on the other hand, would probably go on a spiel about the birth of Christ and how he was there or whatever…” He sniffs, dropping the can into his cart, and says, “Bah humbug, or whatever.”

Dean grabs a couple more cans, figuring he can make it last a while if he stretches out his meals. His money is running kinda low, and he doesn’t want to risk using his credit card, not quite ready to go home now that he’s in his final trimester.

“I should have done it anyways,” Dean bemoans as he grabs a few cans of store-brand chicken noodle soup, along with a box of broth. “And dealt with the consequences afterward. I mean, it’s not like they’ll know where I am if Sam catches a payment out here.”

He makes sure to keep his voice quiet, lest he disturb the other people in the same aisle. Dean focuses his attention on the prices, mentally calculating what would be better for his budget, all while Santa asks Rudolph to guide his sleigh.

Dean absent-mindedly rubs his side when it twinges with pain, adjusting the waistband of his pants to try and give his stomach some room.

The rest of his trip goes smoothly, if a little stressful from all the other customers around him, and the cramps he’s starting to feel from being upright for too long (he thinks). Soon, Dean pulls up to his temporary home, parking in front, and getting out of the truck.

Slowly, he makes his way to the trunk (and it’s not waddling, no matter what he reads online), grabbing the heaviest bag to carry it inside first. Every step makes his vision swim, and when Dean finally reaches the porch, he’s overwhelmed by a fresh wave of intense pain.

The bag falls from his hands, items spilling out onto the floor. Dean clutches his stomach, having the stupid, belated realization that he’s having contractions.

Fuck.

“Jack,” he whispers, forcing himself to walk to the door. Now that he’s acknowledged where the pain is coming from, he seems to feel it everywhere, and it’s what makes him desperately pray, “Jack Kline, I need you!”

Chapter Text

Thunder rumbles in the sky above them while rain splatters against the window that shields them. Castiel lifts his head curiously, observing the droplets of rain against the glass. If they were in any modern house, he thinks that this sudden storm might shake it apart and leave it in pieces. Thankfully, their Bunker is structured to protect them against such things, but that does not prevent people from jumping at each resounding boom.

Strange, how this storm came on so suddenly.

Jack is seated at one of the tables, a distant look on his face. Perhaps he’s mourning his birth father, the one he was eager to learn about and know. Castiel never thought that the loss of Lucifer would ever affect a person so much, and yet, there Jack sits in his grief.

He glances around the room, where the Apocalypse World survivors mill about. Some chat with one another, eyes flitting about the area, carefully brushing their fingers over the books that climb the walls, while the rest stand around with a lost expression.

Rowena’s sitting in a chair off to the side, her head hanging low. Sam is crouched down in front of her, speaking in a hushed voice, words that he cannot discern. Gabriel’s leaning against the wall, observing everyone with a quiet, narrow-eyed gaze that speaks of his experience as a warrior of God rather than a Trickster.

Castiel stiffens, suddenly, when he feels a brush of something over his mind. It’s familiar and sweet, but it disappears before he can put a name to it. His eyes stray to Jack again, only this time he’s sitting up straight, head tilted and face serious.

“What’s up with the kid?”

He looks to his side and sees Gabriel standing beside him. “I don’t know,” Castiel tells him, taking a step in Jack’s direction. “Perhaps we should find out.” 

A hand grabs his arm before he can move further. “Everything alright?” Sam asks. He offers the smallest quirk of his lips, but there’s still concern in his eyes when he says, “You look like you’re about to storm off to war.”

“That’s just his resting face,” Gabriel informs him with a lazy smirk.

Castiel ignores him and turns toward Sam. “I’m fine,” he tells him. “Just worried about Jack.” He looks past Sam to get a glimpse of Rowena, who is now leaning against her chair, a glass of wine in her hand. “Is Rowena okay?”

“Tired,” Sam replies. He lets go of Castiel’s sleeve, tucking his hands into his pocket. “So, you wanna check on Jack, then?” Castiel nods, and Sam continues, “How about I go with you? I mean, if anyone knows about dealing with Lucifer, it’s me.”

“You may be of use, then,” Castiel muses. “Okay.” It’s probably for the best. Castiel still struggles with the emotional side of things, sometimes, and Sam is definitely more prepared to handle comforting Jack, another thing that Castiel is still learning how to do. He thinks he may have improved since the first time he met Jack but, as some would say, practice makes perfect.

The three of them head over to where Jack sits. He doesn’t seem to notice them at first, too preoccupied with whatever is going through his mind, but he seems to come out of his haze when Sam calls his name softly. Jack blinks up at them, brows furrowed.

“Hello,” he says, lifting his hand. “Did you need something?”

“We just wanted to know how you were doing,” Sam says gently. “You seem a little, ah, out of it. We were worried.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Jack says dismissively. It reminds Castiel too much of Dean, and he has to hold himself completely still in order to not show any outward signs of grief.

“Are you sure?” Sam pushes. “You can talk to us, you know.”

“I know, I’m just…” Jack trails off, head tilted again. There’s a buzzing in Castiel’s ears, but it vanishes the moment he tries to focus on it. He takes a step backward when Jack suddenly stands and declares, “I have to go.”

“Jack,” Sam says. “I know you’re upset, but—”

“No, it’s not that!” Jack insists. He shifts his weight, fingers drumming against his thigh. A restlessness that Castiel has never seen before. “I’m, uh. I really have to go now, okay? But I’ll be back! I swear!”

“Jack, wait—” Castiel says, reaching out.

And suddenly, they disappear from the Bunker. Images flash by in the span of a nanosecond, locations he can identify with ease if he were to give it more thought. Then, he’s greeted with crisp, cold air and the sound of rustling leaves. There’s a splash of water off to the side, too, and in front of him sits the truck he stole so long ago, and Kelly Kline’s cabin.

There is no storm here, either, but there are clouds gathered around the area. He can hear rain off in the distance, see the flash of lightning in those clouds, and yet, the cabin remains untouched.

The eye of the storm.

“Uh, what?” Sam asks, voicing the confusion that currently runs through Castiel. Here is when he notices that Gabriel tagged along with them, most likely by accident.

“Oh!” Jack says, eyes wide. “I didn’t expect you to come along.” He glances at the house, looking nervous, and then back. “Please don’t be upset with me. Or him. It was something that he felt like he had to do.” He twitches and then turns toward the house. “I have to go,” he says yet again and vanishes in a flutter of wings.

Castiel extends his grace and senses Jack in the cabin, along with another familiar soul—so holy and bright that it takes Castiel’s breath away. “Oh,” he says, and starts walking in the direction of the front door. There’s a beat before he hears two sets of boots follow him, one protesting and the other questioning. Castiel doesn’t look back, not when Dean’s vibrant soul stands beyond that door—muffled, but there.

He opens the door and steps inside, stopping a few feet away from the living room. Two bodies bump into him and they start complaining, but it dies down when they spy the person in the living room.

There stands Dean, looking better than ever. He’s dressed in a simple pair of gray sweatpants, a loose black shirt, and the ever-present flannel, this one being Castiel’s favorite red and black one, and a pair of fuzzy, blue socks. His hair is a bit longer, enough for it to be styled messily, with a few strands hanging over his forehead, and there’s barely any scruff on his face. Jack is standing beside him, a hand on his arm and eyes glowing gold.

Dean stares at them with wide eyes. He wets his lip, a flash of pink tongue that Castiel can’t help but follow, and swallows. “Hey, guys,” he says, a hint of sheepishness to his voice. “Fancy seeing you around these parts.”

Sam shakes himself out of his stupor soon enough. He storms forward, and Jack is pushed aside as Sam places his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “Months,” he says, anger bleeding into his words. “You’ve been gone for months, Dean, and all you can say is hey? No explanation, no apologies, just a hey, like everything’s normal. What the hell, Dean?”

