Archive of Our Own ^beta

She sits on the dock, staring out into the rippling water of the lake lapping against the shore, hands clasped around a mug of tea that had long grown cold.

Rowena watches the sun sink steadily back into the horizon until the sky grows dim, stars winking into existence and the temperature slowly dropping until she’s nearly shivering in her short-sleeved t-shirt. Crickets chirp and cicadas buzz, a forest symphony, and she really should go inside, but she’s not ready to face a hovering Samuel.

Finally, she’s too cold to sit on the dock any longer- manages to push herself out of the deck chair, unbalanced momentarily before she straightens, and heads back towards where the lights of the cabin shone in the dark. She rinses her mug in the sink and leaves it to dry, and as she shuts the sink off, she hears quiet, cautious footsteps.

“You were out there awhile,” Sam says softly, and Rowena keeps looking out the window above the sink, out into the shadow of the lake. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

That draws a sharp, bitter laugh out of her.

“Which part should we discuss again, Samuel, that we have not already spoken about at length?” she doesn’t mean to sound so mean- she really, truly doesn’t, because none of this is Sam’s fault. He’s been far kinder to her than she deserves. It makes her teeth ache. “Is it that we’re hiding in the middle of nowhere? Or, perhaps, we should talk again about why we’re hiding from your brother and the angel.”

She turns, and points to her swollen midsection as her eyes meet his, finding them drawn in the corners. “The devil’s child growing in my womb, perhaps?”

Sam’s face tightens, and Rowena closes her eyes, taking a breath, and digs her nails into her palms.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry, Samuel,” she says after a moment, and swallows hard before she opens her eyes to look at him again. “This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you.”

“It’s what I’m here for, Rowena,” Sam’s voice is quietly insistent, and she gnaws at her bottom lip. He took a step towards her, so cautious despite his large frame, and she can’t help the way she softens.

“I thought you were here to keep me from starving,” she tries to tease, but her tone is off, and Sam bridges the gap between them a little more, nearly within touching distance now. He doesn’t though- doesn’t ever touch her without her explicit permission, despite the fact that he was the one man left on earth she wouldn’t mind touching her.

“Do you need to yell some more?” he asks, and there’s a patient smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, nearly amused. Rowena’s nose wrinkles fondly.

“I do believe I’ve gotten it out of my system,” she replies, and Sam finally allows the smile to fully break free. “Can we go to bed now?”

Sam nods, and Rowena gives a small sigh of relief. But once she was in her room, alone with nothing but her thoughts, she realizes the last thing she wanted was to be by herself. She changes into pajamas, the silk of her top pulled taut by her belly, and then pads across the hall to Sam’s room. She knocks.

The door is pulled open nearly instant, and Sam’s expression is pinched in worry. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?”

“The baby is fine, Samuel,” she reassures him, but his brows were still furrowed- Rowena reaches out and grabs his wrist, guiding his hand to the crest of her belly. He freezes, letting her manipulate his arm, until his expression blows wide at the sharp, enthusiastic kick he receives against his palm. “See? He’s happy as a clam in there.”

Sam’s shoulders soften, and Rowena shifts his hand over her belly, letting him feel the now-constant movement within her.

“I knew he’d like you,” she murmurs, the words slipping out, but it’s true. The baby always calmed when Sam was near, as if the hunter’s mere presence was enough to soothe the growing nephilim. Perhaps it had something to do with his mother’s own fondness for the younger Winchester.

When she looks up at Sam, his expression is so soft, so full of unspoken emotion, she nearly balks. She didn’t deserve that affection, that caring- not when Lucifer’s child grew within her, not when she’d nearly gotten Sam killed, not when she still worried if she could ever even love the child set to be born in mere weeks. But Rowena was a selfish, greedy woman- she wanted Sam to keep looking at her like she was worthy.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper, and Sam nodded, stepping aside to let her into the room. He left the door slightly ajar, and the surge of fondness that rose within her threatened to break her entirely. She climbs into the sheets that smell like him, and once Sam was settled on the other side, curls into his side with her head pillowed on his chest.

They don’t speak; Sam just holds her, quiet and steady, and Rowena falls asleep listening to his heartbeat, the baby within her calm and content.

_

She knows, when she wakes the next morning, that it was time.

Sam still slept beside her, his arm looped loosely around the bottom of her bump to hold her against his side. There’s a stillness in the air, and Rowena just knows, in her bones, that her son would be born before the sun set.

She’d warred with herself from the moment she’d learned she was pregnant how she would feel about this child. The son of Lucifer, but grown in her womb, within her body- beneath her heart. And though that heart was broken and cracked, blackened in places and slow-beating, it did still remember what love was.

And, despite all her efforts- she did love the child she’d spent the last nine months growing. She’d fought it tooth and nail, but the sheer goodness she felt in the child within her was irresistible. Her son couldn’t be anything but good. She had to believe that.

She shifted, the pressure in her hips moving down, and Sam wakes at her squirming.

“Okay?” he asks, voice thick with sleep, and Rowena nods, offering him a small, crooked smile.

“I think it’s time,” she tells him, and Sam’s brows furrow briefly before his eyes widen in understanding.

“Now?” he asks, and Rowena nods.

“It’s still early, but…I remember the signs,” she replies, and there’s a stab in her breastbone at the thought of Fergus. At the son she’d left, then found, and now lost once again. “We’ve a bit of time. Perhaps we could take a walk by the lake?”

