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Chapter Text

It was after two in the morning when the intro to Metallica's Orion woke him. 

Dean didn't even sit up to answer. He just opened the phone and groaned an attempt at hello. 

There were no pleasantries. No words of wisdom that usually filled these calls. Just:

"We have him. He's alive."

Dean's head swam. He was half convinced that he was still dreaming. It wouldn't be the first time Dean had this dream.

The the FBI agent who had been tasked with finding his brother added, "he's going to St. Mark's in Millcreek, Utah. A Salt Lake suburb. I'll send you the details when he gets a room."

While Dean knew that Agent Abernathy was fallowing leads in Utah, that was still too much detail to be a dream. Dean nonetheless pinched himself just to be absolutely certain.

Then something Abernathy said made Dean's racing heart stop dead. 

"You said when." Dean was doing his best not to let his voice tremble. "What do you mean: when? Is Sam ok?"

"Physically, yes. A hit to the head and a superficial cut on his hand. The EMTs say the head injury isn't serious. He can talk coherently and his pupils are normal." Abernathy explained. "It's very normal to keep someone for observations after a traumatic event like this. Especially in his ... condition."

Dean blinked a few times. It almost felt like Abernathy was explaining two different scenario. "What condition? You just said he's ok."

"It seems Eric Bliss kept Sam because of his ... gender. Or that's my theory right now." Abernathy was doing his best to be delicate, it was only making Dean more angry. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean was now standing. 

"Sam told me. It's actually very obvious right now." Abernathy continued his nervous dance. "Dean, I know you've probably convinced yourself that it's impossible and you wouldn't want it to happen under these cercumstances, but Sam's pregnant."

Dean thought his brain blew a fuse. For a moment everything was white and there was a ringing in his ear. 

Sam was most definitely a man from birth. There was no question about that. Hell, Dean potty trained him and gave him baths. He knew what Sam was. 

As he mulled over the impossibility of the news in his head, something clicked in his sleep deprived brain. Something he'd been fearing since Sam was taken. 

This was obviously magic of some type. Transmutation by the sound of it. 

Sam was taken because he's a Winchester, Dean reasoned. All of this was probably some retaliation against their father.

"Fuck," was all that came out of Dean's mouth. "I'm ... I'm coming. Now. I'm in Colorado. I should be there by morning."

Abernathy began to ask Dean to get some more rest, but Dean hung up on him before he could complete a sentence.

In the still dark motel room, Dean felt the panic set in after hanging up. It was as though all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. 

Sam – of all God damn people – Sam was the one to fall victim to whatever this was. Not Dean. Not their father. But the most innocent of the Winchesters, in Dean's eyes at least. 

Dean punched the headboard, and tried to push down the chaos of emotions that was threatening to take over. Whatever this was, he could worry about it later. Right now, Sam needed him. He could lose it later. 

Dean had packed up his things, dressed, and made it to his car within fifteen minutes. No one was in the office, so Dean left the keys with an apology and a note to keep the deposit. 

He was about to start his car when he realized he hadn't called his father. 

Abernathy almost exclusively spoke to Dean after a bad conversation with John. Dean wasn't all that surprised. John had a way of wearing out his welcome, particularly when he was stressed or angry. God help you if it was both, and a federal agent to top it off.

Still, after finding Sam alive, it seemed like a logical step that Abernathy would tell John.

No missed calls. John was either on the phone with Abernathy or he didn't know yet.

Dean let out a long sigh and opened his father's contact to call. He prayed that John wouldn't pick up, but after two rings, those hopes were shattered.

"Dad," Dean said after his father greated him on the other end. "They found Sam. He's alive."

"What?!" John voice came across as fully awake now. 

"In Utah, they found Sam." Dean clarified. "I'll text you the details. He doesn't have a room yet. I don't even think he's at the hospital. But you'll know as soon as I do."

The thoughts of Sam being tortured and changed for some prevented game filled Dean's mind. He didn't even know if he should tell his dad everything.

His broken sense of humor threatened to laugh at the idea of John walking into Sam's hospital room and getting the shock of his life. Guilt quickly replaced any amusement. His conscience wondering what the hell was wrong with him for finding any of this funny. 

John had been talking as Dean internally debated whether or not to tell his father what happened to Sam. Dean only realized this after his father called his name.

"Dean," John repeated. "Are you listening?"

Dean let out a sigh. "Uh, no. Sorry. It's ... um, I don't really know how to explain it." 

"Did something happen to Sam?" John asked without hesitation.

"That's one way to put it. Yeah." Dean held his face in his hand. "Abernathy said that he's awake and making sense. The EMTs said his pupils looked fine, and they're not worried about the hit to his head."

John was silent, but Dean could hear the question regardless.

"Dad," Dean began, not entirely sure how he was going to explain any of this. Even with everything they've seen and killed, this was definitely uncharted territory. "Fuck ... look, I don't know how you're going to react or what you'll think. Hell, you'll probably think I lost my mind. But," he took another breath, "the bastard that took Sam, he changed Sam. My guess, based on very limited information, is transmutation."

"What do you mean: changed Sam?" John cut in.

"I'm just going to say it. Ok?" Dean was bracing himself for John to snap at any moment. "Sam's pregnant." 

There was only silence on the other end. Not even confused stammers. Just cold, unreadable silence.

"Yeah. I know." Dean continued only because he had no control of the words coming out. "It sounds like he looks like himself. Like a guy, I mean. Just his ... downstairs business and some internal plumbing was changed. I think the cops are under the impression this is a Boys Don't Cry situation." 

The other end of the line was still dead silent. The receiver picking up the occasional breath was the only indication at John was still on the other end. 

"Dad?" Dean called.

"What hospital?" John's voice was disturbingly calm. It sent shivers up Dean's spin.

Dean blinked a few times before answering. "Uh ... St. Mark's in Millcreek – outside Salt Lake." 

He didn't know why he told his father where they were taking Sam with such little hesitation. Something was clearly wrong. He could feel it in his bones. 

"I'm in the ca–" 

Dean was cut off by the sound of the call disconnecting. His heart lept into his throat when those little beeps rang in his ear. 

John had split up with Dean almost a week ago. It seemed like he was on a hunt, but wasn't giving Dean much detail. All Dean really knew was he was in Jerome, Idaho. He'd get to Sam hours before Dean even reached Utah. 

Dean burried his hands in his hair, doubled over as far as the steering wheel would let him, and let out a scream. 

It took him a moment to stop shaking in anger. His chest so tight, he was half concerned that he'd stop breathing.

When he was finally able to sit up again, Dean peeled out of the parking lot and made for I-70.

Chapter Text

There was a moment when Sam first woke up that he convinced himself everything that happened earlier that morning was a dream. That he was still in the god forsaken basement, and that he would die chained to a bed.

Then the beeping of a heart monitor got his attention.

He opened his eyes as soon as the sound registered in his brain. He was met by orange light streaming in his dark room and the sterile bleach smell of hospitals.

He could feel someone else was awake. A soft tapping against his side. Sam smiled as he put his hand against it.

This child had become so important to Sam so quickly. He was a part of Sam. Growing from his body. It was a feeling like nothing Sam could imagine. Certainly nothing he was ever prepared for.

He remembered how much he tried to separate himself from the baby. Ignore it even as his body changed. Then he felt those first flutters of movement, and he knew that there would be no separating himself from the baby.

It gave him a strange new purpose, and might be the reason he got out. 

"You hungry, too?" Sam's voice was still thick with sleep. "Do you think the nurse will bring us a twinkie if we ask nicely?"

A dark chuckle brought Sam's sleep addled mind to full alert.

Although he was in a hospital bed, he opted to prop himself up on his elbows. A choked gasped escape Sam as he meet his father's eyes.

"Hello, Sam." John said in a tone that Sam couldn't gadge. There was relief in his eyes, but his tone suggested he was holding back something like frustration – maybe anger.

John and Sam never had a close relationship. John didn't have a great relationship with either of his sons, but he got along with Dean better. They had fought when Sam left for school, and they hadn't spoken since. The day Sam left, John told him to never come back. Those words still had an effect on him. He wondered if they would be in the same room if he hadn't been taken.

"Transmutation," John continued, seemingly ignoring the confusion in his son's eyes. "That's Dean's theory. I think he's right."

Sam was now sitting up with the assistance of the bed. He wanted to ask where Dean was, but th words wouldn't come.

"Transmutation, even basic transmutation, is one hell of a spell. And this isn't basic." John stood and approached Sam's bed like a predator. "No witch or whatever is going to pull out that kind of artillery for kicks."

Sam put a hand over his belly. The heart monitor showed his growing anxiety even when he schooled his face to remain a stoney mask of false calm. In truth, he looked more like he was disassociating from the conversation. That was still a better option than letting a man like John Winchester see fear in his eyes.

John was now at Sam's side. Claustrophobically close. Sam could smell cheap coffee on his breath.

Sam never felt so vulnerable. Even in that basement, he didn't feel like a hapless kid. His father had an uncanny ability to make Sam feel small. The effect seemed to be doubled now. He was dressed in a hospital gown and some kind of single-use shorts. The gown tied in the front and exposed his belly, allowing for a heart monitor to be strapped to him.

"So the question is: why? What was so important to warrant such magic?" John asked.

Sam still couldn't figure out how his dad felt. It was like he was interrogating a monster. 

That thought sent a shiver down Sam's spine, and the mask fell. 

"Dad, I was going to meet my girlfriend. Then, the next thing I knew, I was in a trunk." Sam felt the pressure from his father's gaze. Coupled with his mess of hormones, he was crumbling fast. "I didn't even know I was in Utah until this morning – I didn't know I left California. He drugged me again when we got close to his house. I just woke up in that basement. I don't know what any of this is any more than you do!"

"What ritual did they preform?" John demanded. His tone was level, but it still conveyed forcefulness.

Just like when he was a kid and his father was angry, Sam wanted Dean. No matter how bad their father got, Dean always protected him. Usually at the cost of a beating or worse.

John had often said it wasn't his job to be their friend, it was his job to raise them right. Somehow that involved a belt and a few broken bones over the years.

As Sam was spiraling in a soup of hormones and complex trauma, John's face betrayed his growing impatience. Sam decided to give him all the information he could. If anything he hoped it bought him some time.

"It was old. I didn't recognize the language. It definitely wasn't Latin or anything similar." Sam's voice faltered as he spoke, he knew his father noticed.

John had demanded that Sam think harder, and he said something else that Sam couldn't bring himself to pay attention to. He was too focused on the button on a hook attached to the side table. It seemed a better plan than just hoping his father wouldn't hurt him. It was perfectly in reach, but his father could stop him as soon as he reached for it. There was no call button on his bed. Just two arrows that made the bed raise and lower. Sam wonder if he should just scream. There was an officer stationed outside.

Before Sam could get the wherewithal to do anything, John slapped him hard across the face. Hard enough to make his head jerk in the other direction. It was John's go-to when he wasn't getting the answers he was looking for. Regardless who he was questioning.

Sam kept his head turned. He didn't want to look his father in the eye.

Growing blindingly frustrated, John grabbed a fistful of his son's long, ragged hair and made Sam look at him. None of this was new to Sam, and somehow that made it worse. There was truely no scenario where his father could just support him and love him. Instead of helping him through the pain, he just made everything worse. He always did. When they were kids, Dean said that Sam was their father's favorite. If that were true, he couldn't bear to imagine what their father did to Dean.

"That thing will kill you. You're nothing but a host to a parasite." John hissed. "If I can figure out what it is, then I might be able to save you."

Sam grabbed his father's wrist to ease the tension on his hair. "It's your grandson, prick."

John threw Sam's head as he let go. The injured side of Sam's head hit the rail of the bed and he couldn't help the shout of pain.

The shout alone got the officer's attention. He raced to see if Sam was in distress or if he needed a nurse.

John, on reflex, took out his gun and pointed it at the cop. Of course, the cop did the same.

Sam was holding his head. Blood was now soaking the bandage. The new wave of pain made it hard to focus to anything happening around him.

"I want to do this the clean way. But, if you make me, I will kill him and be done with it." John put the gun to Sam's head.

Sam stiffened as he felt the cold metal against his temple. He was fighting back tears. In all the abuse he suffered, his father never threatened him with any deadly weapon. There had always been the security that no matter what he did, he'd survive it. Now, there was nothing, and Sam had the most to lose. 

The cop called for back up on his radio. He described it as a hostage situation.

"Dad ..." Sam's voice sounded weak to his own ears. "Dad, please. Please just put the gun down. I know you don't want to do this."

John didn't move. He didn't speak.

Tears now fell down Sam's cheeks. His eyes shut tight and he prayed for his father to lower the gun.

Then, before Sam knew what was happening, shots fired.

Chapter Text

The fourth floor of St. Mark's was buzzing with well organized chaos when Dean arrived. Not the usual chaos of a hospital, but something much worse. 

A feeling of dread overwhelmed Dean as he turned the corner to the nurse's station and saw a room closed off with police tape. He just caught the room number when the nurse said something.

After she repeated herself, Dean turned his focus to the nurse.

"I'm sorry?" 

The nurse furrowed her brow as she repeated, "the floor is closed to visitors right now. If you need to pass on a message or check in on someone, I can help. But you need to leave after that."

"No!" Dean said a little harshly. "N-no, my brother's here. I need to see him."

The nurse looked like she was going to call security, or maybe a doctor. Dean did not look his best after driving eight and a half hours on three hours of sleep.

Before she could say anything, a familiar voice called to Dean from down the hall. A spark of hope came to life in his chest as Abernathy made his way down the hall. 

He told the nurse that Dean was with him. The young woman looked at Dean with concern, but she eventually went back to her task.

Gesturing Dean to a corner for privacy, Abernathy said, "Sam's been moved to another room down the hall. I just spoke to him. He's shaken up but ok."

"Which room?" Dead demanded.

"Four twenty six." Abernathy put his hand on Dean's arm to stop him from racing down the hall. "Your father was here. According to the officer who was watching Sam, he was in there for two hours before he heard Sam yell."

Dean felt a lump for in his throat. He spent hours calling his father as he drove. John never picked up. At one point his calls started going straight to voicemail. He'd been certain that John was going to do something, but he didn't think his father would hurt Sam.

"I have to see him." Dean tried to move passed the FBI agent, but was stopped again. 

Abernathy's quizitive gaze burn into Dean. He had been suspicious of the Winchesters activities since he picked up this case, but it seemed like he bought Dean's story. 

"Please ..." Dean's lower lip trembled and his breath shuttered. There was a wall that he build long ago, and it was collapsing. The weight of everything Dean tried to suppress over the last year proving too much. "Can we do this later? I – I just want to see him."

"There's something you need to tell me first." Abernathy said with a forcefulness that didn't match the pitty in his eyes. "The officer that was assigned to your brother, he said that your father was there for something." He looked at his notes. "John said he was going to kill Sam if he had to. If he couldn't do it the clean way. Do what? What's the clean way?"

The conversation Dean had with his father was now replying in his head. That disturbing silence, and the uncanny calm when he did finally say something; it was haunting in retrospect. 

That wasn't the end of it, either. Or, well, the beginning.

John had seemed to change when he went on a hunt last week. The fact he was even scouting out a hunt struck Dean without the cold demeanor he took on. It was only made worse that his father so blatantly lied to Dean when he asked where he was going, and lied again when Dean did get through to him the other day. 

In the past, John had told Dean when he couldn't share what he was doing, or when he didn't want to put his sons in danger. Dean hated that, but he could at least say that his father never lied. 

Now that he was threatening Sam's life, Dean wasn't sure what to make of his father. It was like he didn't know him at all.

"Dean," Abernathy repeated. "I can't help you or Sam if you don't tell me what's going on. Your brother needs you right now. Don't get dragged into whatever bullshit your father has going on."

There was almost something comical about that. Like they ever had a choice. Dean could barely tie his own shoes when it started, and Sam wasn't even eating solid food.

"Look ..." Dean sighed as he braced himself to be honest. He wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but he already opened his mouth. "My dad's raised his voice sometimes. Hell, Sam and me both have taken a belt once or twice. But killing one of us? That's not like him. For everything my dad's done, I've never feared for my life. Or Sam's. I would die before I let anyone around Sam who could potentially hurt him. Especially now. So, I don't know why my dad would want to kill Sam. I don't know what he thinks is going on. I really don't. I just want to see my brother." 

There was truth in Dean's words, even if he wasn't telling Abernathy the whole truth. It was in his eyes. 