“As much as I’d love to argue with you about this,” Dean says, hands coming up to grip Sam’s wrists. “And let you yell at me to your heart’s content, I’m begging you to postpone this conversation.” He removes Sam’s hands from his body and shuffles over to Jack, where he grimaces and holds his side. “It’s gonna be a busy night.

“What does that mean?” Sam asks, exasperated.

It’s then that Castiel feels a pulse of energy wash over him at the exact same time Dean grunts and hunches over a little. Castiel stumbles back a little from the force of it, and one glance over at Gabriel tells him that the archangel is feeling the same thing.

Jack, too, but he’s not as surprised as Castiel feels.

This is… Cas starts to think. His eyes fall on Dean again, catching the joyous exhaustion on his face (a strange mixture to see), and then they drop down to his stomach. It’s covered by his usual layers, showing nothing amiss. This must be the cause of the storm, then.

Sam, meanwhile, looks between the four of them, confused. “Will someone tell me what’s going on here?” he demands, sounding upset and stressed.

Dean exchanges a look with Jack, surprisingly enough, and sighs. “First,” he says, pointing a finger at the archangel standing beside Castiel. “Is that fucking Gabriel?”

“In the flesh,” Gabriel says and shakes both hands in the most elaborate way. Jazz hands, Castiel realizes. “Nice to see you too, Dean!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean says, waving a hand. “Second…” He glances over at Jack again and holds out a hand. “Help me over to the couch, Jack.”

“Are you in pain?” Jack asks. He holds onto Dean’s arm and starts guiding Dean to the living room, while the rest of them follow. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Just this, for now.”

Sam steps closer the moment Dean’s sitting down, now looking worried. “You’re hurt?” he says. His hands come up, hovering over Dean like they want to chase whatever injury ails him away. “Where?”

“Oh, you know…” Dean waves a hand. “Everywhere.”

“D-Do you want someone to heal you?”

“Uh, it’s not really something you can heal, Sammy,” Dean says next, and his smile is a little more strained. 

Castiel observes the way Jack grabs his hand, and the way Dean squeezes it hard enough for his knuckles to go white. Thankfully, Jack doesn’t feel any type of pain from that, being part celestial, and all he does is sit there patiently. Dean looks over at Jack after a while, face much more relaxed, and says, “Your sibling is on the way.”

“I figured,” Jack says, but there’s no mistaking the excitement in his voice. “The wards have more than enough power to shield you two, so we’ll be fine for the night.”

“Okay.” Dean exhales slowly. “That’s good to know.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Sam says incredulously. “Did I hear that right?”

“Yes, Sammy,” Dean replies. He shifts on the couch and then leans back against the cushions. Castiel watches as his free hand comes up to cover his stomach, unassuming to most if they didn’t already know. “I thought—” His eyes flick over to Cas and back, for a split-second. “Uh, yeah. You’re gonna be an uncle.”

Sam continues to stand there, wide-eyed with shock. Gabriel claps his hands together from beside Castiel and says, “Wow, never thought that I’d become an uncle twice over in one night! Who would have thought, huh?”

“Surprise?” Dean offers.

“So, you’re—” Sam cuts in, looking bewildered. He runs his fingers through his hair, making it stick up even more. “Then, who—?”

Before Dean (or Castiel) can say anything, Gabriel raises a hand, a smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, Sam,” he says. “I’ve got this.” He then pivots toward Castiel, eyes dancing with mirth. “Congrats, bro!” Gabriel exclaims. “You’re the baby daddy!”

“Is this what you did for Mary?” Dean asks in a deadpan tone.

“I was more formal back then,” Gabriel replies. He turns back toward Dean, hands on his hips. “What do you want me to say, huh? You already know that you’re knocked up, and the itty bitty grace I can detect tells me that it’s Cas’s baby, too.” 

“Cas?” Sam cries. He whirls toward Castiel, eyes blazing and brows furrowed. “You knocked up my brother?”

“Great job, Cassie,” Gabriel says smugly, smacking Castiel’s shoulder and nearly knocking him over. Despite his depleted grace, he still has the strength to do that… “You gave the Righteous Man your celestial cream—”

“Hey!” Dean barks.

“—pie, and now he’s having your baby! How does that make you feel?”

“Die again,” Dean says dismissively and turns toward Cas. “You wanna say something, buddy?”

“Something,” Castiel replies, which causes Dick’s particularly vulnerable expression to shift into something more amused, more him. He dares to shuffle closer, ignoring Gabriel’s offended squawks, and lets the tip of his broken wing graze Dean’s arm. Dean won’t feel it, of course, but still, he relaxes. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Hi, Cas,” he says quietly. Suddenly, he looks exhausted, or maybe he’s in pain. Castiel longs to reach out and touch him, heal him, but he doesn’t know if it’ll be welcome right now. “Try not to freak out, okay?”

“I’m not…”

“You totally are,” Dean replies, a touch smug. “Your eyes are all wide and you look like you’re ready to fly off.” He stares at Castiel for one long moment, and his face softens. “Everything’s fine, buddy,” he says quietly. “I’m just having your angel baby.”

“Hold on,” Sam suddenly interjects. He looks even more frazzled, with his wild hair and rumpled appearance. The smear of blood across his throat and shirt doesn’t help, either. “Hold on. Since Cas is the other father, and that’s something we’ll talk about later, does that mean it… the baby is a Nephilim?”

“Duh,” Dean says.

Sam scrubs a hand down his face, a pained expression passing over it when he looks at Dean again. “So,” he says quietly. “What are we going to do, then? Are we gonna have to stand around and let the baby kill you? Watch you die? Dean, I can’t…” To Castiel’s surprise, tears spring to Sam’s eyes, making them shine. “Dean, I can’t do that. Not again.”

Everything in Castiel’s body freezes. The joy over seeing Dean again caused him to momentarily forget the consequences that will come with the birth of the Nephilim. One quick glance at Dean tells Castiel that the other man hasn’t forgotten at all, and the stubborn gleam in his eyes speaks volumes to his decision.

And he feels something inside him break, as it had months ago when he dealt with the grief that he might not see Dean again. “Sam,” he says quietly, cutting off the younger brother’s rant. “What Dean needs right now is support, not a lecture.”

Dean’s head snaps toward him, wide-eyed with surprise. His face melts into one of gratitude after a few seconds, and Castiel watches as he curls a hand around his stomach, where their child resides. “Thanks,” he breathes. “I… I can’t give up on them. I won’t.”

But how can I give up on you, Castiel thinks sadly.

“Don’t worry,” Jack chimes in. “I’ve gotten better at using my powers, and I learned how to heal people, too!” He grabs one of Dean’s hands, looking so earnest and young when he says, “I’ll keep healing you for as long as you need, Dean. I know you want to be there for them, like my mom wanted for me, and I’ll make sure it happens. I won’t let you die.”’

Relief nearly bowls Castiel over. He shifts closer, placing one hand on Dean’s knee. “I’ll do the same,” he says. 

“Cas, no,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Your grace—”

“Will be fine,” Castiel replies firmly. “And using it to heal you will be worth it. I would give up all of it if it’ll ensure your survival.” He almost smiles at the shock on Dean’s face, but that’s only because of the way his soul curls in on itself out of shyness, pleasure. “Besides, the presence of my grace may make things easier as well.”

“Alright,” Sam says, voice slightly shaky. “Then, I guess I’ll get some towels? Hot water? A burger? How about some more pillows? Maybe a blanket? An ice pack?”

“Ugh,” Dean says, letting his head fall back against the couch. “It was so much better when you were freaking out.”