Sam nods- leans in to kiss her cheek, and Rowena tilts her head just before his mouth lands, his lips dragging against the corner of her mouth. Warmth spills within her, and for just a moment, she lets herself want.

“You missed,” she whispers, and Sam’s eyes are devastatingly wide and beautiful in the sunlight streaming in from the open curtains. “Perhaps you should try again, Samuel.”

He looks at her, heart written plainly across his face, and then cups her cheeks so tenderly in his palms she aches. Sam moves in slowly, giving her every chance to say no, until their mouths met in a soft, sweet, earthshattering first kiss.

She pulls away only when her belly tightens, forcing a grunt from her, and Sam’s face creases in concern. Her nails dug into his skin, breath panting out of her until it ended, and then she was pulling him back into her, kissing him the way she wanted, the way she needed, before it was too late. She felt like there was a clock ticking in the distance, and time was slipping through her fingers like quicksand. It threatened to swallow her whole.

“Let’s go walk,” she whispers when they part, foreheads pressing together, and Sam nods.

Rowena changes into one of Sam’s oversized shirts, the flannel soft against her skin, and a pair of loose sweats that swamp her. Her fingers slip into Sam’s as they leave the cottage, heading for the waterline, and his hands are strong. His hands are safe.

They walk until the sun lifts high in the sky, and the time between Rowena’s contractions lessens. Once they’re back in the house, Sam sets about making preparations- boils water on the stove and changes the sheets on his bed for clean, fresh ones. Rowena continues to pace, circling the living room as the pain ramps up.

Sam returns to the living room to find her bent over the back of the sofa, hips rocking back and forth to try and relieve the pressure between them as she panted desperately through the pain. His palms press into her lower back, trying to ease the ache, and she leans back into him, moaning softly.

“It’s nearly time,” she tells him through chapped lips, mouth and throat dry. He nods, face set, and guides her to their makeshift birth suite. Losing the sweats and flannel so she’s only clad in a supportive nursing bra, the urge to push wells within her, and Rowena fights against the terror that sits at the base of her ribcage.

“You can do this,” Sam says, and lets her lace her fingers through his so she can squeeze hard. “I know you can, Rowena. I believe in you.”

She nods- tries to reply but instead has to let herself fall into the next contraction that steals her breath, bearing down. She feels the dampness, and when Sam’s hand checks between her legs, it comes away smeared red. For a moment, she’s stuck between two places- as both a girl of seventeen, bringing a new life she hadn’t asked for into the world, and a centuries old witch doing the same exact thing.

The pain robs her of the ability to speak- she just sinks into the pressure, letting her body’s natural cues take over as she labored. Sam’s presence is the only thing that tethers her to the present, and she clings to his hand, clings to the encouraging words he murmurs, clings to the scent of him that lingers above the coppery stench of blood.

Rowena has a moment of clarity- knows she’s in transition, the baby mere moments from coming. She lifts a hand, stained with blood, and touches Sam’s cheek- strokes her thumb over his bottom lip.

“Thank you,” she whispers, voice raw. “Please take care of my son. Please take care of Jack.”

Sam’s brow furrows, and he parts his lips to speak, but then Rowena is curling in on herself, a sharp cry escaping her as she pushes with all her strength. His attention shifts between her thighs, and then he’s letting go of her hand to catch the infant with both of his. In the next two pushes, the small baby boy fully emerges. He quickly cuts the cord, severing mother and son, and lifts the baby up high enough for Rowena to see.

Rowena has a moment to look at him- a few seconds to see her new son, and utter a soft, adoring, broken Jack- before the newborn’s eyes opened, flaring golden, and the light dimmed in the redheaded witch’s.

_

Sam held Jack’s small body close, the infant sound asleep against his chest. He sat on the back porch, staring out into the lake, dark in the growing twilight.

He couldn’t bear being in the house. Not when Rowena’s body lay in the bloody bed. Not when he could see traces of her in Jack, in the curve of his nose and the apples of his soft newborn cheeks.

He’s so absorbed in staring at Jack’s sleeping face, his small brows furrowed as if in thought, that he doesn’t hear the footsteps.

“Samuel.”

Sam jolts at the soft voice- stands rapidly, shielding Jack with his own body, and whirls around wildly to look for the source. Then he blinks, shock settling in, when he realizes it’s the only other person in the house- the one he’d believed dead.

“You died,” he whispers, and Rowena’s lower lip trembles as she nods.

“I did. I have…ways of securing my return,” she explains, and taps the inside of her shoulder, just above her collarbone. “I worried that a nephilim’s birth would be fatal. It seems I was right to.”

Her eyes finally allow themselves to drift down to the baby in his arms, and the splay of emotion across her expression is explosive.

“He’s okay,” she whispers, and Sam nods- takes a step closer, and shifts so she can see her son’s sleeping face. Rowena’s lip trembles again, and her next words waver. “He’s beautiful.”

Sam just nods- closes the distance between them, and settles Jack into her arms. The infant shifts closer, as if sensing his mother, and tiny fingers curl into the red curls that sat against her shoulders. Tears slip down Rowena’s cheeks, and Sam’s fingers are tender as they brush the droplets away.

“We’re going to keep him safe, Rowena,” he promises, and she looks up at him- leans into his palm and shuts her eyes, allowing his touch to comfort her, even for just a moment. “No matter what we have to do.”

For a moment- just a brief, shining moment- she allows herself to believe him. Jack shifts in her arms, snuffling softly, and she sees only light within him. None of his father’s darkness. He’s pure warmth.

And he’s hers.