Abernathy nodded. There was a brief moment where Dean thought he could go. Then the agent said, "you're very accepting of Sam. It's a good thing. Still, why didn't you tell me before?"

Dean turned around and shrugged. "I didn't think about it, honestly. I guess I didn't think it was relevant." 

Another nod. 

There was something concerning in Abernathy's eyes. Like he had pieced everything together but was missing one key component.

Dean didn't wait to see how much he put together. He just made his way down the hall with a single minded focus to find his brother.

It wasn't hard to find Sam's room. He was the only one with a police gaurd.

For everything Dean thought about police, he was glad someone was there to save Sam when he couldn't.

After the office stationed outside Sam's room gave him the ok to go in, Dean found himself frozen. He dreamed of this moment for months, and now he wasn't sure what to do or say. He couldn't even imagine what state Sam was in.

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he still saw that angry kid balled up in his front seat. Sam ranted the entire twenty minutes to the bus stop about how much he hated their father and how screwed up their family was.

Dean had to force him into a hug before he could leave that day. He held on to the feeling of Sam's hug for years now. The way he just gave in, like it had been what he was looking for.

There was a pit in his stomach that day. A fear that he'd never see Sam again. He couldn't imagine anything was worse than that moment. 

Then he got that call.

"Are you ok?" The officer asked, forcing Dean out of his quickly spiraling thoughts.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Uh ... a lot to take in."

The officer nodded, and seemed to decide to give Dean the moment he needed. 

His heart was beating so fast, Dean thought he might die on the spot. Still, he forced himself to open that door.

Sam wasn't looking in Dean's when he entered. He'd been too engrossed in the news to hear anyone come in. 

It was about Eric Bliss' manhunt.

Dean took the moment to look over Sam. Tears burning his eyes. 

He was older, but still was that gangly kid remember. It looked like he put on a little more muscle mass, but he lost it over the last year. His hair was past his ears, and he had stubble that he was incapable of growing before. Even with the bruises and cuts, his face was the same. He still had that particular furrow of his brow when he was concentrating.

Dean's eyes traveled down the swell of Sam's belly.

With a lifetime of hunting monsters under his belt, Dean could quickly process and accept some pretty outlandish things. He thought he could do the same with the prospect of his baby brother pregnant. Technically, he had done that just to get himself here. That didn't change the feeling Dean got when he saw Sam like this – when he had to face the reality of it. 

There wasn't any time to contemplate any of the thoughts and fears racing through Dean's head. The door shutting dragged Sam's attention away from the TV.

He actually pulled a double take. Like he was convinced Dean wasn't actually there.

Dean put on a smile. He was glad he learned to mask his emotions a long time ago. Sam didn't need to see the turmoil in Dean right now.

He began to move closer to his brother and said, "hiya, Sammy. It's been a long time."

Chapter Text

Regardless of the myriad of emotions he had when he walked through that door, Dean simply crossed the room in as few steps as possible and took his brother in his arms.

He just held Sam for as long as he could. He didn't care about his ego or any notions of masculinity. He only cared that he had Sam. Everything else could wait.

For his part, Sam clung to his brother. For the first time since he escaped, Sam felt safe. Truely safe.

"Sam," Dean said as he pulled back. He ran his thumb under the red bruise forming on Sam's cheek. "Christ, look at you."

At first Sam thought Dean was only talking about his face, which if the pain was any indication, he imagined didn't look great at the moment.

Then Dean glanced at his belly. There was a change in Dean's face. He was still concerned, but under it was this clear unease. The same look he had whenever he didn't know what they were up against on a hunt. The comparison made Sam sick.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

It was possible that Dean wasn't acknowledging his own feelings on the matter, Sam realized. Or, at the very least, he wasn't aware of how much his face was betraying him. So, with a sigh, Sam asked, "you mean with dad?"

Dean nodded.

Sam shrugged, letting himself relax against the bed. "He was just there when I woke up. His face was ... weird. There was nothing in his eyes. Like he was disassociating or something."

Dean knew the look Sam was describing. It was well ingrained into his memory.

When Dean was thirteen or so, a friend of his father's was turned into a vampire during a hunt gone bad. John didn't hesitate to end him, but the look on his face as they drove to the motel scared Dean more than the actual killing itself. It was like he wasn't there. Like he left his body and didn't want to return.

He had that look when he left Dean last week.

"He wanted an answer. Like an exact answer." Sam continued. "I don't know what he was looking for, but he wasn't fishing for information."

Dean furrowed his brow. "You think dad knows something?"

Sam shrugged again. "Maybe he figured something out."

The thought made Sam uncomfortable. He couldn't bare the thought that the baby he'd grown so attached to could be anything other than an innocent soul thrown into all this like Sam himself was.

"Fuck ..." Dean muttered as he began to pace. "Was there anything else? Anything he said? Anything he did?"

Dean kept running his hand through his hair. He was doing everything not to blow up at that moment. Sam didn't need that, and he didn't want to be escorted out.

"Dean ..." Sam rubbed his face. He was physically exhausted, and his emotions made him ragged. "Dean, please don't treat me like a case. Not now."

Part of Sam wanted to confront Dean about the way he looked at him now. The way he looked at Sam's belly. But the more rational side of Sam's brain took over. Dean was a lot of things, but if he wasn't heartless. If anything, Dean was looking at this like a case so he could make a plan to protect Sam and the baby. Sam had to keep reminding himself that Dean was always on his side.

"Sorry," Sam sighed. "So much has happened. Just in the last day. I'm still ... I'm still processing it." He meet Dean's eyes. "So are you. I can see it."

"See it?" Dean furrowed his brow.

The look Sam gave Dean wasn't quite what Dean would call Sam's bitch face, but it was close.

"Fine – yes, I'm still wrapping my head around everything." Dean huffed. "Is that a crime?"

"I – I just can't loose you, Dean. Not anymore. Not ever, if I'm being honest." Sam forced his voice to be steady.

"Lose me?" Dean repeated. "Why would you lose me? All I've done is look for you. I would still be out there looking if you weren't here right now. I'd look for the rest of my life, God damn it!"

"So you're saying that if you found me, like this," Sam gestured to his belly, "you wouldn't run away scared? You're not going to shove me away at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's and go on hunting or whatever?"

"What?" Dean looked hurt. Genuinely hurt. Like Sam carved out his heart and threw it on the ground. "Sam, where the hell is this coming from? Why would I leave – now of all times – when you're like this?"

Sam shrugged. That was becoming his default reaction. "You look at my belly like it's some kind of curse."

"Well, you are cursed. You always have been. I've got it, too. It's called being a Winchester. It means freaky shit keeps happening to us." Dean sat on the edge of the bed like he did when Sam was little and Dean needed him to listen. "Sammy, I am not going anywhere. There is nothing in this world that would keep me from you. No matter what happens. Hell, I'd set fire to my car if it mean you'd be safe."

Sam tried his best not to laughed at the thought of Dean debating Sam's life over his car.

"I don't hate this ..."

"Baby," Sam finished when Dean couldn't find the word.

"Right." Dean nodded. "This baby – your baby – another god damn Winchester. I could never hate that. What I hate is the son of a bitch who did this. What I hate is what you've gone through. What I hate is how miserably unfair everything has to always be."

"Him." Sam interrupted Dean's spiral. "Him. It's a boy. I found out when I got here."

Sam wanted to add that he saw his son long before he even escaped. That he saw Dean fixing the Impala witn this blond, blue eyed little boy. But he was fairly certain that Dean would call him crazy, or hormonal. He'd probably turn it into some joke.

"A boy," Dean mused before Sam could organize his thoughts into a coherent sentence. "Do you think he'll have your taste in hair? I might still have to learn to French braid."

Now Sam's expression was a perfect example of bitch face. The right balance of questioning how they were related and questioning Dean's sanity.

Dean just smiled at his own joke.

"Ok," Sam playfully shoved his brother's shoulder. "They made me eat their ration eggs earlier. Or whatever that was supposed to be. The kid has been screaming for a twinkie all morning. If you're not too busy insulting my hair, go find me one."

"I just got here and you're sending me on a twinkie run?" Dean fought the urge to laugh.

"If I wasn't hooked up to every machine here, I'd go myself." Sam said, crossing his arms. "Paper shorts and gut out."

"Ok, mama 'squatch. Keep your questionable pants on. I'll go find you something." Dean patted Sam's leg as he got up. "You're lucky that you're my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother, Dean." Sam couldn't hide the smile growing on his face.

After the door close, Sam sat back. The TV had been muted, but was still playing in the background.

On the screen was a picture of Eric Bliss. The man who took him. The man who changed him – who used him for whatever this was.

Sam was intimately familiar with that face, but somehow it was like he was seeing that face for the first time.

He didn't look like a bad person. Or even a remarkable person. He looked more like a sad accountant. Beady eyes hidden behind glasses and greasy hair. He couldn't believe this man had a wife and kids.

Sam turned off the TV. He couldn't keep focusing on Bliss or what happened. Regardless that he had a sweets obsessed reminder sitting on his bladder, he just wanted to focus on the fact that he had Dean again. He was safe with his big brother, just like he always was. He just wanted to feel normal again.

Chapter Text

Dean had to make more than a twinkie run that day.

It occurred to them, embarrassingly late, that Sam had no clothes. The hospital had rightfully disposed of the rags Sam had been wearing for months, and even if Dean hadn't stored everything from Sam's apartment at Bobby's, none of his old clothes would fit at the present moment.

Unfortunately due to Sam's size and the fact his belly was still going to grow, Dean had to patch together things from a few secondhand shops to get him anything he could wear. It reminded Dean so much of when Sam's growth went into hyperdrive after he turned sixteen. Dean was half convinced he'd been bitten by a radioactive giant.

After he had enough clothes and made a stop at a Walmart for essentials that you didn't want to buy second hand – or couldn't buy second hand, Dean made his way to a laundromat. They had learned the hard way of how important it was to wash everything you buy second hand – twice if possible. Dean never thought he would be so happy for a ringworm infection.

As Dean was setting the washers up to go through another cycle, his phone rang. He made sure everything was running before he looked at the contact on the small outer screen.

BOBBY flashed in large block letters.

Dean looked at his watch when he saw the contact. It had been nearly eight hours since he called Bobby in a panic on the road. After he had calmed down enough to safely drive, he promised to call Bobby with any updates. Between taking care of Sam and the hour of sleep he squeezed in, Dean simply forgot. He felt awful.

Of course, Bobby wasn't upset. Worried for them both, but nowhere close to upset. As a teenager, Dean had pissed that man off enough times to know what it sounded like when he was upset.

"Sorry, I should have called –"

"Don't apologize, kid. I'm just glad ya answered." Bobby cut off Dean. His rough but familiar voice was everything Dean needed to hear right now. "How's Sam? Is your old man there?"

Dean sank into a bench behind him. The question had blown the air from his lungs. He wasn't sure how to explain anything that was happening. He didn't even know how Bobby was taking the news that Sam was pregnant and could actually get pregnant now. They only spoke for twenty minutes around five in the morning, and most of that was spent on calming Dean down.

"Did something happen?" Bobby was forcing his voice to be level for Dean's sake, but the worry leaked through.

Dean forced himself to take a breath and said, "Sam's fine. Well, as fine as anyone can expect. Dad's ..."

The image of Sam shot in the head flashed through Dean's mind. Those sweet hazel eyes glazed over and empty.

A groan of exhaustion from Bobby's end brought Dean back to the present and the reality where his brother was alive and safe.

"What did John do now?" Bobby asked.

There were two people who never let John Winchester burn ties with them. Bobby Singer and Jim Murphy. Both were more concerned with the boys themselves than anything John ever did. Sam had even said once that Bobby was more their father than John could ever hope to be. Dean was ashamed that he punched Sam for that remark, because now he was confronted with just how true it was.

"He was going to kill Sam. Or at the very least the baby. He actually had a gun to Sam's head." Dean could feel the words: I wasn't there, but he couldn't bring himself to say them out loud. Like he was ashamed of not driving five hundred and twenty miles any faster.

"Christ," Bobby muttered. "But Sam's ok?"

"This Bliss bastard cracked his gord and Sam apparently fell on a glass table. Cut his hand and everything. But he's fine. No concussion or anything. The baby is healthy." Dean shrugged even though Bobby couldn't see him. "He's craving junk food if you can believe it."

Bobby couldn't help a bark of laughter.

"I've gotta say, he's holding together better than I would be." Dean continued. "Waking up like that – and then have this little person growing inside of you. I don't know how women do that when they want it. Freaking Ridley Scott nonsense."

"I'm sure Sam is appreciating the support." Dean could see Bobby's unamused face from his tone alone. "When's he getting out?"

"When I was there, he was pushing for this afternoon." Dean tried to hide the amusement from his voice. "He's getting a little antsy."

Bobby made a small grunt of agreement. "You two have never done well with doctors. Besides, I think the kid might be feeling a little trapped right now."

The words hit Dean like a ton of bricks. He almost felt stupid for not realizing it himself.

"Listen, the second he's out, I want you two to get your tails here." Bobby said firmly. He was not arguing on this. "Sam's gonna need a lot of care and support for awhile. Regardless what he does with the kid, everything's gonna change for him – or continue to change, I guess."

"Bobby, I was already planning on dragging him up there. Kicking and screaming if I have to. Glad you're on board." Dean took a deep breath as though a load was taken off his shoulders.

"I don't care what you say, Dean. This is your home. Yours and Sam's. It always has been." Bobby continued to use the same firm tone he always used when he wanted Dean to really hear what he was saying. A father's tone. Warm and comforting, but also commanding attention. "There is nothing you or Sam could do that would make me even consider turning you away. Hear me?"

Dean could see Bobby punctuating his point with deliberate taps on his desk. He didn't even know if Bobby was in his office. It didn't matter, really. It was just the image that came to mind whenever Bobby spoke like this.

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean cleared his throat to keep himself from crying. "Thank you – seriously, for everything. I'll uh ... I'll let you know when Sam gets out. We'll probably stay here overnight, so expect us sometime Thursday."

"Don't make me track you down for updates." Bobby said sternly.

They prolonged the goodbye with various promises like for Dean to look out for Sam and for Bobby to make that chicken Sam always loved. Neither seeming to want to hang up first.

When Dean finally did hang up, he was left with a huge weight on his shoulders. One Bobby couldn't relieve.

The why at the center of all of this was gnawing at the back of his mind, and there was only one place he could start. The only person who seemed like he had any clue what was going on.

Sam would kill him for going to that man for anything after the shit he pulled that morning, but Dean couldn't see any other options. He would do anything to keep Sam safe. Even give Sam reason to never speak to him.

Six months after Sam left for school, Dean was held up with his father in a motel in south Florida. They had a nasty run in with some witches the week before, and Dean needed time to heal his broken ribs. 

John wasn't taking Sam leaving too well. They had been bouncing from hunt to hunt for weeks on end with no breaks. Staying still, even for his son's sake, had been too much it seemed. 

When his father left that Friday afternoon, Dean had been half convinced it was for good. The fact that his father left the Impala and her keys behind didn't help. 

With no ability to track his father down at that moment, Dean ended up watching a John Wayne western with what was left of the whiskey. He was actively imagining driving to California and finding Sam when he heard a horn outside the room window. 

Even in pain and buzzed, Dean had the wherewithal to get his gun and approach the door with caution. 

He was meet with a monster of a truck. Truckzilla, Dean ended up calling it – much to the annoyance of his father. That was the same truck Dean was standing in front of now. 

"Hey gorgeous," he sighed with a painful nostalgia. "Miss me?"

After nearly four years, Dean knew this truck as well as his own Baby, and he knew where his father kept everything. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for. 

"So the cops are probably gonna connect you to the old man." Dean spoke as though the truck had consciousness as he retrieved a leather bound journal from the glove compartment. "That means you're going to a lot somewhere. Good thing is, they don't have snow in Utah." He locked the door again and stepped back. "Someone's gonna buy you again. Maybe for long hunting trips. Real hunting – like deer and shit. You'll love it." He gave the car a pat before putting the journal in the bag with Sam's cloths. "Be good." 

Dean made his way towards the hospital, only taking a quick glance back at the truck. There was a feeling in his chest. A tightness. Like grief. 

Dean shook it off. He wasn't ready to even think about these feelings.

Nothing was guaranteed and nothing lasted. It was a lesson Dean Winchester learned very early in life. This was just another chapter Dean had to close. 

It took a bit of digging and some shameless flirting, but Dean found that the operating room and recovery room was on the second floor of the hospital. 