“You still should have told me,” Sam grumbles. “I could have—”

“Sammy,” Dean says. The way he’s speaking is similar to the times right before he threw a punch at someone. “Seriously. We cannot be having this conversation right now.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam says, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m just gonna…” He jabs a thumb in the direction of the kitchen, and Castiel watches him leave without a second thought.

It’s then that he notices that Gabriel isn’t in the room anymore. Castiel sweeps his gaze around them, and even extends his senses outside the house. There’s no sign of Gabriel, no ping of grace, and Castiel has to assume that he mustered up enough grace to fly off somewhere, perhaps to avoid what’s coming next.

Dean grunts, suddenly, recapturing his attention. He clutches his left side and lets out a slow breath, eyes closed, and Castiel feels his hair stand on end. Jack’s hair seems to be lifting, as well, but only Dean remains unscathed. 

“Ow,” Dean says after a beat. “That was a longer one.” He rubs a hand over the middle of his stomach, sighing. “This kid’s gonna be trouble, huh?”

Castiel’s hand twitches, the urge to touch Dean growing stronger. It rolls over him and makes his grace tremble inside his body, six broken wings desperate to unfurl and curl around his family, shielding them from the horrors of the world.

He glances over, and the feeling strengthens when he witnesses Jack still holding Dean’s hand. Jack, his son, who wears an expression of unadulterated joy, eyes glowing a brilliant gold. Perhaps he’s interacting with the child (his other child). That idea cracks him open, and the longing flows through the break—his perfect little family that he somehow stumbled into.

“Castiel,” Jack says suddenly. “They’re kicking right now.”

“Ah,” he replies. “Active until the very end, I see.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says with a laugh. “Can’t tell you how many times I woke up in the middle of the night because they decided to use my kidneys as a punching bag.”

Their gazes catch, and Castiel allows himself to peek at Dean’s soul—such golden warmth, such beauty—and at his center, gleaming with holy pureness, is the baby.

“Do you,” Dean says, breaking him out of his staring. “want to feel?”

Castiel digs his nails into the palm of his hand and swallows hard. Yes, he’d like that very much, but would his eagerness seem too desperate? Who cares, he decides, and leans forward to say, “Yes, please.”

Dean grabs his hand and places it on the left side of his stomach. Now, he can feel the slight curve to it beneath the shirt, the way it pokes out over the waistband of his pants, but it’s certainly smaller than he expected. He pushes down gently, searching for their child.

Castiel doesn’t have to wait long before he feels a resounding kick against his palm. A smile slowly spreads across his face when he also feels their grace reaching for his, and he reaches back without thought. He exhales when he feels their curiosity, joy, and unfiltered love, all directed at him.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Dean, they’re—”

“She,” Dean murmurs. “Remember? I told you over the phone. Jack told me early on, and I believe him. I just have that feeling, y’know?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “You’re both correct.” He leans closer, head dipped low as he speaks, “You shouldn’t be kicking your father, little one. I know you’re very impatient to meet us, but this takes time.”

“Are you scolding our kid?” Dean wonders, bemused. “Already?”

“Perhaps.”

It’s here that Castiel notices the serenity on Jack’s face as he watches them, and also the touch of longing in his eyes. He reaches out instinctively and grabs Jack’s other hand, placing it on the other side of Dean’s stomach.

In spite of the smaller bump, Castiel feels the power thrumming beneath his hand. She’s strong, much stronger than him, and she’s—

“Scared,” Castiel realizes.

“Huh?”

Castiel smiles fondly and turns his attention onto Dean. “She’s concerned about harming you,” he tells him. “And I can sense how much she loves you, Dean. Very much.”

Dean’s eyes shine, and they look so beautiful, but he does not cry. “Then I’m gonna do my best to hold on,” he declares. “Because there’s no way I’m dying today.” He wets his lips, and his voice grows softer, “I love her, Cas, only this time I love her enough to want to live for her.”

And that says a lot about Dean Winchester—who sold his soul for his brother, put his life on the line to protect those that he cared about, willingly walked towards certain death in order to save the world, and even fought against the destiny that was so interwoven into their lives in order to make a new, better one.

It means something to admit this, and Castiel is going to do his best to ensure it happens.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, a hand on Dean’s stomach. Castiel starts using his grace to repair the damage he finds due to the contractions. He can feel Jack’s lingering grace in some parts, and he lifts his eyes, catching Jack’s golden one. 

Good job, Castiel thinks toward him, and is rewarded with Jack’s bright grin.

“Hey,” Dean says suddenly. “Don’t let Sam know he’s got a niece, okay? Let’s keep it a surprise for him.” A pause. “And Gabriel.” Another pause, this one paired with a scrunched nose. “What’s up with that, by the way?” he asks. “I thought he was dead.”

“Well,” Castiel says, shifting closer. “That turned out to be another one of his tricks. He created a copy of himself, letting us believe that he was dead, and he apparently went into hiding. Gabriel ended up in the hands of Asmodeus—”

“The Prince of Hell?”

“Yes. He kept Gabriel trapped and tortured, draining his grace. He was consuming it himself, which gave him the ability to transform into other people.” Castiel sighs. “Gabriel killed him to save us, so Hell is desperate to have a leader, and they want Lucifer again.”

“Sounds like a lot happened while I was away…”

“We’ll catch you up after this,” Castiel promises. “For now, just focus on yourself.”

“I need a distraction,” Dean complains. “And I’ve missed so much. Besides, we don’t even know—” he stops abruptly and swallows, eyes flicking away. His hand clenches at his side, and Castiel doesn’t need him to fill in the blanks, he knows what he was going to say.

“Ah,” Jack says, sounding nervous. “I think I’ll go help Sam.” He removes his hands, eyes flicking back to their normal blue, and he quickly leaves the room.

The moment they’re alone, Dean speaks up. “Cas,” he says, voice soft and unsure. “Cas, listen.” There’s a note of reproach, too, and the briefest touch of fear, the way get gets before—

“No,” Castiel says immediately, shaking his head. “No, Dean. Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” Dean says stubbornly. “I know you two are going to do your damndest to make sure that I live, but if there’s the possibility that something goes wrong, then I need you to promise me that you’ll do everything you can to make sure that she makes it.”

“How can you make me choose?” Castiel says, and his voice breaks, the only amount of emotion that he allowed himself to show. 

“You’ve done it before,” Dean says, not unkindly. “With Jack, remember? It’s easy to choose when it’s your own kid on the line, isn’t it?”

“But—” I can’t choose between losing you and saving you, Castiel thinks. Not when I’ve been saving you my whole life, standing guard and protecting you, my charge, from many threats. He ducks his head and feels a strange burning in his eyes. “She deserves to have you here,” Castiel says roughly. “And you deserve to live with her.”

“Cas,” Dean says softly. Then, stronger, “Castiel.”

That makes him look up, because Dean addressing him by his first name is a rarity, and it says a lot about the seriousness of the situation. He observes the man quietly, seeing nothing more than the clenched jaw, and murmurs, “Dean.”

“Please,” he says. “Promise me—for her. Hell, for me, too.”

Castiel wilts. How can he deny Dean when he phrases it like that? When Castiel would move mountains for the man before him? “Okay,” he replies, letting out a breath. “Okay, Dean, but I need you to know that I’m going to do all I can to make sure that you get through this.” Even if that means sacrificing my grace, he doesn’t say.

“Thank you,” Dean says, looking relieved. 

He winces, then, and holds out a hand, which Castiel takes without question. Castiel feels the strength of his grip, but it doesn’t hurt. Even if it did, Castiel would give up every part of his body in order to give Dean the comfort that he needs to get through his contractions.

Suddenly, silver light shines beneath Dean’s skin, appearing first at his throat, and slowly creeping up to his jaw. It disappears quickly, and Dean’s left panting, sweat dotting his brow, and Castiel feels his gut twist with worry.

“That one was longer,” he comments. Castiel looks around them and reaches over to grab a small towel resting on the arm of the couch, gently dabbing off the perspiration. “I believe you’re nearing labor.”

“Certainly feels like it,” Dean mumbles, sounding tired. He glares at Castiel, but any heat or anger that it may carry is offset by the bruises beneath his eyes—the ones that slowly appeared as the contractions kept rolling in. “You do it for me,” he says.

“Do what?” Castiel asks.

“This. You do it now, I’m too tired.” He releases Castiel’s hand and lightly swats his chest. “Come on, buddy. Get to it so I can sleep.”

“If I could I would,” Castiel replies. He wipes off more sweat, and allows himself to card his fingers through Dean’s hair, for a moment. His heart does funny things when Dean tips his head into the touch, eyes closed in what seems like bliss. “But alas, I’m not a seahorse.”

“Neither am I,” Dean murmurs. “Thanks for trying.”

The door opens, breaking Castiel from the bubble of contentment that he was in. Jack and Sam poke their heads out of the kitchen, and all of them get to watch Gabriel stroll into the house with two plastic bags, both bulging with items. The archangel grins under the attention, hefting them up and declaring, “We’re gonna celebrate!”

“Oh,” Sam says, loud enough for Castiel to hear (and therefore, Dean). “It’s just Gabriel, Jack. We can go back to what we were doing.” He disappears back into the kitchen. Jack lingers, lifting his hand up, and then follows.

“Rude,” Gabriel says with an indignant sniff. He sets the bags down at his feet and pulls out a small brown package with the image of a banner. Castiel doesn’t know what it says, though. “Is there a ladder in this place or am I going to have to waste what’s left of my grace to put this on the wall?” Gabriel asks, tapping a foot. 

“Should be one out back,” Dean says, waving a hand. He relaxes marginally when Gabriel disappears, and his gaze finds Castiel’s again, exasperation written in those green depths. “Out of all people in the world,” he says. “It had to be him that survived, huh?”

“Can’t say that I don’t agree with you,” Castiel says with ease. He keeps his attention on Dean, even as Gabriel reenters the room, carrying a ladder beneath his arm. 

“Hey,” Dean asks suddenly, voice worried. “Did Angel Radio happen to go crazy when this one was created? Or do you think they were too focused on Lucifer’s spawn to notice?”

“Probably the latter,” Castiel admits. “I heard no mention of us, and it doesn’t seem like they’re detecting anything right now, as far as I can tell. Then again, they could be blocking me out since I’m the other father.”

“I’m not getting anything,” Gabriel offers from where he’s perched on the ladder. The sign is already up on the wall, declaring in yellow letters: CONGRATS, IT’S A ____ ! “They’re still trying to figure out where Jack is, and they’re concerned about the state of Heaven. There’s also a bit of chatter about the whole jumping realities thing. Nothing about your fornication or your little one.”

“I hate him,” Dean whispers to Castiel, eyes hazy. “If I kill him then no one will notice, right? We can probably blame it on crazy baby powers that happened during a contraction.”

“We can’t kill him now,” Castiel chides. He sweeps his thumb across Dean’s knuckles in an attempt to soothe him when the next contraction hits. They’re coming in more frequently now. “After, perhaps.”

“I’m right here,” Gabriel complains.

“You won’t be for long,” Dean says darkly. Normally, Castiel would be concerned about the murderous intent written all over Dean’s face, but he thinks that Dean’s a little justified in his desire to see the archangel dead.

“Cranky, cranky,” Gabriel mutters.

Castiel manifests his angel blade and blindly throws it in the direction of Gabriel. He’s rewarded with a shout of pain, and Dean’s smile of pleasure, and the latter is all that he really cares about. Castiel summons his blade back to him and it melds into his grace once again, all of his attention on Dean.

There is absolute silence as Gabriel works around the living room, the only sign of his presence being the large pillar of grace behind Castiel, so he assumes that the archangel got the message.

Sam and Jack eventually return to the living room, the former with his face practically pressed against the screen of his phone, possibly looking up information on childbirth, and Jack coming back to Dean’s side, grabbing Dean’s other hand. “I’ll just keep healing you with my grace,” he says, eyes already starting to glow gold. “I won’t stop, not until I’m sure that you’ll be okay.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, and Castiel can feel Jack’s grace brushing over Dean’s body, healing places that he missed. Dean relaxes into the cushions with a groan, eyes fluttering shut. “This is worse than Hell,” he says. “I say this as someone who was in Hell.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Gabriel says.

Castiel turns his incredulous stare onto the archangel, who simply shrugs back at him. “What?” he says. “It seems pretty simple and easy, y’know? Push the baby out and bam, you’re done! Sure, I can imagine some pain, but…”

“Gabriel?” Jack suddenly says, and when Castiel looks back at him, there’s an expression of innocence that seems so out of place—definitely something he picked up from Dean. “Could you come here for a second? I’d like to show you something.”

Gabriel approaches cautiously, watching Jack with a narrow-eyed gaze as he stands beside him. “What?” he asks, some annoyance in his tone.

Like lightning, Jack reaches out and grabs his wrist tightly. Gabriel struggles, for a moment, and then he’s on the floor, released from Jack’s hold, writhing in what looks to be pain. Castiel watches him impassively for a moment before looking at Jack, arching a brow when he catches a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“What’d you do?” he asks.

“I let him feel what Dean’s feeling right now,” Jack says brightly. “I don’t think he’ll be complaining anymore.”

“You got that right,” Gabriel says with a wheeze, slowly sitting up. “That was… pretty painful. I’m sorry I said anything before.”

Night continues to pass slowly, Dean suffering through contractions for even longer. Each one seems more painful than the previous one, but Dean never complains, resilient and strong. It probably helps that both Castiel and Jack are expending their powers to keep him healed, muffling the pain when they can. He also changes into a dressing gown normally found in hospitals, something he has to do with help from Castiel.

At some point, Dean grips Castiel’s hand tighter, and his palm starts to burn from the grace of the child surging through Dean’s body. The silver light leaves as quickly as it appeared, and Dean is left pale and shaking. Color returns to his face after both Castiel and Jack heal him, and Dean looks at him with hazy eyes.

“I think this is it,” Dean says, breathing raggedly. He shifts on the couch and grips Castiel’s hand tighter. The rumbling outside gets louder, and now there’s wind whipping the trees, sending branches and leaves into the windows.

There’s a flash of lightning, and then Castiel hears the deep rumble of thunder, which rattles the foundations of this cabin. Sam encourages Dean from somewhere off to the right to push, and Dean does exactly that, complete with a low groan. 

“M’never doing this again,” Dean slurs out after he pauses for a momentary respite. “You hear me, Cas? Never again!”

“Of course,” Castiel agrees readily. He’s not going to acknowledge the small fluttery feeling in his stomach—akin to a moth banging against a light. Instead, he squeezes Dean’s hand and says, “I’ll make sure of it.”

But Dean doesn’t respond. He’s breathing faster now, and the silver glow that appears during his next push is much brighter than before. It travels from his arm, up his throat, and slowly creeps up to his cheek, illuminating his beautiful eyes. Dean practically screams when it reaches his forehead, and Castiel hates it, hates to see Dean in so much pain.

Suddenly, his face goes lax, a sigh of something like relief leaving his mouth. There’s a glow gathering at his center, bright enough to obscure Dean’s features. He sees Dean’s lips moving, but it’s unheard by the ringing in his ears. His eyes roll up into the back of his head and Castiel’s eyes widen. There’s no time to do anything before the power gathering in front of him suddenly explodes outward, and Castiel is sent flying from Dean’s body, the room lighting up a brilliant silver.

Silence follows. The storm outside is gone, and only the soft, pitter-patter of rain against the windows remains.