From what Dean could find, his father was being kept in a room of his own away from other patients and the usual recovery room. It made since. Maniacs that wave guns around hospitals aren't the kind of people you want to unleash on the public. Particularly the sick and vulnerable.

It didn't seem this particular officer got the memo that he had a highly trained marine and efficient killer under his watch. He was sleeping – literally snoring. 

Dean had a passing thought of what would have happened to Sam if a bozo like this was charged with his safety. Blank hazel eyes flashed in Dean's vision again, and he had to will the image away. 

When Dean was able to slip into the room, his father was asleep. Logically, Dean knew it was the drugs, but it still made his blood boil.

He could only remember two times he'd been this angry at his father, and each time seemed to be when John hurt Sam or pushed Sam too far. 

If there weren't police and cameras everywhere, Dean could see himself ending his father right here and now. The thought scared Dean, but his face didn't betray his turmoil with his own violence and anger. He simply looked like a well disciplined man on a mission.

Dean kicked the bed which jolted John awake. His pupils were dilated, but he seemed to have his wits about him. 

"How'd you get in here?" John demanded.

"Chief Wiggum out there fell asleep at his post." Dean said as he set the bag with Sam's cloths down. 

They were silent. Like a stand off. Neither wanted to be the one to break the tension.

Dean's glance fell to his father's left wrist that was cuffed to the bed. "They arrest you? Officially, I mean."

"A couple hours after I woke up, they read me my rights." John said. 

"I'm going to assume you have a plan, and I'm going to leave you to wherever mess you're making." Dean said carefully. "I'm here for Sam." 

"So was I." John said with the same pompous tone that always set Dean off. "I don't want to kill him, but I can't let that thing out."

"You held a gun to his head, you don't get to act like you're oh-so concerned with his well-being." Dean was forcing himself to stay calm. He didn't need someone finding him in here. "Let's just be honest here. I don't think you and I have been particularly good in that department. You've done some pretty awful shit. No one's gonna argue that, I think. But never have I ever thought for a second that you'd hurt me or Sam. If I did, even for a second, I would have booked it with the kid. You would never found us, and you know that."

John kept the same flat, calm expression he had when Dean tried to argue that Sam was more important than any hunt before he left last week. His father was usually just as hot blooded as Dean and Sam were – especially when they clashed. But now, it was like screaming at a wall. 

Dean rubbed his face. "Fine – fuck it. What are you talking about? What thing? What do you know? What do you think is going on?"

"Have the cops searched my truck?" John asked in that same tone that made Dean so uneasy when he left. 

"What? Your truck? What are –" Dean stopped him and took a breath. "The journal?" 

"Everything's in there." John said. "When you see, you'll understand." 

Dean threw his arms in the air. "That's where we're gonna leave it? Huh? A man had to shoot you to keep you from killing Sam, and you're not even gonna try to explain yourself?" 

"It's tied to everything, Dean. Everything we worked for." John tried to explain. "You won't believe me if I told you."

Dean felt like he was about to scream. He took a moment to compose himself.

"I wouldn't believe you? Me?" Dean demanded. "My mother was burned to death by a demon on the ceiling of my brother's nursery. I don't remember a time when I didn't know about the things in the dark. You made me put down a god damn hag when I was twelve. I don't know how many things I've killed in the last fourteen years. Things that most people's worst nightmares can imagine. Thing that look and talk like a person ..."

Dean turned away. He didn't know if he'd start screaming or destroying the room, but he knew looking at his father would set him off. 

"Look," Dean finally said, "either respect me as your son, or I'm out. I'm not playing these games. Not this time."

John was silent for a long time. Dean was about ready to leave when his father finally spoke. 

"It's a nephilim."

Dean turned back around slowly. He wasn't sure what his father's angle was, but he was convinced it wasn't altruistic.

"The thing inside Sam, it's a nephilim." John clarified. "The hybrid of an angel and a human. Usually a fallen angel, but the lore is ... limited."

Dean blinked a few times, trying to process what his father told him. "I'm sorry, did you just say an angel? Like harps and wings?" He scoffed when his father just sat there like it wasn't absolutely insane. "Dad, there are no angels."

"But there are demons?" John asked, simply. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. 

"I know with what we're dealing with." John said when Dean stopped gasping like a fish. "This isn't just some godforsaken hybrid. This is the spawn of the devil himself. The Antichrist."

Dean could feel his heart pick up. He thought he was going to be sick. He wasn't sure how to process any of this information, or even if he believed it. 

"We can't let it be born Dean." John said firmly. "We have to stop it before it begins."

Suddenly everything slow down and the words became clear. It was like a lifetime of trauma just burst past the flood gates, but at th same time, it was like seeing the world for the first time. Everything made sense, and his priority was what it always had been.

With a blank face and a level monotone, Dean said, "there's no we. Not anymore."

Chapter Text

"I have rights!"

Dean could hear Sam down the hall when he returned to his brother's room. He smiled to himself at the thought that Sam was still the same strong willed little shit he'd always been. 

The muffled voice of what sounded like a woman tried to respond before Sam cut her off.

"That's crap. Even if there was a case to keep me here, I can leave against medical advice."

Dean let himself in as Sam spoke – or shouted, as was the case. Both the nurse and Sam turned at the sound of the door opening.

"I'm the brother." Dean said when it was clear the woman didn't know him and was on edge. To be fair she was being yelled at by a man that would dwarf her if he were standing. That probably didn't make her feel too comfortable, Dean reasoned.

"I want to leave." Sam told Dean before the nurse could say anything. His voice had returned to a normal volume, but the edge was still there. "I want some real food, and I want to pee in a toilet, and I don't want to be tied to this bed." 

The last part cut through Dean like a knife. It made sense why Sam didn't want to be here, and like Bobby had so bluntly pointed out, it had nothing to do with their shared disdain for doctors. 

Dean cleared his throat and said, "look, you people have run nonstop tests for the last fourteen hours. He's fine. The baby's fine. An extended hospital stay is not necessary for a couple superficial cuts. Get all that stuff off and go get whatever paperwork he has to fill out. Or don't and I'll just do it myself. Either way, he's leaving." 

Sam smiled at his brother, greatful to have Dean back. It was like coming home after being away too long. A sign that things were ok. 

The nurse looked like she wanted to make her case again, but she folded under Dean's hard gaze. She quickly got to work removing all the sensors and equipment, Sam helping as much as he could to make it go faster. 

When she finally left, Dean put the bag of clothes on the bed and helped Sam to stand up. He was a little wobbly after ten months with limited movements and the change in weight distribution, but he was ultimately able to stand up on his own. 

Sam immediately thought of how hard it had been to climb those stairs. It was like climbing a mountain. 

"You need any help?" Dean asked.

"Uh ..." Sam looked in the bag cautiously. "I don't know. I haven't done this like this." 

Then Sam held up the t-shirt that Dean picked out. It was a Nirvana promotional t-shirt for the In Utero album. "Seriously? How do you find these things?" 

Dean just smiled proudly at his own joke. "What can I say? I'm awesome."

Sam rolled his eyes as he started to take everything out. Any trace of amusement drained from Sam's face the moment he saw that familiar bulging journal. He ripped his hand away like it was cursed and snapped his eyes back to Dean. 

Dean just braced himself for the inevitable rant. 

"Where was it?" Sam asked. 

It wasn't the first question Dean was expecting. Or the tone he was expecting for that matter. 

Sam was clearly upset. More at their father than anything Dean did. Still, he didn't look like he was going to fly off the handle. That worried Dean. He knew that Sam was capable to letting him have it. Even now. Something was holding him back, and Dean didn't like it.

"His truck." Dean answered without hesitation. "You should see it. Eighty-one Sierra Grande. It was already a monster before the suspension lift."

Dean forced himself to stop talking when he realized he was deflecting. He just shoved his hands in his coat pockets, looking in every direction but his brother.

"Did you see him?" Sam asked, laying out everything so he could get dressed. Notably, doing everything he could not to touch the journal.

Now Dean hesitated. Of course, he knew that he would tell the truth. Dean respected Sam too much to lie to him, but that didn't make the truth any easier.

"Sam," Dean met his brother's eyes.

They were big and watery. Somehow a mix of both hurt and hopeful. He was desperate for Dean. Like his big brother was his only lifeline and he was actively drowning. 

"Look at me," Dean said as he took a step closer to Sam. "There is nothing in this world that comes before you. Nothing. I will do anything and everything to keep you safe. That's my job. It's always been my job."

Sam could hear the unspoken words; I already failed. He's seen that particular hopelessness in Dean's eyes before. Of course, Dean's never failed in Sam's eyes. Even when Sam has been hurt, he never blamed Dean. If anything, it only solidified in Sam's mind just how much he could rely on his brother. 

Sam was about to say something when a different nurse came in with the discharge paperwork and a waver stating that Sam was leaving against medical advice. Evidently they scared the first nurse off. 

"Great, thanks." Dean said as he took the two clipboards and a pen. "We'll bring it out to you." 

The nurse looked at Sam who was trying to cover his belly and refused to look at him, then he looked back to Dean. He looked like he wanted to say something but he was intimidated by the harsh look in Dean's eye. 

Sam only moved again once the man was gone. He wasn't going to give them a chance to tie him down to that bed, no matter how irrational that was.

"Dean," Sam said as he untied the hospital gown.

Dean had started filling out the forms, but looked up when Sam called his name.

"I believe you. I mean, I know what you'll do for me. What you have done for me. I've always trusted you." Sam looked down at himself. "I've got no one else." 

"Well, Bobby's gonna be pretty hurt when he hears that." Dean offered a smile. He nudged Sam's shoulder before adding, "we got this, little brother. Ain't nothing gonna happen to you or the future poop machine while I'm around. But I won't be changing any diapers. You'll be on your own there."

Sam sighed, unable to hide the smile on his face. It was incredible just how much he missed these moments with Dean. Bad jokes and all. It made him regret pushing Dean away like he did. 

It was pushing five by the time they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. They both needed sleep – Sam especially. They needed to eat, too – also, Sam especially. Dean suggested finding a place to stay and they order a pizza or whatever they could get delivered.

Sam only hummed in acknowledgment. Exhaustion was setting in. His triumphant escape and the hospital stay itself, combined with months of what was objectively hell, were taking their toll.

Dean was going on about the merits of various pizza toppings while Sam looked for a comfortable position. Evidently, a nearly fourty year old car's seats were not built for someone of his size and condition. Go figure. 

Still, for as uncomfortable as he was, it felt good to be back in the Impala. This was the first familiar place Sam had been in a long time. Maybe even before any of this happened – when he was in school.

Dean had finally stopped his rant about how Detroit-style pizza ruined the city's good name. His attention was firmly on Sam. Maybe a little too much on Sam, considering he was driving.

"What?" Sam asked with an soft chuckle.

"You haven't stopped moving since I started driving." Dean pointed out. 

"I don't think he likes movement." Sam shrugged. "And my back hurts."

"Great, little guy's sea sick." Dean playfully rolled his eyes. "Not in my car. Ok?"

"That's not how that works." Sam pointed out. 

Dean just muttered an affirmation and continued to drive. 

"Hey, Dean?" Sam prompted. "I'm sorry for ignoring your calls after you asked that hunting question. I should've at least tried to talk things out."

"Dude, no chick flick moments. It's a rule." Dean huffed.

Even with the put on exasperated exterior, Sam could see there was more going on. An entire storm of emotions that Dean wasn't going to talk about, and Sam knew pushing those buttons wasn't going to help. 

Instead Sam said, "I'm not expecting any from you. I just wanted to apologize."

With that, Sam closed his eyes, leaned up against the window. 

Dean gripped the wheel tighter, doing his best to look at the road and not his little brother. 

It had been a long time since Dean thought about Sam at school. What he was doing and what he would be doing after. The question of whether or not his brother would ever want anything to do with him again, and the question whether he would ever have a relationship with his brother again.

Dean hated those questions, and he hated what brought Sam back to him. But he'd never hate Sam and having Sam back.

He wanted to hit something. Dean was not equipped to deal with all the emotions swirling around in his head. But he wouldn't wake up Sam. He wasn't even going to tell Sam. Sam had enough going on, and Dean wasn't going to make him worry more.

Chapter Text

Early the following morning, long before the sun was up, Sam woke in a cold sweat. His heart beating in his chest like an angry drum, and the baby was having none of it.

By the time he could sit up, the dream was already hard to place fragments. Just images flashing through his mind of Eric Bliss over him and a vague sense of something inside him. There was the ghost of a metallic tang in his mouth and an overall sense of wrongness.

"Hey," Dean's voice cut through the horror show playing in Sam's head.

Sam wasn't sure when Dean had gotten out of bed or if he had been in bed to begin with, but he was just glad to feel his brother's presence when Dean put his hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy, deep breaths ok?" Dean gave an example of how Sam should breath. "In through the nose and out the mouth. You got this."

Only now did Sam realize he had been hyper ventilating. He was having a panic attack. That in itself was almost enough to make the panic worse. Even after his nightmare of a childhood and everything he's recently suffered, Sam never had a panic attack. At least, not like this; where he felt the air sucked from his lungs.

Sam listened to his brother and focused on his breathing. Dean coached him until his breathing returned to normal.

When it seemed like Sam was over the worst of it, Dean sat on the edge of the bed. He used to do this when Sam had nightmares as a kid. When Sam was small enough to crawl into his brother's arms and cry. Dean always put on this tough guy act – he still does – but Sam knew he was just as scared of the things they knew were waiting out there. He was scared now, Sam could see it in his eyes.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

Sam was still panting, rubbing where the baby was squirming. He shrugged and said, "I'm not really sure. It's kinda ... gone."

Dean studied his brother's eyes for a long time, he didn't want Sam to hold anything back from him. Finally he said, "well, maybe that's for the best."

With a reassuring clap to Sam's shoulder, Dean got up.

Without another word, Dean began to make coffee as though nothing happened. It amazed Sam how Dean could compartmentalize just about everything and anything, and go on as if it were normal. To be fair, Dean didn't see the images flashing through Sam's head. Still, there was something infuriating about it.

"It's barely pushing five." Dean said when the machine started to make sounds like it was heating up the water. "After coffee, I'll go rustle up some breakfast and we can hit the road. We probably won't make it the whole way. Not with how many bathroom breaks you need. But, I'll be happy if we can get somewhere in the vicinity of Casper."

"I only got up three times." Sam defended. "You try having a two and a half pound weight spending all night on your blatter. And it moves."

"Hard pass." Dean laughed.

Sam rolled his eyes as he carefully got out of bed. His legs were more stable than they were at the hospital, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't really feel stable again until after he had the baby.

"You know, you still call me Sammy." He said as he collected the toiletries Dean bought him yesterday. "Why?"

Dean furrowed his brow as if that were the strangest question he ever heard.

"I just mean, Sammy is a chubby twelve year old." Sam scrambled to add, though it sounded weak even to his ears.

Before Dean could make a joke about Sam casting stones, the TV flickered on. It was just playing static with a hissing noise in the background.

Both the brothers looked at each other before Dean approached it to turn it off. As he did, lights in the room and outside began to flicker.

Sam hurried to find the remote. It was absolutely ridiculous, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. Not in his current state.

Just as Sam grabbed the remote, he swore he could hear a voice. Not words specifically. Just the sound of someone talking in the background.

Before Sam could process what this was or think of what could be causing this, a high pitch whine started to ring in his ear. Sam could tell Dean heard it too as he covered his ears.

The noise got so loud that both Winchester had crumpled to their knees and soon the glass from the windows and the light bulbs burst.

The event itself couldn't have lasted a minute or more, but it felt like an eternity.

"Sammy!" Dean called. His voice sounded far away with Sam's ears still ringing. He took Sam's face in his hands and asked, "you ok? Anything hurt?"

Sam shook his head no. "I'm fine. Both of us are good."

As Sam looked over Dean, he noticed a little blood in his ear, but nothing seemed too concerning. He wiped some of it away with his thumb absentmindedly. "I think you burst an eardrum."

"Worst of it, I think." Dean shrugged. He then helped Sam onto the bed, and from there to his feet. Taking it slow so Sam didn't get hurt. "We should get going. Don't want to find out whatever that was."

It was unlike Dean to just run from a monster, but Sam had an idea as to why Dean would be in a hurry to get away. He only nodded, and got dressed as quickly as he could.

The question of what the hell just happened hung between them, heavy and demanding, but neither brother had the strength to initiate the conversation.