Castiel immediately sits up, and he hears Gabriel doing the same, as well as a groaning Sam off to the side. Jack’s still sitting beside Dean, hand bright and golden, head bowed low. He quickly makes his way over, focusing on Dean’s slack face, the smallest hint of a burn on the side of his face, and swallows hard. “Is he—” Castiel starts to ask, but finds that he cannot finish the thought.

“I’ve got him,” Jack says, and his voice sounds weary, strained. He glances over at Castiel, face soft when he adds, “Don’t worry, Castiel. He’ll be okay. Please… focus on her right now.”

It’s then that Castiel notices a writhing form between Dean’s legs. Castiel freezes for a second before he scoops up the baby, holding her close (the way those parenting books explained) so he can peer down at her.

She’s still red from birth, face scrunched up and eyes squeezed shut. Her hair is on the darker side, and he wonders if it’ll match the color atop his head. She opens her mouth, and Castiel spares a bit of grace to shield Sam’s ears a nanosecond before the angelic wail leaves her tiny body. It’s so loud and holy, something that makes the house shake from the intensity of it.

Then, she quiets down, sounds that seem more human escaping her, and all she does is squirm in Castiel’s hold. Castiel stares down at her, mystified, wondering how such pureness could ever come from him. From Dean, he understands, but from Castiel? The angel who made so many mistakes that he still pays penance for them? How?

Castiel hears someone come up beside him, and a glance tells him that it’s Sam, who’s staring at Dean with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” Jack breathes. The golden light coming from his hands shines brighter, and then it dies down. He slumps against the couch, panting, and then says, “Dunno when he’ll wake up, but he’s okay.”

They all watch as Dean’s chest rises in a breath, his face still burned, and Castiel leans forward, daring to hope. Then, Dean settles into the couch, brows furrowed in what seems like distress. When it seems like he won’t wake anytime soon, Sam rises and paces the room, while Gabriel crouches in a corner, fiddling with something.

Jack stays beside Dean, eyes closed. Occasionally, he’ll place a hand on Dean’s arm, where only a golden glow connects them, and then he’ll shift away, a sigh leaving his lips.

Castiel’s ready to go to the other room and clean their child, since all he managed to do was keep her partially wrapped in a small blanket he found on the couch arm, when Dean’s eyes flutter open.

The burn disappears from his face before Castiel’s very eyes, and the paleness recedes, leaving only a healthy glow. “Wha…” he mumbles, sounding groggy. Sam disappears for a moment, and then returns with a glass of water, which he helps Dean drink. It seems to take a moment for Dean to get his bearings, but then his eyes widen, and he glances around wildly. “Where—” he says.

“Right here,” Castiel says gently. He glances up at Sam, who gets the message and scoots away from Dean, allowing Castiel to take his spot. “She’s fine, Dean. She’s completely fine.”

“Oh,” Dean says, and relaxes. His eyes shine, too, and Castiel gets the sense that he’d be crying if he wasn’t surrounded by people. “Am I fine, too? This…” Dean swallows. “This is real, right? I’m not trapped in Heaven or the Empty or whatever?”

“It’s real,” Castiel assures. He passes her off to Dean, who, in spite of his obvious exhaustion, accepts her with practiced ease.

“She’s really here,” Dean says. Now, all of his attention is focused on the baby in his arms, a small, sweet smile on his face. “She…” A tear slips down his cheek, followed by another, and then his body starts shaking with silent sobs.

Castiel rises for a moment and looks over at Sam. “Give him a moment?” he asks.

Sam looks like he might protest, but then he glances at Dean, and his mouth shuts with a click. He nods, instead, and makes his way out of the living room. Sam doesn’t go into the kitchen or upstairs, though, and heads outside. Gabriel meets Castiel’s gaze, for a second, and then dips his head before following.

With the room mostly clear, Castiel turns his attention onto Jack, giving Dean some semblance of privacy to give in to his emotions. He checks his son over, using his grace to make sure that Jack’s truly okay. The result that he gets back is simple exhaustion, too much power used in one go, and he curls a hand around the back of Jack’s neck, gazing into his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says. “You did good work.”

Jack smiles at that, and then he leans up to wrap his arms around Castiel, practically dragging him back down onto the couch. Castiel returns the embrace without complaint and shuts his eyes, shaking off the fearful thoughts of a future without Dean Winchester.

“Hey,” Dean says after a while, voice thick. “Not gonna offer any hugs to the newest member of the family?”

“Yes,” Jack says immediately, pulling away. He shifts closer and then stops, a nervous expression on his face. “I… I don’t know how to hold a baby, actually.”

“That’s okay,” Dean says with a smile, red-rimmed eyes lighting up. “I’m feeling a little clingy right now, so we can practice some other time. I still wanna keep holding her.”

Loving Dean isn’t new, so seeing him hold their child, and interacting with their other one, reminds him of that love. It’s fervent and alive, twining itself so tight in his grace that attempting to unravel it would only bring disastrous consequences. His true form trembles in his body, and Castiel exhales. He’s not overwhelmed, no. Castiel has lived with this feeling for many, many years now, and he’s counting the time period where he still considered himself loyal to an absent God, where he couldn’t even comprehend the emotion.

He can keep them in check for a while longer.

Maybe I’ll tell him when we get back, Castiel thinks. He reaches over to card his fingers through Dean’s hair again, and something inside him ignites with joy when Dean’s head lolls toward him, a tired smile stretching across Dean’s face when their eyes meet. Maybe something will come from it.

“We’re okay,” Dean murmurs. “We’re really okay.”

And Castiel cannot stop himself from smiling back, helpless when facing Dean Winchester’s infectious joy. He slides a hand down to brush a finger over the baby’s cheek, and then his eyes find Jack in this quiet bubble they made. “Yes,” he says. “We are.”

Chapter Text

Dean stands alone in darkness, turning in circles, calling for his family. His voice echoes in the silence, reverberating and changing its form, warping the noise until it’s nothing. He clutches his chest when he feels pressure on it, a ragged gasp leaving him as he falls to his knees.

“So,” he whispers. “This is it.”

“Not quite.”

He looks up sharply, only to see Billie standing in front of him, dressed in a plain, black jumpsuit, hands clasped in front of her, white ring a beacon in the darkness around them. She regards him with a look that contains her usual contempt, but there’s something else in her eyes—respect, maybe?

Dean slowly rises, gazing at her with some degree of caution. “What do you mean by that?” he asks.

Billie stares at him for a bit longer before sighing. She lifts up the hand that contains the ring and waves it, and suddenly they’re in Billie’s office. “You’re not dead, Dean,” she says, moving around her desk to take a seat in her chair. She treats it like a throne, and Dean can’t help but think that it’s fitting. “At least, not yet.”

He frowns. “So, what? Are you holding my soul hostage or something?” Dean crosses his arms, staring her down. “The others aren’t gonna come bursting in to save me, if that’s the kind of trap you’re trying to lay.”

“As much as I’d like for your brother and your angel to come rampaging through my office,” Billie drawls. “There’s no nefarious plan going on here. I simply brought you along for another one of our chats.” She smiles, then, but there’s no kindness in it. “Is that alright with you?”

“I guess…” Dean murmurs.

“Good.” Billie waves her hand again. “Have a seat.”

Dean feels something bump the back of his knees, and he would have fallen into a heap on the floor if it weren’t for the chair that suddenly appeared beneath him. He feels an echo of pain in his lower back when he shifts, and Dean reaches behind himself, pressing against the area in confusion.

“You just gave birth to your bundle of joy,” Billie comments. “Of course you’re going to feel a little something, but that’ll probably be gone by the time you wake up.”

“Why?”

“Jack,” she says. “The other Nephilim. Lucifer’s son. He’s keeping your soul tethered to the living with his immaculate power, healing the damages done to your body.” She sits up straighter, meeting his gaze. “You’re not dead yet, Dean Winchester, but it’s still a choice that you have to make.”

“You already know what I’m going to do,” Dean says tiredly, rubbing a hand down his face. He feels… grimy, probably from all the sweat that poured out of him when he was giving birth to a baby. “We’re important, right? That’s what you told me.”

Billie opens a book on the table, one that wasn’t there before, and begins writing in it with a long, quill pen. It’s in a language that Dean doesn’t understand, and he doubts he’d remember it even if he tried.

“Yes,” she says. “Something big is coming, Dean, and I’m going to need your help to stop it.” She lifts her head, eyes dark and fathomless. “Are you prepared to deal with it?”

Dean smiles humorlessly. “Of course,” he answers. “Who else if not myself?”

She stares at him for a long moment before nodding. “Until then,” she says, lifting her hand yet again. “I hope I don’t see you for quite some time.”

“Back at ya.”

This time, she snaps her fingers, and everything fades around him. Dean’s back in the darkness, but he finds comfort in it, this time. He slowly positions himself on the floor and shuts his eyes, letting himself fall back. Dean feels the darkness cocoon him in warmth, and then a bright golden light shines through, piercing him until—

His eyes flutter open. He feels a brief spike of pain before it disappears, and he’s left feeling better than ever. Dean’s vision blurs as he tries to get a sense of what’s going on. “Wha…” he mumbles, confused. Then, there’s a glass being pressed to his lips, and Dean slowly drinks some water, awareness trickling in.

“Where—” he starts to say, panicked, but then Cas calms his nerves by showing off the baby in his arms, the one he spent so long trying to protect, desperate to bring her into the world.

As she’s placed into Dean’s arms, all he can think is that she’s beautiful. Even with all the blood and vernix on her body, she’s the most beautiful being he’s ever seen—head full of hair, eyes dark and fathomless, and so fucking tiny. 

“She’s really here,” Dean says with wonder, focused entirely on the baby in his arms. “She…” The dam of emotions is too full, and it spills over, a tear slipping down his cheek, more following until he’s crying, holding her close to his chest.

They’re tears of joy, mostly over the fact that he actually gets a chance to hold his baby in his arms, to be there for her during the ups and downs of their crazy lives. It seems like the start of something new, something better, and although Billie’s message lingers in his head, Dean can’t help but feel hopeful about the future.

✦ ✦ ✦

He’s in Jack’s baby room, freshly showered and dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt, fuzzy socks back on. The baby is on the dressing table, so small compared to the whole thing, the whole room, already in a diaper. Dean hasn’t bothered to clean her off, not wanting to do it after he read about the vernix keeping the baby moisturized and protected from the cold.

Dean hears a knock on the door and looks up, watching his brother peek into the room. “Can I come in?” he asks with a shyness that Dean hasn’t seen in such a long time. Maybe since before he found out the family secret, or before he realized angels aren’t as perfect as he once thought. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“As long as you don’t yell,” Dean jokes, beckoning him over. His gaze strays to his baby again, who’s wiggling around, nowhere to go. “Don’t wanna rupture her eardrums with our arguing.”

“I would never,” Sam replies. He edges closer, actually looking nervous, until he’s shoulder to shoulder with Dean. There’s a bit of silence, and then Sam says quietly, “Can’t believe you have a kid,” Sam says quietly. He’s peering over Dean’s shoulder, a look of awe on his face. “She’s amazing, Dean.”

“I know,” Dean says proudly, practically puffing up. He presses the pad of his thumb against her tiny palm, and his heart flutters when she curls her little fingers around it. “You know,” he continues. “I never wanted to bring a kid into this life, not after our childhood, but I don’t regret having her. And I know I can do so much better.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. “I know that, too.”

Dean glances up at him, a smile making its way onto his face. “Thanks, Sammy,” he says quietly. He slips his thumb out of the baby’s palm and starts swaddling her in a thin blanket, white with a little yellow bee on it, the way the books showed him. “Everything I went through, everything I did… It was worth it.”

“I want to be mad,” Sam says, and there’s a note of hurt in his voice. “Especially after we promised each other that we wouldn’t keep secrets, but… I can see why you did it. I just don’t get why you didn’t want to tell me.”

“I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of you doing something crazy to prevent my inevitable death,” Dean admits. He scratches the side of his jaw, focusing on his baby. “And the thought of you trying to convince me to not have the baby heightened those fears, I dunno. I wasn’t really thinking rationally…”

“I’ll say.”

Dean knocks their elbows together, and Sam stumbles a little, a smile on his face. “Shut up,” he says, and then lowers his voice, “I already knew that I’d keep her, y’know? Leaving wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. I had a bag packed and ready to go, so when Jack decided to leave, I took that chance.”

“And you’ve been staying here since then?”

“Yep.”

“Wow,” Sam says, rubbing his jaw. “I never thought to check here.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean shrugs. “Who could have possibly guessed that I’d end up knocked up by an angel?” He glances out the window, humming thoughtfully. “It might also be because of the wards,” he muses. “I refreshed the ones on the property, and even carved a few onto the trees. Jack also kept me hidden with his powers, so that probably didn’t help.”

Sam chuckles. “Probably,” he replies, eyes flicking down to his baby. She’s not really doing much beyond lying there, blearily staring up at nothing. Dean already isn’t looking forward to the day when she will be a whole new different person. “So, does she have a name? Or are you keeping that a secret, too?” There’s no anger in his voice, no bitterness, only an undertone of humor.

“Ha ha,” Dean deadpans. He grabs a yellow beanie off the counter nearby and pulls it down on her little head. Her hair is already so dark, and he wonders if it’ll lean more towards Cas’s coloring or Sammy’s. He can’t wait to find out. “Nah,” he says. “But I wanna introduce her to the others here. Easier to say it just once.” Dean eyes his brother. “Can you be patient for a little while longer?”

“I guess,” Sam grumbles, sounding like a twelve-year-old upset over losing a candy bar. He reaches down and carefully tucks a stray curl beneath the beanie and says, “Well, let’s get on with it.”

“That’s not being patient,” Dean points out. He gets ready to pick up his baby and pauses, meeting his brother’s gaze. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me,” he says quietly. “But I’m glad you had Cas to help you.” Another pause, where he then adds grudgingly, “And Gabriel, I guess.”

Sam huffs out a laugh, but then he looks solemn. “I was pretty pissed for a while,” he says. “Even after Cas gave me the news that you were okay, I just couldn’t understand why you’d stay away. I kept thinking about all of these terrible things that could happen to you, and I’d never know.” He sighs, reaching up to card fingers through his hair. “I was afraid that I wouldn’t see you again.”

To Dean’s surprise, Sam’s eyes glisten with the threat of tears, and Dean has to pull him into a hug. His little brother reciprocates immediately, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder and clinging to him the way he used to when they were kids. Dean just rubs his back, holding on just as tightly.

They part, and Dean pretends he doesn’t see Sam wiping his eyes while he does the same. He turns his attention back onto his daughter, who is now squirming around, squinting up in his direction.

“Alright,” he says, carefully picking her up. “Let’s go, then.” 

Dean cups the back of her head, makes sure he’s not squishing her, and marvels at the weight of her against his chest. She’s so small and warm and precious—how could she have come out of Dean?

“So,” Sam says before he can leave the room. “You and Cas, huh?”

“I’m not getting into this with you,” Dean retorts. “We’re not gonna stand here and gossip about me and Cas or whatever. I’ve got shit to do.”

“So what you’re saying is that there is a you and Cas?” Sam asks. There’s mirth in his eyes, a hint of a grin on his face. “I mean, you’re holding the proof in your arms, Dean. How can you deny it when there’s an actual baby that you two made?”

“You’re annoying,” Dean tells him. “And no one likes you.”

“I don’t hear any denial,” Sam practically sing-songs.