They were out of the motel in fifteen minutes. Dean didn't even bother to go to the front desk like he did the other night. He just left the keys in the room and peeled out of there. Whatever flack their speedy exist might give them, that was Hector Aframian problem.

They found themselves at a roadside diner an hour or so from Salt Lake.

Sam was alone at the counter nursing an orange juice. Of course, Dean wasn't far. Sam could see him through the window having a very animated conversation with Bobby. He knew what it was about, and he didn't want to think to hard on it. It made his skin itch.

The TV distracted Sam from Dean's clear distress. The news was wrapped up in Eric Bliss' ongoing manhunt and a what was being labeled a gasleak at a motel in Salt Lake. He thought that was a lame excuse for what happened, but he was used to seeing people explain away the supernatural. It was a coping mechanism. Besides, even with all his experience, Sam wasn't sure what caused that sound and that voice.

"You ok, honey?" The waitress who had been attending the counter asked. She placed an omelet in front of Sam and set Dean's food where he had been sitting.

Sam almost forgot how beat up he looked. On instinct he brought two fingers to the bruised side of his face and flinched when it stung.

"I'm fine, just a ... rough time." Sam said carefully. "My brother's taking me home. I'll be safe there."

The waitress took one more glance at Dean before deciding she was happy with the answer. She patted the counter and walk away.

Just as she stepped away, the breaking news chime called Sam's attention. He nearly bent the fork in his hand when he saw the headline.

Millcreek Hospital Shooter Escaped

Sam tuned out most of the story, only vaguely hearing that his father escaped as he was being transferred to a holding facility.

Dean stopped dead as he walked back into the diner, seeing his father's image and the headline. He didn't rage or otherwise panic, that would require the ability to move and think. Instead he took his phone out and redialed Bobby.

"Yeah, it's me again." Dean said when Bobby picked up. "We have another problem."

Chapter Text

The overcast swallowed the moonlight leaving the long road ahead dark and empty. The only sign of life was their own headlights. 

Dean was struggling to drive. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, even with the music playing. He managed to get two hours more sleep than he typically did, but after nearly seventeen hours, he was well past his limit.

Sam was way ahead of him, sleeping with his head rested against the window. Dean could resist the occasional glance, just to make sure Sam was alright. Sam was curled up as much as he could in the car, a hand over his belly. He seemed at peace. Dean hoped that Sam's mind was as peaceful as he looked. 

His eyes lingered on Sam's belly longer than Dean would have liked to admit. He was still wrapping his mind around all of this. He hadn't really been able to sit down and process things over the last couple of days. Hell, he still couldn't believe that Sam was sitting next to him right now. 

Regardless of any hangups Dean might have, at the end of it, Sam loved the kid. That meant Dean loved that kid – his nephew. He wouldn't let it be any other way. 

Unfortunately, his father's words stuck with him,  spoiling any ability on Dean's part to see the small positive that Sam had found. Of course, Dean wasn't suddenly a believer in God, or angels, or whatever. He was still pretty confident that demon was just a name given to a being they still didn't fully understand, like the Roman that Sam once told him about who believed rinos were unicorns. Still, that didn't rule out the baby being supernatural in some way. Dean swore he could feel his heart ache at the thought of the pain that would put Sam through. 

Though, Dean supposed that it didn't matter if the baby was human or not. Or if it was actually dangerous. Their father thought it was. That was enough to put a target on their backs. 

Despite John's nature, he had a lot of friends who knew a thing or two about tracking and killing. Even more hunters owed him favors. It wasn't just going to be their father coming after them, and that frightened Dean more than any possibility of what this baby could be. 

Sam began to mutter in his sleep, tearing Dean's focus from the cycle of fear and doubt playing in his mind. 

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder for only a second. He meant to shake him awake, but he stopped when he noticed a faint glow. In a split-second glace, Dean swore he saw vein-like glowing lines cover Sam. He almost crashed the car he was so startled. 

Sam jerked away when he felt the car swerve. He was scared and unaware of anything that just happened. Dean wasn't even sure he knew he had a nightmare.

"Dean?" His voice was thick with sleep. "Wh-what time is it? Did you fall asleep?" 

There was a notable pause, and then Dean came up with a terrible excuse. "I thought I saw a cat or something."

Sam glared at him, obviously recognizing the lie. "We should find a place to sleep. Hell, pull over and sleep in the care. I don't care." 

"We're fifteen or twenty minutes from Bobby's." Dean said putting a little pressure on the gas. "We won't find anything before then, and I'm not sleeping in a car when there's a free bed waiting."

Sam blinked a few times in surprise. He wasn't sure if Dean was just cranky, or if something was wrong. Usually, when Dean lost sleep, he was absolutely miserable to be around. This was not that. It reminded Sam of that Christmas he found out what their father actually did.

"If this is about dad –"

"Sam, it's fine." Dean gripped the wheel tighter. "I'm fine."

Sam let out a long, frustrated sigh. "I'm not five anymore, Dean. Stop treating me like a helpless kid."

"You don't want to know about this." Dean's voice was low and serious. "You don't need to worry about this. Not when you're," he waved his hand in Sam's direction, "all pregnant and about to burst."

"I think the term is pop, Dean." Sam couldn't help a chuckle. "You're mixing up human babies with Xenomorphs."

"I saw him moving when you were sleeping. That's a Face Hugger." Dean said firmly.

Sam shook his head. "Ok. So, this is how we're gonna leave it? You're gonna deflect until we get to Bobby's with movie aliens?"

"Face Huggers are Xenomorphs. It's only one type of alien." Dean corrected. 

"Right." Sam looked down at himself for a moment. "Look dude, I don't know what I'm doing. Like at all. I mean just a year ago, I wasn't sure if I'd have kids someday, and now ..." his hand fell to his belly. "I need you, Dean. You're my big brother. I trust you more than anything. You're the only person I trust to help."

"Sam," Dean shook his head. "Sammy, let's just get to Bobby's and get some sleep. We can talk about this in the morning. Maybe Bobby can help." He glanced at Sam. "I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere."

Sam simply nodded.

He knew it was true. Dean would let the whole world burn to keep him safe. However, that only made the prospect that Dean could be hiding something from him all the worst. 

They were silent the rest of the way to Bobby's except for the vocal styling of Rob Halford. Dean made the remaining drive go by faster, but it didn't help the tension in the car. 

While the tension was still there, it didn't seem to matter as much when they drove through the familiar junk yard and up to the closet thing they had to a childhood home. 

Bobby was there. Nearly running from his porch to greet the boys. He chewed out Dean for driving so long as he hugged him. Of course, that only made it better to Sam. His own father hurt him – he's willing to kill him, but Bobby Singer was there to hug him, feed him, and give him a warm bed. He was safe. The rest could wait a few more hours. 

Chapter Text

Dean was the first awake. Which after two days running on fumes that probably should have been alarming. He was too tired to care he stumbled into the kitchen to find breakfast.

As much as Dean loved his life on the road, he couldn't deny the perks of having a kitchen. Even with his simple eggs and toast, it was heaven compared to waiting around with no coffee and the end result of a, more often than not, disappointing breakfast. 

He had just sat down when he heard the stairs creek. The whole house creaked and groaned with even the slightest of movement. It was enough to make a man paranoid, but Dean also found comfort in the familiarity. 

"I made coffee." Dean called, expecting Bobby to check on him. "I know, I know; I should be –" he stopped when Sam stepped in the doorway of the kitchen. He looked just as tired as Dean. "Good morning princess, you look wonderful."

"Shut up." Sam muttered as he made his way over to the pantry. He brushed back his hair which made it look like less of a mess. 

"Another nightmare or did I wake you?" Dean asked before taking a bite of his toast. 

"Maybe a nightmare. I'm not sure. Just sort of woke up." Sam said as he found some instant oatmeal. "My lower back and ... other places hurt. I think I was in the car too long."

"Other places?" Dean repeated with a mouth full of food. 

"You know," Sam gestured to to his groin. "Other places." He put the oatmeal in the microwave before continuing. "Did you sleep enough? Can we talk now?"

"Are you just trying to deflect from your other places?" Dean smirked as he took a sip from his coffee. 

"I'm serious, Dean." Sam's voice sounded more high-pitched than he would have liked, even to his own ears. He sounded like himself as a teenager; arguing over the most ridiculous things. It was strange how time could change what was important. 

"Something scared you out last night." Sam continued as he collected toppings for his oatmeal and sat at the table with Dean. "I've seen you make jokes after getting the crap beat out of you by a rabid zombie. You don't scare easily. Or you don't often get so scared you can't deflect your feelings with bad humor."

Dean's face pinched at the insult. "I'm hilarious!"

"Dean," Sam pressed, willing his brother to be serious. "What happened?"

Dean took a deep. "Look ... just don't freak out."

Sam put his spoon down, temporarily forgetting his breakfast. "It can't be that bad. Whatever it is –"

"Glowing." Dean said as though it made any sense. "You, Sam. You were glowing. Like one of those freak deep sea fish." 

Sam's brow furrowed, but he didn't look surprised. If anything, it look like a few puzzle pieces came together. 

"Sammy?"

"You're sure?" Sam asked. 

"I wasn't so tired that I was seeing things." Dean looked scared. Genuinely scared. A helpless look that Sam had only seen a handful of times. "It was only for a second. You were talking in your sleep, like when you were ten. I think it was a nightmare," he snapped his fingers, "which were talking about after this lovely conversation."

"It's not the first time." Sam said suddenly. "It's not the first time I've glowed. I think."

"You think?" Dean repeated. 

"The first time, I was still drugged. He stopped drugging me after that night, too." Sam's eyes darted back and fourth for a moment. "The second time was when I was hit in the head and crashed into that table." He held up his stitched hand. "Somehow got away with just a scratch." 

Dean thought for a moment. "Well, two out of three times we could argue that you're body was protecting itself."

"Was it?" Sam asked. 

Dean furrowed his brow. 

"Stress and physical injury." Sam listed, counting on his fingers for emphasis. "Not really conducive for a growing baby."

Dean scoffed. He tried to argue against Sam's conclusion, but nothing sounded right or plausible. Eventually he said, "fuck we're a weird family."

Sam smiled a little. They were weird, but he was starting to appreciate the weirdness. More so than he did when he was eighteen.

Leaving Sam to eat, Dean got up to find their father's journal. He left it in Bobby's study so Bobby could go over his father's findings. 

He set it on the table for Sam. "Bobby had some choice words about dad's conclusions, and I think it's all crap period, but it's all we have to start on."

Sam looked at the journal, then up at Dean. There was an unspoken truth that settled in Sam's eyes. An acceptance that this baby was most likely supernatural.

"Hey," Dean's tone was so soft it would sound absolutely forgine to anyone else who knew him. "We don't know for sure if the kid's different. And if he is, we don't know if he's dangerous."

Sam nodded. 

Dean crossed his arms. He couldn't stand to see Sam so distraught. Desperate for a distraction, he asked, "he's gonna need a name at some point. Maybe Hendrix? Jethro – no let's stay away from any religious names. Oh," he snapped his fingers, "I've got it! Sid! No one will know what he's named for and it's still bad ass."

Sam scoffed. Life returned to his eyes. Dean was visibly proud. Downright relieved. Even if it was temporary, he was still able to distract his brother from their problems.

"You want to name your nephew after Sid Vicious?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not the one with a head injury?"

"What's wrong with Sid?" Dean threw his arms in the air. 

"I can give you a long list." Sam chuckled. "Hell, you hate the Sex Pistols."

"No, I think their music's crap. Sid is still a legend." Dean corrected. 

Sam shook his head. "Whatever. He has a name, actually. A first name at least. And I'm pretty settled on it. Jack." 

"How'd you come up with that?" Dean asked. 

Sam shrugged. "I was thinking while at the hospital. About the future in front of me. What kind of life I can give him. Then I saw myself calling for this little boy. I can't think of any other name now."

Dean thought about how Sam came up with the name. It only made the alarm going off in his head louder. Then something came to him. 

"Can I make a suggestion?" He asked. "A serious one."

"Uh, yeah." Sam looked confused for a moment. 

"Jack Robert Winchester." Dean said simply. 

Sam was caught off gaurd by the suggestion, but he clearly loved it. He blinked away a few tears and said, "I think that's perfect."

Chapter Text

The gunshots and the subsequent whistle of cans being struck down rang through the otherwise quiet property. It stopped suddenly, and was almost immediately replaced by a frustrated groan echoing off the cars.

When Bobby made his way through the maze of stacked cars to a clearing, he found Dean on his knees.

Dean didn't have the energy to inspect his jammed gun. He didn't have the energy to do anything. He didn't even have the energy to look at Bobby when the man approached him. 

Without saying a word, Bobby took the gun from Dean and carefully inspected it. 

Bobby had the gun custom made for Dean when he was twenty and it was clear that he was going to continue hunting. A way to show Dean that he supported his choices, like buying Sam his first year of text books and a computer when he went to college.

"Well it's immaculate, but you're not using enough oil." Bobby said, kneeling down when Dean didn't stand up. "I've got some oil in my workshop. Maybe we can work through your arsenal, too."

Dean just shrugged, reminding Bobby of when he was a despondent kid. 

"C'mon," Bobby waved his hand as he got back up. "I'm not kneeling in the dirt until my sciatica acts up again."

Dean was reluctant to get up at first, but when Bobby offered his hand, he took it. 

They didn't go far. They sat on an old car bench that Bobby left out when he couldn't do anything with it. It was the place they always talked, even when he was a kid. Bobby even brought him out here the day he came to him after Sam went missing. Dean was much the same as the day he came to Bobby nearly a year ago.

"So you're doing that thing?" Bobby asked after they sat for a few minutes.

"What thing?" Dean muttered, turning his head to look at Bobby.

"He speaks!" Bobby chuckled softly. "You do this thing whether it's for a hunt or Sam, or both. You push yourself to the absolute limit for days, and then you shut down. Because who wouldn't shut down after running on spite and coffee for days on end? Usually something gets broken when you're like this. You might be maturing. I know my TV appreciates it."

Dean took a deep breath, returning his gaze to the tree line. He couldn't deny what Bobby was saying. He still hadn't found a way to cope with this weight on his shoulders, especially when it came to Sam. 

He reached his limit, and he wasn't even sure when he crossed that threshold. He just kept taking in all the world shattering news, single mindedly focused on keeping Sam safe, like always.

"You're not a soldier, Dean. Even if you were, you're allowed to feel things." Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder to emphasize his point. "You're allowed to be pissed off and confused. Hell, I am!" 

Dean put his head in his hands. "It's my job to keep him safe. It's always been my job." His voice was muffled, but it was clear he was on the verge of tears. "I should have never let him out of my sight." 

"This isn't your fault, Dean." Bobby said firmly. "I know what that kind of guilt will do to you. I've walking around with it for thirty years. You can't hold on to that."

"Then what do I do?" Dean snapped, standing up suddenly because his body was screaming with pent up rage. He kicked the ground and gripped his hair as he tried not to lose control. "We don't know what that bastard did to him. Or why him. We don't know what's gonna happen to Sam. We don't even know what the kid is." He turned back to Bobby. "How many books have we looked through today? Did you find anything? No! We can't find any lore on magic, glowing babies!"

Bobby set the gun down and stood up. He looked Dean in the eye for a long moment before taking him into a tight hug. 

Dean resisted at first, but that only made Bobby hold on tighter. When he eventually gave in, the floodgates opened. He couldn't stop the sobs that ripped out of him. 

Bobby just kept holding him. Never saying a word. That's not what Dean needed right now. 

Bobby only pulled away when Dean had calmed down. He clapped his shoulder and said, "you pain in the asses are my family. You got that? Family don't give up on each other. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out."

Dean took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. 

"Now, we're not going to solve this tonight." Bobby said, giving Dean his gun back. "What you are going to do tonight is work with me to clean those guns, and both you idgits are going to help me with dinner. We'll discuss the weather if we have to, but we are not going to talk shop until tomorrow. C'mon."

Dean couldn't help the smile that was growing on his face. It was weak and his eyes were full of pain, but the smile was genuine.

He still felt helpless and scared, but he had Bobby looking out for him. He had Sam back, regardless of the cercumstances. Hell, he was going to be an uncle – there was some good in that. He could start with that. 

After dinner, Dean retreated to the porch with a glass of whiskey. The bottle wasn't far. 

Sam made his way outside after cleaning up. In lieu of alcohol, he had a coke. 

"Are you Brooding out here?" Sam asked as he stood next to Dean, leaning on the opposite post. "Or did you just want to abandon Bobby and me with the dishes?"