Dean rolls his eyes, peering down at his little bundle of joy. Again, she’s not doing much, but that’s alright. She had a very hard day.

“All I’m going to say is that it happened the night he took the Colt,” he finally says, if only to get his annoying little brother off his back. “And I honestly don’t know where we’ll go from here. If anything will come out of this, I mean, which I doubt…”

Sam’s face softens, and he goes all puppy-eyed. “You can let yourself be happy, y’know?” he says. “And if that’s with Cas, then I don’t care. For most of our lives, you were talking about how I deserved that apple pie life, how I deserved to grow old, and you never considered that you do, too. You deserve a happy ending, Dean.”

Dean looks away and sighs. “Yeah, well, I dunno,” he says quietly. “We’ll see what happens.”

Sam grabs his shoulder, squeezing it once. “Whatever you decide,” he says. “I’m with you.”

✦ ✦ ✦

“Everyone,” Dean announces when he steps back into the living room, where the other three angels await. He waits for them to look at him before gazing down at his baby girl. She’s asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling, and he can’t help but smile. “I’d like you to meet Celeste Winchester.”

Jack smiles widely. “That’s a pretty name,” he says.

It seems to take a moment longer for the news to hit the others, but soon, Sam’s eyes wide. “Oh,” he breathes, and it’s followed by Cas’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Dean…”

“Celeste,” Cas repeats as he draws closer. He brushes the back of his fingers over her cheek, and Dean feels moved by the look of awe on his face. 

Here is Castiel, angel of the Lord, who witnessed the creation of stars coming to life in the endless, ancient sky. Here is Castiel, warrior of God, who fought against the armies of Hell to save one broken man. Here is Castiel, a celestial being who rebelled against his brethren, hands coated in their grace like blood, and found faith in the faithless.

Here is Cas, his best friend, who softens because of their daughter, who murmurs blessings in Enochian as he traces her delicate features, who sheds the role of Angel and slips into the one of Father. Here is Cas, the one that he’ll love until he breathes his last, who once kissed him sweetly and held him with reverence.

“How do you feel?” Dean asks curiously, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He’s going to blame all of these extra emotions on those damn baby hormones that were plaguing him for months.

“I…” Cas trails off, looking pensive. He can hear the others shuffling out of the room (along with Gabriel’s faint protests, which are all shushed by Sam), but Dean doesn’t look their way. Dean continues to look at Cas, waiting. “I feel. ”

“Yeah,” Dean says with a chuckle. “I’m right there with you.”

Cas continues to touch their daughter, picking up one of her hands. “Will you come home?” he asks, peering at him with those intense blue eyes of his. Once upon a time, Dean found them unnerving. Now, he soaks in the stare, having missed it during his months away from the angel. “Or will I have to stay here with you?”

Dean blinks. “You’d stay?” he says, surprised.

“From now on, I go where you go,” Cas says, and leans down to kiss Celeste’s forehead. She stirs slightly, but only releases a faint sigh before settling back down, turning her face toward Cas. “Both of you.”

His eyes burn, and Dean ignores the feeling and distracts himself by glancing around the room. The whole time he has lived here, waiting for his baby to arrive, he never dared to disturb what Kelly left behind—and sure, it already does look homely, but it never felt like home to Dean.

This isn’t where he belongs.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

✦ ✦ ✦

(Sam pulls him aside while they’re packing up everything they can—boxes of diapers and fresh packs of onesies included.

“It’s a great name,” he says, looking a bit tearful. Dean doesn’t even think about making fun of him. He spent all these months trying to settle on a name, and when Celeste came to mind, he spent a good hour crying over Charlie.

“Beautiful name,” Sam says quietly. “She would have loved it.”

Age-old grief wells up from within, but it doesn’t hurt as much as before. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.” Dean snorts, suddenly, when a thought occurs. “I can imagine her pulling up with the nerdiest clothes for her, or dressing her up to look like Princess Leia.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says with a smile that makes him look so much younger. God, they’re so fucking old. When did they get old? “Welcome to this crazy family, Celeste Winchester.”

“Middle name pending,” Dean says. “I considered going with Leia, but thought it might be too corny.”

“Charlie wouldn’t agree,” Sam points out, and they share a laugh. After it dies down, and while they’re watching Gabriel try and figure out how to buckle the car seat into the car (complete with loud shouting and complicated hand gestures as he argues with Cas), Sam adds, “Maybe a variation?”

“I’ll think about it,” Dean replies, adjusting his hold on Celeste. Maybe he should grab that baby sling on the way out because he doesn’t think he’ll be setting her down for much. “So, what have you been up to since I’ve been gone?”

“Funny story, actually…”)

✦ ✦ ✦

Settled in his room, and far away from the Apocalypse World crowd, Dean stands over his baby’s bassinet (Jack set it up with a snap of his fingers) and watches her sleep.

Sam wanted to stay, but Dean had to force him out so he could appease the stragglers from an alternate dimension. He really hopes Sam only allows them to stay temporarily because he doesn’t think he can handle so many people in the place he calls home.

It’s his place, and maybe it’s a little selfish, but Dean doesn’t want to share, not when he spent so much time making it perfect for them.

The door creaks open behind him, and Dean’s hand twitches toward his bed, where his gun rests underneath his pillow. He forces himself to stay relaxed, and turns, expecting it to be Cas or Sam checking on them for the umpteenth time, but instead, finds himself standing face to face with his mother.

“Dean!” Mary gasps, hands flying up to her mouth. “You’re here!”

“Yeah, uh…” Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling awkward and sheepish. “Sorry I wasn’t around to welcome you home, mom,” he says, feeling a flicker of guilt. “I was busy with my own thing.”

“Sam told me that you’ve been gone for a while,” she says. There’s a note of reproach to her voice, and Dean has to fight the urge to bristle and get defensive. “He thought you were missing, and he was worried about you.”

“I know,” he says shortly. Dean turns away for a moment, trying to keep himself from lashing out, and sighs. “I had to stay away, Mom. It was important.” He pauses, wetting his lips, and peeks at the bassinet. “I can actually show you what changed,” he offers. “But I need you to keep it down, okay?”

“Okay…” Mary says slowly, but she does edge closer when Dean beckons her over. There’s no hint of the trepidation she used to carry whenever she interacted with him or Sam, the kind that told him she didn’t know how to exist around them.

Dean looks down at Celeste again, where she sleeps all cozy and swaddled in her bed. Her dark eyelashes are stark against her slightly pink cheeks. A smile tugs at his lips, and he brushes a finger over Celeste’s nose, his smile growing wider when it twitches beneath his touch.

“Oh,” Mary breathes, peering down the bassinet with such caution, such awe. “Is she—”

“Mine? Yes.” He does reach down to tuck the blanket around her shoulders, stilling when she shifts. Celeste doesn’t wake up, though, and Dean sighs in relief. “Cas is the other father. Her name is Celeste.”

He can sense his mother’s surprise, but Dean doesn’t look at her just yet, focused on Celeste and the soft rise and fall of her tiny chest, the brief flutter of those dark lashes. Even though she’s still wearing the beanie, all of her shifting caused a few dark strands to peek out, curling upwards.

What’s she dreaming about? Dean wonders. What’s going on through that little brain of hers? Is she dreaming of colors? Shapes? Things she has yet to perceive?

Strange to think about, when she’s not even a day old.

“She’s beautiful,” Mary says with wonder. Her hand hovers over the bassinet, twitching, and then she pulls it back, tucking it into her jacket. “She looks like you when you were born,” she comments, smiling faintly. Dean remembers that look from his childhood. “Right down to that little button nose.”

“I think she looks a little bit like Sammy,” Dean admits. “But I see more Cas in her than anything.” 

He glances at her quickly and then refocuses his attention on his baby as he says, “I looked more like you when I was a kid, but that changed when my hair got darker and I started cutting it off.” He huffs out a laugh. “God, Dad was so mad when he came home and saw what I did, but then, he sat me down and taught me how to shave it short.” Dean pauses, and despite all his complicated feelings for his father, he feels a flicker of fondness.

“Sounds like a lovely memory,” Mary comments quietly.

Dean shakes off the nostalgia, nodding once and gesturing to his baby again. “Wanna hear her name?” he asks, almost laughing when Mary immediately looks eager. “Meet Celeste Winchester—middle name still pending.” Dean feels that ache in his chest again when he adds, “She’s named after our—” Here, Dean pauses, and decides to go with what feels right. “—sister. She’s named after our sister. We lost her a couple of years back.”

“It’s beautiful,” Mary says, placing a hand on his arm. The touch soothes him more than he expects. “How do you feel?”

“Like I want to keep her in this room so she always stays safe,” Dean admits, carefully grabbing one of Celeste’s hands. She sighs in her sleep, her tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb. “When you put Sam in my arms the first night at the hospital, I knew I’d love him forever. When Dad put Sam in my arms after… well, I knew I’d protect him for the rest of my life.” He blinks back tears. “It’s so much stronger with her, and I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with it.” Dean exhales shakily and looks at Mary. “Is this how you felt?”

“Yes,” Mary answers, now wrapping an arm around him. She rubs his back and releases a soft sigh. “It’s a feeling that never really goes away, Dean. But… having you around, having Sam, and getting to hold you and love you…” She looks up at him and smiles. “It made it all worth it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She leans up to kiss his cheek, and Dean smiles at the action. “You did good, Dean.”

“Thank you,” Dean says quietly. “I’m trying.”

“That’s all you can really do.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Cas stops by his room hours later.

Dean only managed to get about two hours of sleep before Celeste woke him for a bottle. He was able to prepare one in his room with the formula he bought only weeks ago, and soon, his baby is fully burped and fast asleep against his shoulder.

“She’s very… quiet.”

He doesn’t even jump at his sudden appearance, far too used to it (and, also, Dean simply knows when Cas is near him. It’s a feeling he gets, a tingle in the handprint on his arm—grace reaching for grace, maybe.”

“Well, she’s only a few hours old,” Dean replies, glancing at him. The angel is still in his trenchcoat, but his tie is loosened. He only does it whenever he’s particularly stressed about something. A human habit, maybe.

“Most babies I’ve observed tend to be loud, often crying for no reason.”

“They do that,” Dean says, bemused. “Give her some time, Cas, and then she’ll be shaking the walls of this Bunker with all her crying. You’ll remember this exact moment and regret saying a word, and then you’ll deal with it just so I can say I told you so.”

Dean places her back in the bassinet, making sure Celeste is positioned comfortably. She breathes in deeply, shifts around a little, eyes fluttering, but otherwise remains asleep.

“Dean,” Cas suddenly says. He’s staring in a way that makes Dean feel almost nervous, and it reminds him of the way Cas looked that night. “I’d like to be here for you two.”

“I’m not gonna stop you,” Dean says firmly. “I’d never keep her from you, Cas. You should know that by now.” He looks away from the intensity of Cas’s gaze and adds, “If things went wrong, then you’d be the one taking care of her right now.”

“Don’t talk about that,” Cas says, a touch too sharp. He rolls his shoulders back, staring at Dean with a scowl. “Not with me, Dean.”

Dean has a vision of him standing beneath the broken lights while lightning flashes outside, large, shadowy wings climbing high against the wall behind him. Sometimes, he forgets how much power is trapped inside that body of his, and Dean stares at him, eyes wide, a strange pressure closing in on him.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

And just like that, the feeling disappears, and Dean finds it easier to breathe. “No,” Cas says quietly, looking almost sheepish. “I should be the one apologizing. The topic of your mortality is… a very sensitive one, and it’s not one that I like to think about.”

“It’s not just you,” Dean says, briefly meeting the angel’s gaze. He means to look away, but sometimes, it can be quite difficult to tear his eyes away from him. Caught in his orbit, Dean drifts closer to Cas, heart quickening when Cas does the same.

“Dean, that night,” Cas says, moving closer. “That night—”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says quietly, forcing himself to look away. “We don’t have to bring it up anymore if you don’t want to. I know Celeste kinda serves as a reminder, but it’s okay. You just wanted the Colt, and that was basically the only way you were getting it.” 

(And doesn’t that thought just hurt.)

“No, Dean, it’s not that.” Cas places a hand on Dean's left shoulder and he looks up, perplexed. “I apologize for deceiving you,” Cas says. “But I don’t regret what happened. That night was everything to me, Dean.”

Dean stares at him, trying to fight the smallest amount of hope that’s building in his chest, and swallows. “What do you mean by that?” he asks carefully.

“You must know by now,” Cas says, with the slightest tilt to his head. He leans in, and Dean feels like he’s drowning in those blue eyes. “Surely you must know, Dean Winchester.”

Static makes Dean’s skin tingle, goosebumps rising from their closeness. The smell of petrichor makes him feel dizzy, almost, and Dean finds himself staring at Cas’s lips—smooth and shiny, this time. What would it be like to kiss him without the frenzied desire that took over before? Would Cas kiss him roughly? Or would he be sweet about it?

“Dean,” Cas says, voice low.

“Cas,” Dean croaks, overwhelmed and full of yearning.

He feels a puff of air over his lips and shudders, gripping the front of Cas’s coat. Dean bites back a whimper when Cas presses up against him, their noses brushing together. His eyes flutter shut, and fuck, Dean is so glad the angels helped to completely heal him because he definitely wouldn’t mind a repeat performance.

Before anything can happen, there’s a loud bang! It seems to echo through the Bunker, making the walls tremble. Dean exchanges a wide-eyed look with Cas, and then they disentangle from each other, running from the bedroom.

“What’s happening?” Jack says when he stumbles out of his room.

Dean pauses beside him, waving Cas off when he slows. He takes in Jack’s mussed appearance, and cups the boy’s face, peering into his eyes ( Cas’s eyes).

“Jack,” Dean says firmly. “You go to my room and stay there, okay?” He notes the flicker of fear and confusion and softens his voice—less like his father, more like himself. “Take care of Celeste.”

Take care of Sammy, echoes in his head. A gruff command that carried the heavy weight of rigid expectations. And Dean took that order and made it his responsibility. Taking care of Sammy became his job, his duty, his everything; the only thing he could cling to in the crappy world he was forced to grow up in.

Sammy ended up becoming his —no longer a child of Mary, burned away with childhood, and neither one of John, connection lost with the miles between them. Dean raised his little brother, protected him, and loved him; all without complaint.

Brother, father, mother.

He doesn’t want that for Jack, doesn’t want the cycle to begin anew, but Dean doesn’t know what’s trying to break into the bunker, and there’s no other option. Dean sends Jack away with a quick smile, a prayer of belief, and waits for his bedroom door to shut behind him before following the path to the war room to see…

“What the…” Dean moves to stand behind Cas, peering past his angel to see some dude leaning against one of the pillars, bleeding from his eyes and ears. “Who’s this asshole? And where’s Sam?”

“Michael,” Cas says quietly, and the man’s lips quirk, head tipped to the side as he stares right at Dean. “It’s Michael from the other world.”

“Sam,” Michael drawls, because of fucking course it has to be him. Nothing in their lives can be easy. “Is that the one my brother took?”

“Your—” Dean almost moves around Cas to demand more answers, but Cas puts an arm across his chest, keeping him in place. “What the hell are you talking about? Which brother?? And if that name out of your mouth isn’t Gabriel, I swear, I’m going to—”

“Lucifer,” Michael says, looking amused. “It was Lucifer who took your Sam.”