"A little column A and a little column B?" Dean offered the best smile he could. 

Sam shook his head before taking a sip of his coke. He could see the pain that Dean would never admit to, but he knew it wouldn't do any good to press the issue now. 

They stood in comfortable silence as they watch the sunset. A rare moment in their lives just to enjoy the quiet. 

"Sammy, I've been thinking." Dean began when he turned around to get more whiskey.

"Should I be worried?" Sam chuckled a little. 

He watched Dean with a wary eye. Dean was a borderline alcoholic before Sam left for school, he couldn't imagine what his brother was like now after the last year.

"No, smart ass." Dean said as he turned back to Sam. "Look, this isn't easy for me. Ok?"

Sam turned to Dean, his eyes soft and caring. "I'm sorry. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I won't judge."

Dean took a long drink, like he needed more courage. "I don't know what's gonna happen. To you. To the baby. Fuck – there's a baby now! It's all just a lot. I don't remember ever being this ..." He can finish. He can't admit this feeling like the world is going to implode at any second.

Sam furrowed his brow as he listened. He knew that his brother got scared more than he would ever let on, but it was rare for Dean to actually admit it. Or come close to it anyway. It scared Sam more than the uncertainty ahead, but he was also grateful that Dean trusted him enough to be open.

"I'm the action guy. You know? There's a monster, I kill it. Simple and clean. This ..." Dean sighed. "This is way above my pay grade. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing." 

Sam nodded. "I don't either. Hell, biologically speaking, this," he gestured to his belly, "shouldn't be happening. And it ends with a person coming out of a body part I didn't have a year ago." He looked down at himself. "I don't think we're supposed to know what to do. I think it's normal to be overwhelmed right now." 

"Sam ..." Dean started, but he couldn't bring himself to ask that question. He couldn't let himself think of a world without Sam in it. 

Sam met Dean's eyes and understood. He wasn't sure what Dean was going to ask exactly, but he understood the fear screaming behind Dean's eyes. 

"I could die." Sam finally said. The words took the air from his brother's lungs, but Sam continued. "That's not even a weird magic thing. People die while giving birth. And I'm pretty sure getting a doctor or a midwife involved is a bad idea. So that puts me more at risk. That is reality."

"Sammy ..."

"If I don't die," Sam continued before he could loose his strength, "I'm responsible for this ... this life. This person. And I don't know how to do that. I don't even know what kind of life I can give him. I don't know if I can give him a better life than we had. That's also reality, and I think it scares me more than simply dying."

Tears were burning in Dean's eyes, but he couldn't think of what to say. 

"But," the word was drawn out by Sam's sigh. "But, regardless what happens, I have you. Jack has you. As much of a genuine asshole you can be, you're my big brother. I know no matter what, you're there when it matters. If I'm not here, Jack will be in good hands. If I am here, then I won't be alone."

"I think you broke the chick-flick moments rule." Dean tried to deflect. 

Sam rolled him eyes before taking Dean into a hug. "God, you're a jerk."

"Bitch." Dean said into Sam's shoulder, no longer caring about the tear that slipped down his cheek. 

"And Sam?" Dean prompted after he pulled away. "You're not dying. I'm not letting that happen."

Chapter Text

A week after their dramatic arrival at Bobby's, Sam and Dean woke to the sound of the shutters bagging and the lights flickering. An old radio on Dean's night stand started playing random stations, eventually it just produced loud static. 

When the lights burst, Dean jumped out of bed, gun in hand, rushing to Sam' side. 

Sam was unable to get up. A sharp pain ripped through him, and glowing lines started to appear under his skin. 

"Whoa! Whoa! Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder when he noticed his brother was in pain. 

"I'm ok." Sam sighed as the pain subsided. "Braxton Hicks ... I think."

"Braxton what?" Dean furrowed his brow. 

Before Sam could ask Dean if he's read any of the books Bobby bought, the door was forced open. 

Dean pointed his gun in the direction of the door, shooting when a figure appeared in the dark. That didn't slow the man down. It didn't even look like he felt anything. 

Dean ran out of bullets when the thing was on top of him. Not that it mattered. He still kept pulling the trigger well after, as though it would help.

It looked human. Dean might even describe him as an accountant if he ran into him on the street. But he was stronger than anything close to human. 

The strange man ripped the gun out of Dean's hand, and tossing it aside. 

From behind his brother, Sam yelled, "who the hell are you?" He was holding a baseball bat. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with the baseball bat when bullets did nothing, but it felt better than nothing. 

The man approached him, taking a long,  unsettling look directly in his eyes. "I don't wish to hurt you. I came to help you." He looked down at the swell of Sam's belly. "And him."

The man stops Dean from stabbing him without even looking at him. "I would prefer to to speak to both of you, but I only need to speak to Sam."

Sam put the bat down, feeling a little ridiculous holding. "Who are you?"

"What are you?" Dean added. 

"Castiel. I'm an Angel of the Lord." He said as though it explained everything.

Dean scoffed. "Right! What are ya? Friends with that freak? The guy who took my brother. You part of all this?"

"Eric Bliss is dead." Castiel said in the same flat tone he had been using. "Took his own life." He sighed. "He was a devote man. It's unfortunate what happened to him."

"Unfortunate?" Sam and Dean repeated simultaneously. 

"The man kidnapped my brother, locked him in a basement, and did –" Dean waved in Sam's direction. "None of this is unfortunate. And I hate the son of a bitch for taking the easy way out."

"It was not Bliss who did this." Castiel turned his attention to Dean. "A very loyal servent of my brother did. She could not break Lucifer out of his cage, therefore she created the next best thing. I'm still unclear what her ultimate plan was." 

"Oh my God! I'm so sick of this crap!" Dean groaned. 

"You have very little faith, Dean." Castiel said, showing the closest thing he did to emotion in the entire conversation. Concern of all things.

Despite the calm night, thunder rang out above them. When the lightning flashed, wings the size of the room appeared behind Castiel.

Dean was stunned, back up to the wall behind him. He still wasn't sure if angels were real, but he was certainly uneased by whatever Castiel was. 

"You have to leave." Castiel said with a sudden urgency. 

"Leave?" Sam demanded. "Leave where?" 

"Doesn't matter." Castiel said as he turned back to Sam. "Your friend should leave, too. Uriel and his forces are known to leave little behind when they have a target." 

The look in Castiel's eyes said everything. Regardless what he was – regardless what dean thought he was, he was trying to help. 

Before Sam or Dean could say anything, Castiel put his hand on Sam's chest. There was a burning sensation unlike anything Sam had experienced before. It was over as quickly as it started, and Castiel had moved on to Dean. 

"Jesus Christ!" Dean snapped. "What the hell was that?"

"In your vernacular, you might call it a protection spell. A ward." Castiel explained too casually for Dean's liking. "It will keep angels from finding you. All angels. Myself included." He handed Dean a filp phone. 

Dean was clearly taken aback. "You're an Angel of the Lord, but you need a Motorola?" 

"I will be in touch, and I will help. Just leave." Castiel gestured to the phone.

Dean looked at Sam as though he was going to help. Sam had what Dean called his puppy dog eyes. There was no reality where Dean could resist those. It's how Sam got away with so much as a kid.

Rolling his eyes, Dean grabbed his phone off the side table and exchanged it for the one Castiel gave him. They both put their numbers in each others phone. 

After getting his phone back, Castiel disappeared. It was jarring to both Sam and Dean. 

After a moment, Dean looked up at Sam and said, "when this goes side ways I'm blaming you." 

After Bobby regained consciousnes, they all convened in the kitchen with the intent of getting coffee. Any effort to make coffee ended as Dean explained what happened. 

Dean was now biting his nails as Bobby complained about the hangover to end all hangovers and speculated if he hit his head. Neither had an idea of what to say or do. 

Sam had been silent since he sat down, occasionally bitting his nails, too. Both Winchesters had a terrible habit of it when they were nervous. 

After a moment Sam said, "we can't stay."

Dean and Bobby shared a look, neither sure what do or say. 

"Dean, I don't care if you don't believe in God or angels, or any of that crap." Sam continued. "Something else is coming after us. After me." He looked down at himself for a brief moment and forced himself not to cry. "I won't just sit around." 

"There are hunters after us, too. Did you forget about that?" Dean made his way over to Sam. "Most hunters need Bobby. That makes him the closest thing to protection we got. We go out there, we're exposed."

"They're after me." Sam muttered. 

"What did you just say?" Dean snapped. "Hey! If you're gonna be a smart ass, be a man about it and look me in the eye."

"They're after me!" Sam did the closest thing to jumping up from his chair that he could. His eyes glowing. 

Dean took a stumbling step back, not sure what to do. It was like he only now realized how massive Sam had become – how dangerous he could be without any of this added insanity.

"Ok, both of ya, knock it off!" Bobby yelled. "My head is killing me, and bickering won't get us anywhere."

Sam looked down in shame. "Sorry." He slowly sat back down. "I just don't think it's smart to stay. I don't think it's a good idea to stay. Hunters or not. I just ... it's the way he looked at me."

"Castiel?" Bobby clarified. 

Sam nodded. "I don't care if he's a witch with an angel complex. He knows something, and he's trying to help. 

Dean sighed and rubbed his face. He could still see the shadow of wings on the wall, and Sam glowing – Sam's eyes glowing. It was hard to deny a lot of what was in front of him.

"Look, if we leave, Bobby should leave." Dean said from behind his hand. "We all abandon ship, or no one does."

Bobby suddenly stood up straight from where he was bending over a counter. "I might know a place we can all go. It's not glamorous, but it's not here."

"How far?" Dean asked. 

"We can probably be there by nightfall tomorrow. If we don't drive like absolute maniacs." Bobby chuckled a little at Dean's glare. 

"I think it's a good plan." Sam said as he looked up at Dean. "Keeps us together." 

Dean sighed again, realizing he was being out voted. He felt this was an absolute ridiculous and dangerous idea, but he ultimately nodded, silently agreeing to this nonsense. He just hope this was the last time they fled at the crack of dawn.

Chapter Text

They had been on the road for nearly six hours, only stopping when Sam had to use the bathroom or when the cars needed gas. Which mostly fell on the former.

Dean was filling up Bobby's Chevelle, keeping an eye on the bathroom Sam disappeared into ten minutes ago.

Bobby came out of the small gas station, still out on the phone. He put a couple of snacks on the hood of the Impala as he finished his call.

"Well, I got through to Rufus." Bobby said as he approached Dean. "He apparently forgot he had the cabin in the first place, though he's not opposed to us using it. Just said that if we get tetanus, it's on us."

Dean chuckled at that. He had heard of Rufus over the years, but never actually meet him. Still, Dean was pretty sure the guy was out to lunch. Even by hunter standards.

"How close are we to the Badlands?" Bobby asked as he got a map out of his glove compartment.

"A sign maybe maybe five miles or so back said it's twenty five miles away." Dean said as he approached Bobby. "I think we should stop somewhere in the Black Hills for lunch and figure out how much longer we can stay on the road."

"I'd like to get to Broadus. Maybe even Billings." Bobby sighed. "I don't know. I don't like being in the open."

Dean looked over the map before Bobby folded it back up. He wasn't sure if he should say that pushing ten hours on the road wasn't a good idea after the night they had. It also scared him to have to be the voice of reason.

Before Dean could say anything, Sam had made his way over to him. He was rubbing his face and pushing his hair back. He still had a certain paleness from his months without sunlight, and the still healing bruises still on his face didn't help him look any less sickly and helpless. It made Dean's chest tighten.

"What's on the menu?" Sam asked as he made his way over to the Impala.

"Breakfast of champions, it looks like." Dean put on his usual <span;>blasé smirk <span;>as he looked through the various snacks. He then handed Sam a pack of chips and some jerky. "Protein and vegetables."

Sam laughed a little. "I'm pretty sure this is not what they mean when they say to eat a balanced diet."

"Dude, I watched you eat three king size candy bars the other day." Dean said as he helped Sam into the car. "Don't give me crap about healthy eating."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that came out a little too hard. It warmed Dean's heart everytime he heard Sam laugh, now. Sam's smile and his laugh had always been grounding for Dean, but now it meant so much more. So much that Dean couldn't articulate.

They reached the northern foothills of the Black Hills before Sam needed to stretch his legs. The back spasms were getting worse, making it impossible to stay in a car for long period of time.

Sam was pacing in the parking lot of a diner as they waited for Bobby to get them lunch. Sam didn't want to be gawked at in a rural South Dakota diner. Besides the only thing that helped was walking.

Dean leaned against the Impala, watching his brother with a careful eye. He was concerned about the pain Sam was in. It didn't matter that some book said discomfort was normal, something was worrying Dean.

"Please stop looking at me like that." Sam sighed.

"Like what?" Dean asked.

"Like I'm going to shatter with the wrong gust of wind." Sam sighed. "It's just an old car bench ... and my legs are long. I can't even get them where I'm comfortable because," he gestures to his belly. "I'm fine though. Like physically, we're ok."

Dean nodded, unsure what to say.

Sam sighed. He knew Dean wasn't trying to be overprotective – well, more overprotective than usual. They were both way over their heads.

Before either could say anything, Dean's phone went off. The partial name 'CLARE ...' lit up the front screen of his phone.

Dean rubbed his face before answering it. He still couldn't place Castiel, and wasn't appreciative of whatever he was swooping in and ruining his plans.

"Look, man. This isn't a good time." They weren't doing anything other than what Castiel told them to do, Dean just wasn't sure he had the energy to deal with angels, God, and the devil – and whatever else Castiel wanted to throw their way.

"Are you on the road?" Castiel asked.

"I got out voted." Dean sighed. "We're near the tri-state."

"Where are you specifically?" Castiel's voice was growing demanding.

Dean furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"There's something we need to talk about. You, Sam, and I." Castiel said with a certain seriousness that made Dean uneasy. "It's better we talk in person."

Dean hesitated for a moment. His gut was screaming for him not to listen to this man, but the urge to punch him in the face was winning out. "Uh ... Sturgis, South Dakota. A diner called Mac's on Route Ninety."

Castiel hung up, but before Dean could react, he appeared at the other end of the parking lot.

Both Dean and Sam jumped in surprise.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean put himself between Sam and Castiel.

"Thank you for listening." Castiel said when he approached them. "I'm no longer privy to Uriel's plans. I don't know when he'll strike. Only that he knew where you were."

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked. "How did you get here?"

"I believe your parlance would be teleporting." Castiel tried to explained. "There's something pressing we have to discuss. My father has been gone for some time."

"Gone?" Sam and Dean asked simultaneously.

"Do you mean God?" Sam clarified. "Where would God go? He can't die – right?"

"God can die in the right cercumstances. But, I don't believe he's dead. Just missing." Castiel explained. "Uriel and Zachariah are working together to bring about the apocalypse. They have been for some time. However he is running their plans."

Sam looked down at his belly.

"Ever since that Demon infected you –"

"Demon?" Dean snapped. "What? When? The basement?"

"Dean," Sam's voice trembled. "I think he's talking about the night mom died."

Dean scoffed at the idea.

"I am." Castiel said with a firmness that left no room for doubt. "<span;>Azazel plans to use one of his chosen children to form an uprising in Hell, and possibly on earth. That once included Sam. But recent developments make Sam ... ineligible. He's tainted, so to speak. It also ruins Uriel and Zachariah's plans. To use Sam as a method of breaking Lucifer out. I don't believe they have yet a method to break that initial seal."

"The Devil's in prison?" Dean asked.

"Of sorts, yes." Castiel voice was too level for the subject. "What's important is that Uriel and Zachariah don't find either of you. Sam is different, making this child different than any other nephilim. I don't know how exactly, but Uriel and Zachariah won't allow this child to exist. They're ... zelots, to once again use your parlance. I was too until recent events."

"Zelots?" Dean repeated. "I thought you were angels?"

"Did you ever make a mistake by listening to your father? Did you ever believe he was a perfect man, regardless of any evidence to the contrary?" Castiel asked.

Dean glanced at the still healing bruise on Sam's cheek. His gut twisted at the idea that their father would do something so awful.

"That's how I felt when I actually sat and thought about the ways humans have suffered." Castiel explained. "It was worse that he's left some of his most vicious and ruthless soldiers in charge. Then to kill a baby – a baby of their blood ..." Castiel trailed off for a moment. "I did horrible things in the name of my father, I know both of you understand that. I know you understand this doubt better than anyone," he said to Dean specifically. "Trust that I will help you, and please do as I ask. I want to protect you."

The look on Castiel's face made it look like he wanted to say more. Before he could he disappeared again.

Behind him was Bobby who look absolutely stunned. It made Sam wonder just how strange or unusual their situation had to be to stun a seasoned hunter like Bobby.

Then there was Dean a look of contemplation and doubt overtook his normally carefree expression. It sent a chill down Sam's spine. Sam aware of how much danger he was in, but to see his brother so worried really cemented it. As did when Dean barely touched his food – including the pie.

When they eventually got back in the car, Sam began to contemplate his situation. Something he's been avoiding since the hospital – most especially in the last day. He didn't want to think about his son's future or the fact that the best case scenario for Jack was a childhood like Sam and Dean's own.

Sam was quiet the next five hours in the car. He didn't sleep; he barely acknowledged his needs. He just sat there and watched the landscape roll away.

Chapter Text

Sam woke for the third time that night to use the bathroom only to notice a light in the corner of the room.

Dean was sitting in a chair, huddled over what was once Sam's laptop when he was in college. It still had all the stickers that Sam accumulated, though Sam was sure it also had a few new viruses and malware. He made the joke the other day that it was probably the first machine to get chlamydia.

Sam sat up, and stretched. "Dude, it's four in the morning. Did you get any sleep?"

"Yeah ... I've only been up like an hour." Dean said as he looked up from the computer.

"When did you go to bed?" Sam asked. "You were still up when I passed out."

"Ten ... ish." Dean shrugged. "We'll get to the cabin before dark. I'll be fine. A couple coffees, maybe a Redbull ... or two."

"Dean, you've never had sleeping problems. Even though you absolutely should." Sam said as he got up to approached his brother. "What's going on? When did this start?"

Dean rubbed his face. "I – I don't know. Maybe a year ago. I'm averaging four hours. I'm fine."

Even in the limited light, Sam saw the look in his brother's eye. That pained guilt he got whenever either of them mentioned the last year.

"That's the bare minimum you need to survive." Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder to convey his worry. He was about to ask Dean to talk to him when he noticed Dean's search results. "What hell is all this?"

There was a chat room open and half a dozen tabs on Lucifer, Satan, and other religious topics.

"I thought you didn't believe in all this." Sam added.

"I don't! I don't think so." Dean waved his hand. "It doesn't matter. I found something."

He opened one of the tabs. The strange occult site had an article titled: Satan Children.

"Dean ..." Sam sighed.

"No, no. Look." Dean scrolled down to a scroll on the page. "They say it's a way for Satan to ... reproduce without," he made an obscene gesture to represent sex. "Like a spell. Lucifer, angels, God might not be real, but witchcraft is. We've seen it."

"Ok ..." Sam stood up and stretched his back. "Where does this scroll come from? How did some guy in Utah get it?"

"Not some guy. A mormon." Dean said as though it made perfect sense. "He was on a mission in Israel, and this scroll went missing from a museum in Damascus six months before he arrived."

"Ok," Sam took a breath to keep his words calm and even. "Let's say this is some really old magic. How does that help us? Are we just kicking around in something that will only create more problems?"

"Sammy," Dean started. "Fuck," he rubbed his face. "Sam, you're glowing. We have a weird man tailing us, and maybe helping. We're way past more problems."

Sam just sighed. He didn't want to hear it.

"Sam ..." Dean muttered. "I don't want to scare you, but if this is a nephilim or whatever, your outlook isn't good. The source material isn't clear, but the lore out there suggests that you could die. He will kill you."

Sam look away. There was something in Sam's eyes that said more than his words could.

Dean studied Sam's eyes. "You knew." "Dean ..." "You knew that you were going to die?!" Dean snapped, standing up suddenly. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because then you wouldn't have focused on what's important." Sam sighed.

"Important?!" Dean's voice got louder. "You're my baby brother! Nothing comes before you."

"Jack does." Sam's eyes were wattery with tears, but he wasn't backing down. "You promised to watch out for Jack. That's what I need from you. You're the only person I trust like this." Sam took in a deep breath to stop himself from crying. "Dad and the other hunters won't stop just because I'm dead. After Jack's born, they might only get worse. Then we have fucking angels or whatever you want to call them." He meet Dean's eyes. "It'll be ok, Dean. Even if I'm not here. It'll be ok."

Dean just collapsed back into the chair when Sam turned to use the bathroom. His chest felt tight and tears were falling down his face.

He could accept some terrible complication taking Sam. That was largely out of his control. But to loose his baby brother to something Supernatural – something he might actually be able to stop, that was unthinkable.

He hunched over and held his head, trying to stop himself from crying. It felt like loosing Sam all over again. Like his heart would never be whole.

Chapter Text

"You need a pit stop?" Dean's voice was horse from under use, and screaming into a pillow before breakfast.

It was the third time Dean acknowledged Sam's existence since getting on the road. He didn't speak at breakfast. Not even to Bobby. Worst of all the car was dead silent. Dean didn't even bother to put music on.

"No, I'm good." Sam said, looking up from the book he was reading.

Dean didn't respond, he just kept an eye on Bobby's car to make sure he didn't signal and turn.

"It's been like four hours, Dean. Seven if we're counting from when I got up. Please don't give me the cold shoulder." Sam closed his book to turn his attention fully to Dean. "I'm trying to give you space. I really am. But ... Dean," he shook his head a loss for words. "Dean, I'm sorry. I don't want to scare you ... or hurt you. It was just the truth. Or at least what I know."

"It's a feeling." Dean clarified. "You called it a feeling."

Dean was still pissed off. Rightfully so. But, he was talking. That's all Sam cared about.

"I'm not scared, Sam." Dean continued. "I'm angry. Not at you. I'm just ..." he lightly bounced his hand off the wheel. "Three hundred and fifteen days. I looked for you, nonstop, for three hundred and fifteen days. I counted them. Every fucking minute, I counted. Because ..." he shook his head like he was trying to build himself up. "Because, you pain in the ass, I really can't live without you Sammy. You might have some fancy collage word for that. I don't care if some suit with mommy issues thinks I'm unhealthy," he used air quotes, "it's always been us against the world."

"Love," Sam simply.

"What?" Dean looked over at Sam.

"It's not an esoteric psychology term," Sa shrugged, "but what you just describe is love, Dean. I know we don't say it out loud, but you've always shown me how much you love me. Just like that."

Dean shook his head. "You keep talking like that, and I'm leaving you at that rest stop."

Sam couldn't help the soft chuckle that fell from him.

"Cardboard sign with, 'to a good home,' in big letters." Dean continued, fighting his own smile. "Then, in smaller letters, 'not housebroken'."

"I was being serious, you know. Ass." Sam groaned as he rubbed his belly. "Don't make me laugh. He apparently hates it when I laugh, and he's taking that out on my gallbladder."

"No, he hates when you're mean to his uncle. You know I'm going to be his favorite." Dean chuckled to himself.

"Yeah, because you'll let him live off candy and junk." Sam laughed to himself until he felt another kick. "I'm pretty sure you gave me Funyuns once and called them vegetables."

"There's onion and corn." Dean argued. "Anyway smart ass, can you reach the glove compartment? Put on Led Zeppelin. The greatest hits." He snapped his fingers. "You didn't even consider Zeppelin. That's bad ass."

"I'm starting to regret my decision to leave my child in your care." Sam teased as he put on the music Dean asked.

When they finally arrived at the cabin, everyone was exhausted. Especially Sam. But they had to settle in and clean the place, and Dean wanted to make sure Sam had a meal before he went to bed.

After two hours, two entire cans of Lysol, about forty wards, half a bag of salt, and box mac and cheese dinner later, Sam was finally able to sleep. Leaving Dean and Bobby sitting awkwardly in the living room.

"So ..." Bobby said to break the tension. "Sam."

"He's not dying, Bobby. So, don't even go there." Dean paused to make sure Sam didn't wake up with his outburst. "I'll figure something out."

"Honestly, I'm just worried that this is some trauma thing or postpartum thing. Could be both, I guess." Bobby was unphased by Dean's outburst. "Even in the best cercumstances, postpartum depression is a big problem. And these aren't even good cercumstances. Hell, his brain chemistry isn't even built to handle these changes."

"Thanks for that, Bobby." Dean said sarcastically. "Isn't postpartum like after," he waved his hand between his legs.

"Birth, idjit. We can say the word: birth. It's not an ancient curse." Bobby shook his head in astonishment. "Also, evidently, the symptoms of postpartum depression can start weeks before giving birth." He noticed Dean's confused expression and added, "I've been reading those books I bought Sam. You should be, too."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean said as he stood up. "Ok, let's say this is something in his head. What do we do? It's not like we can take him to a shirk. They'll commit him."

"At the very least." Bobby agreed. "I think we talk to your angel friend, try to get a handle on this thing. Then we work from there." He stood up as well. "You do that in the morning. First, you need rest."

Dean thought about it for a moment. He still wasn't able to get a read on Castiel, and the man made him nervous. But he was their only expert on this thing.

"Yeah, alright." He said as he turned to go to the bedrooms. "I'll call him. But, I just want it on record that I think this is a terrible idea."

"Noted." Bobby chuckled.

Dean slowly made his way to the spare room, suddenly realizing how exhausted he actually was. He briefly checked on sam before going to bed himself. Despite his long and terrible day, Dean found sleep quickly. His worries melting away for a few hours. 

Chapter Text

Dean left early the next morning. Almost immediately after breakfast. He made the excuse that he was just getting some tools they needed, but he was pretty sure Sam saw right through that. 

He knew that he should probably involve Sam. It was his life after all. But Dean didn't want to upset him, or worse, get his hopes up. Besides, he wasn't sure if he could trust this Castiel, yet. He didn't even understand what they were supposed to be running from, or why Castiel was helping. Hell, he wasn't even sure what Castiel was. 

Dean took out his phone as thunder started to roll in from the east. Bobby warned him that it was going to storm that day, it genuinely freak him out when Bobby did that. Something about the shrapnel in his shoulder. 

Castiel didn't answer either time Dean called forcing him to leave a voice mail with his location a few choice words.

"Damn it," Dean said to himself when he hung up. In a higher pitched, mocking tone, he continued, "let's flee in the night because some witch told us to. Nothing could go wrong. Oh! And I'm freaking dying." He hit the steering wheel. "I'm pretty sure everything went wrong, Sam!" He rubbed his face. "God damn it, I'm loosing my mind."

"Do you often talk to yourself?" A familiar gruff voice said from beside him.

Dean jumped, reaching for his gun until his mind caught up and realized he probably wasn't in danger. "Damn it, Cas!"

Castiel thought over the sudden nickname. He wasn't upset about it, but it still felt new and different. A lot of things were new and different, Castiel mused. Well, maybe things weren't different, but Castiel himself most certainly was.

"Why didn't you answer?" Dean asked. 

"I was ... busy." Castiel said looking away. "I thought I came quickly enough. You're still here."

"Busy?" Dean pressed. "You weren't too busy to scare us in the middle of the night. What else is going on besides Satan's spawn?"

Dean had to stop himself from laughing. Sam would probably kill him for calling Jack a spawn. He could see Sam's face like he was sitting in the passenger seat. That particular glare mixed with exasperation.

Castiel furrowed his brow like he was deep in thought. "I don't like that. Satan. It's too ... non-specific. Though, I've never been a fan of the name Lucifer, either. But, I suppose I have to respect his name choice at least. He is my brother for better or worse." 

"Wait ..." Dean chuckled in astonishment of the words that were going to come out of his mouth. "Angels," he used air quotes, "are all related? How do you make baby angels? Or is it like a Sweet Home Alabama situation?" 

"Our father makes us. Like he made people. Though, angel doesn't naturally die." Castiel shrugged at the thought. "That's what made me question things. My father's absence. His ... apathy for all his creations." He sighed and turned to Dean. "We're not here to talk about God."

Dean's eyes darted back and fourth, trying to contemplate what Castiel was so casually saying. If he wasn't some witch out to lunch, he was shattering the reality of every person on earth with the same tone that someone would use to order lunch. 

"I've been able to contact one of my brothers. He's been in exile for the last fifteen hundred of your years." Castiel explained. "It's a long story, but what's important is that we can trust Gabriel. And he's already helped us."

"Wait Gabriel?" Dean asked. "The perve angel that visited Jesus' mom?" 

Castiel sighed. "Yes, Gabriel played a role in Jesus' conception. Please try to focus, Dean."

Dean pulled a face at the implications of that particular Biblical story with the information Castiel had given him only moments ago.

"Something happened to Sam the night your mother was killed, Dean." Castiel continued.

This caught Dean's full, undivided attention.

Castiel didn't elaborate. He simply touched Dean's forehead with two fingers. 

A white light consumed Dean for only a second. When the world became clear again, Dean realized he was standing in someone's home. Something seemed off about this home, but he couldn't quite place it. He could hear the M*A*S*H theme song from a back room, but otherwise everything seemed normal. The furniture was a little old. 

A young blond woman came from the direction of the TV. She wasn't dressed like anyone has in the last twenty years or more, but that wasn't what struck Dean. There was this familiarity about her. Painfully so. 

He fallowed her into another room where another young woman was sitting with a man who appeared to be a doctor. 

"What the hell is this?" Dean asked Castiel.

"A reflection of the past. Like a memory." Castiel explained. "This is the night the Azazel, the yellow eyed demon as you call him, put his sights on your mother."

Dean's focus turned to the blond woman. His mother. "We have to help her. Save her."

"This isn't time travel, Dean. That would call too much attention." Castiel explained. "Besides, tampering with the past can have unforseen consequences." 

As Castiel and Dean spoke, Mary noticed something about the doctor. Something that Dean missed. She took a flask out of her jacket, throwing the liquid on the doctor. The doctor burned like an ant under a magnifying glass. 

Dean's attention turned to Castiel. "That's holy water! She's using holy water!" He stared his mother as Azazel pinned her to the wall, realization washing over him. "She was a hunter. She knew about all this."

"The Campbells were a long line of hunters." Castiel explained. "Your paternal grandfather was also well regarded among hunters. Your father gave that up for Mary." 

Mary used an exorcism to force Azazel out of the doctor. That familiar black smoke escaped through the vents.

Dean turned to Castiel. A thousand questions where racing through his mind. Before Dean could ask any of them, the environment around them changed. They were in a different house. The younger version of his mother was yelling at an older man about someone named Liddy and a string of demon attacks across Kanas. The older man was making a series of flippant, dismissive jokes that were sexist even by Dean's standards. 

"Your grandparents. Mary's parents." Castiel explained.

Mary walked right through Dean as she left the home with a slam of the door. The older man – Samuel, evidently – was muttering about Mary being too emotional for this life while his wife approached. 

As Samuel began to talk to his wife, there was a change in his posture. It was subtle, but Dean recognize the signs of possession. Before Dean could even contemplate what Azazel's plan was, he snapped the woman's neck, and then he stabbed himself. 

"No!" Dean yelled. 

Before Dean could even approach his dead grandmother, the scene had changed. The air was cold. They were outside by a river. In front of the car Dean loved was Mary crying over a dead man. She was holding John. His father.

Dean knew exactly what his mother was going to do. He turned away from the scene. He couldn't watch his mother make a deal with a demon now knowing that she knew the stakes. 

"Why are you showing me this?" Dean asked when Castiel approached him. 

"You're stubborn." Castiel said simply. "You only believe what you see, and I need you to believe. Sam is different. This baby is different than any other nephilim because of Sam."

"How is Sam different?" Dean asked. "Is ... is it this deal?" 

Castiel didn't answer. The world simply changed again. 

Dean knew this place. He had seen it in his nightmares. This was his brother's nursery. This was the night everything changed. 

A man stood over the baby Sam. Dean assumed this was Azazel. Dean wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He watched as Azazel cut himself and bled into Sam's mouth. 

"When an infant is given demon blood, they take on certain traits of the demon." Castiel explained. "Azazel is planning a rebellion. He has been for a long time. I didn't understand how until recently." 

"Wh-what does that mean for Sam?" Dean demanded. 

Castiel didn't answer immediately, he just waved his hand so the world faded away. 

Dean jerked awake as he came to in his car. He patted himself as though that would prove he was real and in the present. He took his phone out of his jacket pocket and looked at the date. 

The screen read:

Sep 21, 2005

Dean took a breath of relief, almost forgetting Castiel's presence altogether. 

"I don't know," Castiel said as if he didn't just drag Dean through thirty years of history and the worst trauma of his life. "I don't know what any of this means for the baby. Sam was different to begin with, and so is the baby. This child wasn't conceived by normal means. Even for such a unique being." 

"Jack," Dean said softly. "Sam named him. Jack." 

"Jack," Castiel acknowledged.

"So they're ... different." Dean was trying to wrap his head around everything. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" 

Again, Castiel said, "I don't know."

Dean nodded, rubbing his hands on his legs so he didn't hit anything. "Great. Just great. This field trip's been fun and all –"

"Take this seriously, Dean." Castiel cut Dean off. "Effectively, your brother isn't human. Initially, Jack was made by a demon, and later Lucifer's grace was added. Jack is the amalgamation of human, demon, and angel. While I think its appropriate to call him a nephilim, this is nothing we've delt with before. That is why other angels will try and kill you. They see jack as some kind of weapon."

Dean silently contemplated that for a moment, but he couldn't stop the question fighting to get out. 

"What does this mean for Sam?" Dean asked. 

"I don't know. I'm sorry, I know I'm repeating myself." Castiel shook his head. "I'm cut off from Heaven's records, but to my knowledge none of the humans who have given birth to nephilim were like Sam. There also hasn't been a man put in such a position."

"They die, don't they?" Dean asked. "The moms."

Castiel nodded. "Though of course we can't be sure about Sam. Not only has the demon blood changed him, but Jack has too. This might make him stronger." He turned to Dean. "I'll call when I know more. Stay quiet. Stay hidden."

Dean had more questions, but Castiel was gone before his brain could formulate the words. 

Once again, Dean sat in an empty parking lot in the rain. Only now, Dean was more confused than when he called Castiel. 

Just as Dean was on the brink of tears, Bobby texted. They needed chink and a couple tools he listed. Also, apparently, Sam asked for cherry tomatoes. To eat as is; Bobby clarified that and Dean could hear the grimace through the text. 

After texting Bobby back that he was on it, Dean cleared his throat and started his car. Having a task made the racing thoughts slow down, they were still there. All his fear and worry was right at the surface. 

Though, Dean could confidently be sure of one thing. This was all going to get a lot weirder, if not worse, before it was over.

Chapter Text

Despite his transient lifestyle, Dean could never stand camping. He had so few comforts in life, he just didn't want to give any of them up. Temporarily or not. Even so, Dean couldn't deny how beautiful the night sky was without city lights. 

He used to take Sam stargazing when they were kids. Those were somehow the best memories. Dean would just barrow the car whenever Sam and their father had a particularly bad fight, and take Sam somewhere they could see the stars. They'd never say anything. They'd just sit on the hood of the Impala and look at the sky. 

Dean was missing the simple times. When he could solve all their problems and the world didn't feel like it's crashing around him. 

"You can still see the Summer Triangle." Sam said as he approached Dean. 

Dean jumped in surprise. He didn't even hear Sam coming. 

"Don't start with that constellation crap." Dean sighed rubbing his face. "It ruins it."

"Technically it's an asterism. Which, admittedly, is very similar." Sam said, leaning against the Impala next to Dean. "The one thing dad always harpped on you about. Navigating without a compass and map." 

Dean pointed forward. "North." 

Sam looked up at the sky again before adjusting Dean's arm in the direction of the cabin. "North."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man. What are you even doing up?" He looked at his watch. "It's almost one in the morning. Doesn't the baby need rest or something?" 

"I could ask you the same thing. I'm pretty sure you're running on fumes, spite, and coffee at this point." Sam raised his eyebrows. "At least I have a three pound terror pushing on my blatter." 

Dean tried not to laugh at the thought.

"You've been acting weird since you got back." Sam continued. "I mean, you were acting weird all day. But it got worse after you got back."

Dean sighed, any amusement leaving his face. "Yeah, I know." He looked back up at the sky. "How do you feel about this whole angel-God-devil business?"

"What?" Sam raised an eyebrow. When it set in that Dean wasn't simply deflecting, Sam added, "uh, well ... I mean, I've always believed. Maybe not the Abrahamic God, per se. But, I've always thought there was something."

Dean turned his head to look at Sam once again. "Even after everything we've been through – even after what you're going through right now! You still believe?"

"I think what I've gone through and Jack's existence more falls in the category of proof ... but, yeah." Sam shrugged. "The idea that God's benevolent is uniquely Christian. Even if it wasn't, that wouldn't make it true, or negate his existence."

Dean just nodded contemplating what Sam was saying. After a long moment, he finally said, "I have two clear memories of mom that I know are real. That grocery store pie she would get me every week, and our bedtime routine. Even after you were born, she'd read to me and rub my back until I fell asleep. Then, just before she'd close my door, she'd tell me that angels were watching over us."

Sam felt tears pricking at his eyes. He didn't even know his mother, yet anytime she was brought up, he became emotional. More so now. Like his heart knew what he lost.

"I just chalked it up to things parents say to make kids feel better." Dean continued with a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe she knew something." 

Sam furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Bobby thought I should speak to our resident guardian angel. He showed me ... something. I can't explain it." Dean shook his head, lost in thought for a moment. "You have to just hear me out. I know it's going to sound crazy." 

Sam raised an eyebrow and glanced at his belly.

"Point taken." Dean rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat. Like he was bracing himself. "Cas showed me the past. Mom's past." He studied Sam's expression to see if his brother was doubting him. When he was satisfied Sam was still with him, he continued. "Cliffsnotes version: mom made a deal with the yellow eyed bastard that killed her, and she knew what it meant. She was a hunter. So were her parents."

Sam blinked a few times, trying to process what Dean was telling him. He didn't know what was more unbelievable, that his mother was a hunter or that she knowingly made a deal with a demon. 

"Yeah, I know. It's a lot to wrap your head around." Dean said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm still trying to."

"Why?" Sam finally said. "Why would she do that?" 

"The demon killed dad and her parents. I think she just didn't want to be alone." Dean turned to Sam. "That's not all. Sam ... that night in your crib, the demon did something to you. Changed you. He gave you some of his blood."

Sam look straight ahead like his brain couldn't do anything but process this new information. It reminded Dean of soldiers who had seen too much. 

"Sam, it means you're different. Good different." Dean said, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "It means we have an advantage."

"You don't understand." Sam closed his eyes. "Dean ... I can't." He pushed off from the car and started back for the cabin.

Dean, stubborn as ever, chased after Sam. He opted to get in fron of Sam, rather than grab him and risk Sam falling off balance. Bracing his hands on Sam's shoulders, he said, "hey, I know its fucked. But it's the best chance you have."

"Dean!" Sam was desperate to escape his brother's grap – to avoid this conversation. Telling Dean thst he was dying was hard enough. Explaining exactly how he knew, particularly given the new information, would be too much. But Dean wasn't giving him much choice.

"Dean, I saw it!" This got Dean to let go. "I saw myself dead ... in a bathtub with blood. I also saw Bliss dead. The visions didn't start until after Jack, but I had this ... this feeling. Like I was being stalked anytime I left my building. I thought I was being paranoid." 

"What? Y-you think you see the future?" Dean asked, Castiel's words ringing in his head; when an infant is given demon blood, they take on certain traits of the demon.

Sam shrugged. "Two out of three. That's not great chances."

Before Dean could stop him, Sam returned to the cabin. He was done with this conversation. He didn't want to think about demons and angels. Just for five minutes. 

Dean was left in the dark with only the mostly full moon to light the world around him. His heart was racing and his fingers twitched. He couldn't place what he was feeling or thinking. He just had this overwhelming panic swallowing his ecery thought. Like an animal in a cage. 

He didn't know how Sam was going to react to their conversation. He was expecting Sam to be angry – scared, even. It would be alarming if he wasn't. But this – this scared Dean more than any monster. 

Sam wanted to die.

That was the reality Dean now had to accept. Regardless if he punched Sam or hugged him, he had to accept that's where his head was. He'd never help Sam if he didn't. 

Dean kicked a rock in front of him, desperate for an outlet. 

Dean was fighting too many fronts, and he was starting to worry that he was going to lose the most important battles. 

Chapter Text

After a week, the days in the cabin were starting melt together. Sam didn't want to admit it, but it was starting to feel like being in the basement all over again. Even then, it wasn't as bad for him as it was for Dean.

Dean never sat still well. A transient, unsettled childhood would do that to anyone, but Sam always suspected that there was something hardwired in Dean's head that made it near impossible to simply let his mind relax. Like he'd be this way even if their lives were normal. Still, he always found something to do with his hands, whether that was fixing his car, cleaning the guns, making ammunition, or even cooking when they had any means for him to do so. It seemed to be the only way he staved off the worse of his boredom. 

A friend of Sam's at Stanford had ADHD. Some of his symptoms prior to treatment reminded Sam of his brother a little too much. Particularly the fidgety anxiety Dean got when he was bored for too long. It's why Dean would have never made a good sniper despite his marksman skills. 

At least for the sake of peace that night, Dean made himself busy with dinner. By the smell and the empty bag of fritos, Sam had an idea what Dean was making, and Bobby was about to find out. 

As soon as Bobby walked in, his face contorted with the strong, unfamiliar smell. Usually Dean was a decent cook all things considered, but this was not his best example.

"Did he pick up road kill?" Bobby asked as he approached Sam. 

Sam tried not to laugh. "I'm pretty sure it's Winchester Surprise. I think it was something our mother made."

"Was she trying to kill John?" Bobby asked, glancing at the kitchen. "She'd have my sympathies." 

Sam lost the battle with his laughter after that, making Bobby laugh as well. 

"Who called?" Sam eventually asked when their laughter died down. 

Bobby glanced at the table that sat between the kitchen and living room. Dean was setting the table now. Though he didn't seem to notice the jokes about his dinner choices, he was fully invested in whoever was on the other end of that call. 

With a sigh, Bobby said, "Ellen Harvelle. She's a hunter. Or she was. Gave up the life for her kid. Mostly. She runs her husband's roadside bar in Nebraska. A hunter haven."

"A hunter?" Dean snapped. "How do we even know that we can trust this Eileen?" 

"Ellen," Bobby corrected. "Trust me, she has plenty of reason to hate your old man." 

Before Dean could snap at Bobby again, Sam asked, "why'd Ellen call?"

"After the angry idgit," Bobby gestured to Dean, "told us about his little trip with our fine feathered friend, I wanted to verify anything I could dig up on your mom and her folks." 

"Did she find anything?" Sam and Dean asked simultaneously. 

"She did, but she's got this moron of a genius working out some details. That's not why she called." Bobby ran his hand over his beard. "Seems John's in contact with some hunters. Her resident genius picked up on some chats between a vampire hunter and a hunter called Kubrick talking about Sam."

Sam's hand fell to his belly and he looked up at Dean from where he was sitting. 

"Should we also be on the lookout for Dr. Strangelove?" Dean asked with a venomous sarcasm. 

"I think the Overlook is more in our wheelhouse." Sam's tone was filled with dread despite his attempt at levity.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Really? That's the best you could come up with? Who raised you?"

"Oh, and Dr. Strangelove is so much better?" Sam rolled his eyes, momentarily forgetting the gravity of the conversation.

Bobby whistled to get the brothers' attention. "Hey, morons! Can we try and focus for a minute? If it's the same guy, Kubrick's his name. No relation ... I don't think." He waved his hand to emphasize his point. "Not important. He's dangerous. More so than anyone in this room or any other hunter either of you have met. Not because of his skills or because of his experience. He's a fanatic. I was in his trailer once. Wall-to-wall Jesus. I think he even had a Jesus bobble head." He met Dean's eyes with a urgency that commanded all of Dean's attention. "Now, let's think about your old man's take on the kid?" 

"Shit ..." Dean muttered. 

Sam's eyes darted in fear. 

"Now, I know school wasn't your strong suit, but do you remember the Crusades or any of the European Inquisitions? The Thirty Years' War?" Bobby asked. "History tells us that this ain't gonna end pretty. It already wasn't. Adding fanatics to the mix is just like spraying napalm on a fireworks factory." 

Dean wanted to say something, but he couldn't think of anything before his timer went off. With a frustrated groan, he returned to the kitchen. 

After a moment, Sam nervously asked, "any ideas?" 

Bobby sighed again, leaning against the back of the couch. "I'm sorry, kid." He squeezed Sam's shoulder. "I won't stop trying. That's a promise." 

Sam put his hand over Bobby's. "Thanks."

"C'mon, let's go see what monstrosity your brother made." Bobby moved to help Sam up. "Who knows, maybe we'll have food poisoning and get to forget our problems for a few hours."

"I'm right here!" Dean yelled. "This is a classic. I even got the actual Kraft squares."

"Fancy." Sam said as he sat at the table. 

Dean simply glared at him. 

Bobby looked down at his plate. "So what am I about to eat?" 

"Well, it starts with a bed of canned buttermilk biscuits, then a layer of American cheese squares, a mix of ground beef and pork cooked in onions and Worcestershire sauce, mixed with chopped dill pickles, ketchup and mustard, and finally, topped with another layer of cheese and a Fritos garnish." Dean made an exaggerated chef kiss gesture.

Bobby made the sign of the cross in response.

"It's not that bad." Dean said, adding a healthy amount of hot sauce. 

"At least it's not Bologna and cheese on a hot plate." Sam smiled a little. "Or marshmallow fluff in mac-and-cheese."

"Hey, you ate the mac-and-cheese. You loved it." Dean shook his head before taking a bite. 

"I was like five years old!" Sam scoffed with the hint of a laugh. 

Bobby shook his head as the two went on. "Idgits." 

They avoided the elephant in the room and enjoyed their meal. It had long since had become an art form between the three of them to avoid the terrible subjects and eat. Still, the weight of their situation hung over their heads even through the smiles and jokes. That was made even more clear by the look in Dean's eye. He was planning something, and Sam just hoped he wasn't thinking of doing something reckless and stupid. 

Chapter Text

When Sam woke the following morning, he didn't pay much attention to Dean's half of the room. Like every morning, he hurried to the bathroom.

It was only when he didn't see Dean in the main living space of the cabin, that he went back to his bedroom. 

Dean's bed was unmade, like it always was, with a folded note on the pillow. Sam only had to skim the note before he went to get Bobby. 

Dean had just gotten back to his car when his phone rang. It was Bobby, according to the caller ID. He put his food on the front seat before answering. 

"Took you long enough to notice," he answered. "Losing your step, old man. I remember –"

"Dean, where the hell are you?!" Sam cut his brother off. 

Dean held the phone away from him when Sam yelled. When he brought it back to his ear, he asked, "you done? I think you made me deaf in one ear."

"Dean!" Sam huffed. 

Dean rolled his eyes. "I just made a pit stop in Montana City. Like four hours away." 

Sam sputtered for a moment, like he couldn't decide what to ask his brother first and all the questions were fighting to come out at once. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he decided to ask, "where are you going?

"Arnold, Nebraska," Dean said as though that answer alone explained everything. Then, when Sam started to sputter again, he added, "I found this Ellen woman's address in Bobby's things. I figured she's got to have something on Dad and what he's doing."

Sam made an exasperated sigh through the phone. Dean could see his signature bitch face that Sam always made when he was upset with his brother. 

"Why couldn't you just call?" Sam asked after another calming breath.

"Well she could hang up, couldn't she? Or Bobby could stop me." Dean shrugged even though Sam couldn't see him. 

It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't why Dean was driving all the way to Nebraska. The Roadhouse was a mecca for hunters. It was the best place Dean could think of to get information on their dad and Sam, even if Ellen didn't cooperate.

"I'll try and get an early start tomorrow," Dean promised. "Don't expect me until late, or even the day after."

"Dean –"

"I promise, I'll be careful." Dean cut Sam off. "Don't worry about it. The stress isn't good for you."

Sam scoffed at the fact Dean was worried about him given that he practically fled in the night. 

"I'll keep you and Bobby updated," Dean promised. "Talk later."

Dean could hear Sam try to get something out before he hung up. He was glad to cut this conversation short. He just hoped Bobby had the sense not to take Sam to follow him. 

After a moment, Dean took out his phone and wrote a text. He told Castiel where he was going and when he would check in again. He didn't think it would hurt to have backup. Even if that backup was completely insane.

It was after eight at night when Dean arrived at the Roadhouse. Music and light leaked out onto the gravel parking lot. It looked like the kind of place Dean would frequent to hustle some wanna-be bikers out of a few hundred. 

He took out his phone and texted Castiel to tell the so-called angel that he arrived and that he would check in before ten. 

No one paid attention to Dean entering the bar. He looked like most patrons in the bar. Maybe a little on the younger side. 

A blonde woman was tending the bar. If it were any other night, Dean might spend hours getting her number. But as soon as that thought came to Dean, he thought of Sam and why he drove all this way, and he immediately regretted thinking of anything that took away from that goal. 

"Well, you look mopey." The blonde said as Dean sat down. "You new 'round here?"

Dean offered a smile. "Just passing through."

"Well, the kitchen makes one dish a night, but it's only eight dollars a plate." She offered, leaning over the bar. "Tonight, we have a meatloaf with garlic mashed potatoes and Italian peas – and no, I don't know why the peas are Italian. I tend not to question our ... chef." 

As if to highlight her point, a pan dropped in the kitchen behind her, and a man yelled in a language Dean didn't recognize. The blonde woman in front of Dean only laughed as though it were a frequent occurrence. 

"Yeah, I'll take that." Dean also chuckled. "Dealer's choice on the beer." 

She laughed, making a show of picking out a beer before pouring it. 

"So, where you passing through to?" She asked as she put the beer down. 

Dean wasn't surprised by a chatty bartender. Especially one so young and so good-looking. It's how they made their money, and Dean knew a girl like her made good tips in a place like this. Still, Dean couldn't shake this feeling like she was working an angle. Like a hustler. If he wasn't maintaining a poker face, the thought would have made him laugh. 

After a moment of studying this girl, he decided the best course of action was to lay all his cards on the table. Hustle the hustler, as his father would say. See if she flinches. 

"I'm actually here to see someone," Dean said after taking a drink. "The woman who owns this place. Ellen." 

The girl didn't flinch, but she wasn't unphased by the question either. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd guess this girl was sizing him up. Then he remembered the kind of place she was in, and he wondered how much she knew about this life and her customers.

"How do you know Ellen?" She asked as she got a beer for another customer. 

When she returned to Dean, he shrugged. "Heard she knew my old man. A long time ago. I kinda need her help with a problem ... with my dad."

"Who's your dad?" Her voice hitched. It looked like she was fighting a tear.

Dean knew he struck a nerve. It wouldn't be the first time that even the vague mention of his father brought out an emotional reaction in people. Or an aggressive one. Normally, he'd just leave it there for self-preservation sake, but he didn't have that luxury now. 

"Winchester," Dean said after another sip of beer. "John Winchester. I'm Dean."

The girl's eyes darted back and forth for a moment. Dean was half-convinced that she was going to cry. 

"I think you need to come with me, Dean." The girl said, coming around the bar. "If you are a Winchester, you know exactly what kind of place this is and why you don't want me to pull a gun out."

Dean nodded before getting up to follow the girl. She brought him down a hall in the back of the bar. If he wasn't so desperate for answers, he might have realized how stupid it was to follow this girl to a secluded part of an unfamiliar place. Especially after she just threatened him.

Dean was about to make a joke about the Dr. Badass sign when this girl shoved him against the wall to aggressively pat him down. He knew he could shove her off. He had eight or ten inches on her, and at least seventy pounds. But he was concerned about the thirty or so hunters in the bar. 

"You want to a least buy me dinner first?" Dean said as she took his gun off of him. 

She shoved Dean a little harder as she continued her search without comment. He thought she might strip search him when an older woman called for her. 

"Jo?" The brunette said as walk up to them. "What'd the bastard do?"

"Hey!" Dean said with unjustified offense.

"He's claiming to be a Winchester," Jo said, finally letting Dean go. 

The brunette looked Dean over. He couldn't tell if she was sizing him up or making up her mind about what to do with him.

"Well, I don't think you're a fifty-year-old man. If you are, I need your skincare routine. Considering my conversation with Singer, I'm guessing you're Dean." She put out her hand to shake. "I'm Ellen. This is my daughter, Jo."

Dean took her hand and shook it. "Great welcoming committee you have."

"Can't be too careful." Ellen returned Dean's gun and knife that Jo took. "Just be happy we're not waterboarding you with holy water."

Dean wasn't sure where to go with that one. His expression showed how seriously he took the threat. 

"What's up, son?" Ellen asked. "Did something happen?" 

Dean took a deep breath. "Not exactly. I just need ... well, I need answers. I don't know if you're the person, but you're my only lead."

After a long moment of consideration, Ellen nodded. "Let's get you something to eat and talk in my office."

Chapter Text

Bobby woke to the sound of his phone ringing. Dean's name displayed on the front screen in big, proud letters. 

With a groan he sat up and answered. "Please tell me you're driving back."

The other end was silent. The only indication that Dean was on the other end and had called intentionally was the sound of his breathing.

"Hey, you're chewing up your own minutes with this silent treatment." Bobby scoffed. 

Still nothing. Bobby was now starting to get worried that Dean Winchester, of all people, didn't have some kind of remark. He couldn't even think of the last time that happened.

"Dean!" Bobby called a little too loud.

The sound of Bobby's worry and his brother's name got Sam's attention. Over the last day, Sam had already been more stressed than Bobby would have liked given the cercumstances, he didn't want to add to that. At least not without some kind of answers. 

When Sam poked his head into the room, Bobby held his hand up to tell Sam not to say something. He could only handle so many crisises at once. 

"Boy, if you don't say something in the next ten seconds, I'll –" 

"Hi, Bobby." Dean finally said. Bobby put his phone on speaker when it was clear that Dean wasn't in trouble. "I'm not coming back just yet. Sorry. Tell Sam I'm sorry."

"What?!" Sam snapped, taking the phone. "What the hell are you talking about?! First you disappear in the middle of the night, then you act all –" he groaned in frustration. "You don't get to do this, Dean! Not now."

"Sammy," Dean said with a seriousness that commanded his brother's attention. "I need you to calm down right now and listen to me. Can you do that?" 

Sam rubbed his face with this free hand. He didn't say anything for a moment as he tried to calm down.

"Look, Sam, you're going to be pissed. Hell, you probably are going to punch my lights out when I get back. But you have to stay calm and take care of yourself. Because it's not just you anymore. You got that, little-big man?"

There is something in Dean's voice. Something unfamiliar and frankly a little scary. Sam couldn't pinpoint it. 

Nevertheless, Sam nodded before he said, "yeah. Yes. Dean, what's going on?"

Dean takes a breath that's audible through the phone. "I think I might have a lead on one of those guys that dad contacted. I figured that even if I can't get back to dad, it takes out one threats."

"No!" Sam's tone is sharp and full of fear. "No! No! Fucking – fuck, no!" He groans again. However, this time there's more than just frustration in his tone. "You're coming back. Right now!"

"Sam –"

"No, Dean!" Sam cuts his brother off. "Driving two states to this Ellen woman's bar was a bad idea. This – this –" 

Sam leaned on the old dresser. Grunting in pain. It was his first Braxton-Hicks contractions in days. He cursed, trying to breath as it passed. 

"Sam!" Bobby called out, guiding Sam to sit on the bed. 

Now, Sam wasn't only glowing, but he grew warm to the touch. It worried Bobby enough, that he didn't realize Dean was yelling through the phone until Sam spoke again. 

"I'm fine!" Sam sighed. "Really, I'm ok. It's just false labor," he used air quotes even though he was speaking into the phone. "My body is just preparing to push a human being out in a couple months."

"Oh," Dean's voice was high pitched. A tone he took when he didn't want to snap at Sam, but he was loosing the battle against his frustration. "Is that all?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a deep breath. "Haven't had one since I threw up the other day after you made me eat that greasy mess calling itself a sandwich."

Sam rubbed his belly. He didn't want to admit that this was the worst one yet. Or that it was probably more related to stress than anything else. To make it somehow even more worse, the baby was definitely awake now and kicking. The kicking hurt, too. More so than usual. 

"He's warm. Like to the touch. Not like fever warm. Just ... warm." Bobby put the back of his hand on Sam's forehead, cheek, and neck before saying, "it passed. For now."

"Was he glowing?" Dean asked. 

Bobby took a long look at Sam before saying, "yes." He then took the phone from Sam to continue. "Look, I don't know what Ronin-esque crusade your on. Frankly, I don't care. Get your ass back here. It ain't good for you to do this alone. This clearly ain't good for Sam, either."

Sam wanted to argue, but he couldn't bring himself to stop Bobby if there was even the slightest chance he was getting through to Dean. 

"I'm going to Denver. It takes me back to you." Dean tried to argue. There was a long pause like Dean was looking at something, "uh ... besides I talked to Clarence. I'll have divine backup."

"Dean, c'mon, don't be stupid." Bobby tried to argue. "Who are you even going after?"

"Some vamp hunter. Gordon something." Dean sounded distracted now. "Hey, uh ... Sam's ok?"

"I'm alive." Sam said before Bobby could say anything. 

"Ok," Dean took a breath. "I'll be back before Monday. Promise."

Before Sam or Bobby could plead their case again, Dean hung up.

Bobby was stunned as the line went dead. He was also trying not to snap around Sam. Particularly after what just happened.

The room was filled with a heavy silence. Oppressive and all consuming. The silence in itself was as stressful as Bobby losing it. Sam would have left if a question didn't come to him. 

Eventually Sam asked, "who's Gordon?"

In the parking lot of the Roadhouse, Dean pushed himself off the car and approached Jo as she put her bag in his trunk. 

"Can I help you?"

"You heard my mom." She said as she closed the trunk. "Gordon Walker is crazy. You need back up." 

Dean pointed to the man in a trench coat who was currently distracted by one of the feral cats Ellen liked to feed. The image admittedly did not make the point that Dean wanted. Jo's scoff highlighted that well enough. 

"He's scarier than he looks." Dean argued. 

"I'm sure." Jo put her hands on her hips. "Farah Fawcett can ride in the back." 

Dean wanted to argue more or just outright force Jo to stay, but he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. Except maybe punched if he put his hands on Jo. Or worse. Ellen did not raise Jo to be a wallflower.

He approached the driver seat before calling for Castiel, sparing a glance at the Roadhouse. He knew he was going to hear from Ellen as soon as she realized that Jo was gone, and that most certainly wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. To put it lightly. He already had Sam justified rage waiting for him, he didn't want to be within range of Ellen, too. 

Chapter Text

It was just after four in the morning when Sam woke to headlights streaming through the window. 

He fell asleep on the couch again after hours of trying to sleep in his bed and failing. He tried to blame his back – a stupid craving for a taco truck that came to Stanford. But in reality, he was just too worried about his brother. He didn't like the idea of Dean all alone out there, even if he'd only slow Dean down at this point.

A car door opened. With the car now off, he could make out a faint outline of what he hoped was the Impala. The car was too dark to be certain about anything.

After a trunk was shut, Sam heard footsteps approaching. Dean didn't have keys to the cabin. There was only one set. So, he would have to pick the lock if he came home in the night.

Still Sam made his way to the window to peak out and see who it was. Before Sam could get a look, he head a familiar voice cursing out his lock pick set. 

Sam's heart raced as a complicated mix of emotions flowed through him. He hurried to the door in an awkward, slow waddle-run.

Dean was on a knee to pick the lock, when Sam opened the door. He looked surprised. Like he wasn't expecting anyone to be awake. But, that's not what caught Sam's attention.

Even in the dark, it was obvious Dean's face was bruised. When he rose to his feet, it looked like he was sore and favoring his left side. Despite that, Sam still took Dean in a tight hug, unable to stop himself. He had been worried for days. 

Dean winced, but patted Sam's back. "What are you doing up? Isn't that kid like a major energy vampire at this point?" 

Sam laughed a little as he stepped aside to let Dean inside. He couldn't believe that's what Dean was worried about right now. 

"Believe it or not, I was worried when my brother went AWOL." Sam said as he found a light. They both flinched at the sudden light. 

Dean's face looked even worse in the light. He looked like he went through a meat grinder, or something worse that Sam's sleep addled mind couldn't think of. There was a dark, ugly bruse on his temple and a bandage on his neck with a little blood seeping through. Suddenly, Sam realized that Dean could be concussed and drove god knows how long.

Dean held his ribs as he went to the kitchen, stumbling when he tried to step around a bag of salt which only added to Sam's concussion theory. Dean still managed to get a beer, holding it to the bruised side of his head. 

"So you gonna tell me where the hell you've been?" Sam asked when Dean didn't say anything. "You wanna tell me who did that?" He gestured to his own face.

"A hunter." Dean set the beer down. "Left him in a warehouse." 

Sam scoffed. "So we're doing that again?" 

"Doing what?" Dean raised a brow, only to wince at the pain in his face. 

"This." Sam pointed between himself and Dean. "You've been doing this since I was like fourteen. This macho, stoic act whenever you come home bloody. You'd give me this glib explanation, and shut down any questions. It was worse with dad, but that doesn't make it ok. Especially now. I'm not a kid, and I'm far from an ignorant civilian." 

Dean crossed his arms. His face became stoney and serious, as did his tone. "Sam, that's the first time I've heard you separate yourself from ... well, everyone else." 

"I mean, I am." Sam shrugged. "We've always been different, even if I tried not to be. I'm more of a freak than most of you."

"Sammy ..."

"I am, Dean." Sam was struggling to keep his composure. His eyes were glistening with tears. "At best, some perve witch made me his bitch. But, we both know better than that. Now ..." He shook his head before wiping the tears away. "I'm going to bed. Or ... well, I'm going to lay quietly in the dark."

"Gordon Walker," Dean said when Sam turned to walk away. "The hunter is called Gordon Walker. He was cleaning out some vamps in Denver." 

Sam turned back to Dean, giving his brother his full attention.

"He couldn't give us anything on Kubrick, other than he's not working alone. I don't know with who though." Dean gingerly sat down, holding the beer to his head again. "It also seems that Walker hired Kubrick after dad hired him – Walker. The worst of it is that I'm pretty sure I wasted a trip. Maybe I even put a bigger target on us. Who knows." He let out a long, exhausted sigh. "I don't know what dad's doing."

Sam sat next to Dean. His mind was racing with various what-if scenarios. It was all anxiety, Sam knew. Swirling panic that he was helpless to stop. 

"Ellen was worth it." Dean said after a moment. "And her daughter, too. We can trust them. This guy, Ash ..." Dean shook his head as much as he was capable. "Well, I mean he's definitely out to something, but he's good, too." He opened the beer. "Made the trip worth it, I guess."

Sam took the beer away from Dean.

"What the hell?" Dean wiped his chin. 

"Well, it's first thing in the morning. That should be enough." Sam said. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you have a concussion." 

Dean shrugged. He couldn't disagree that he probably had some kind of head injury. 

Sam stood up to pour out the beer and go to bed. He was suddenly exhausted. 

"Sammy," Dean said before his brother could go far. "You're not more of a freak. Nothing's wrong with you ... like with who you are. You know that – right?"

Sam shifted a bit. He didn't want to have this conversation so early. He regretted expressing those feelings at all, especially with Dean hurt and exhausted. He didn't need more to worry about. 

"You're strong, Sam. Stronger than me." Dean added. "I'm proud of you. I'm so fucking proud of the man you've become."

Same felt more tears coming to his eyes. He took a deep breath to compose himself. 

"No more leaving in the night." Dean promised, unprompted. "It's gonna be hard. Even I can admit, I'm not good with change. But, the old way's not gonna work anymore. I have to ... I have to learn to listen."

Sam shook his head in astonishment. "How hard did you hit your head?"

Dean glared as he looked up at Sam. Then he pointed to the back rooms and said, "go to bed!" 

"I thought you weren't giving me orders anymore." Sam said as he went to the room he was sharing with sam. 

Dean shook his head as he sat in the kitchen and collected his thoughts. He still hadn't processed the last fourty eight hours, and couldn't remember when the last time he slept – or ate for that matter. 

After a moment, the springs squeaked as Sam got into bed. Dean's body took it as a sign to finally relax. He put his feet up and made himself as comfortable as he could. It wasn't long before sleep found Dean, too. 

Chapter Text

“Jesus Christ,” Bobby said as he looked at the bruises along Dean’s right side. “You need a doctor. Fuck, I’m pretty sure a vet would be better than nothing at this point.”

“No!” Sam and Dean said simultaneously. 

“No doctors.” Dean quickly emphasized. 

Bobby looked back at Sam, unable to hide his surprise. Dean had always been stubborn as a mule. There was really no helping him at this point. But, Sam was the practical one. Bobby could usually rely on Sam to help Dean see reason. He wasn’t sure what to do if they both were going to make a ridiculous stand.

“The markings,” Sam folded under Bobby’s glare. “The ones on our ribs. We don’t know if these are physical or visible to people.”

“It felt pretty physical to me.” Dean shrugged. He immediately regretted that as a sharp pain ripped through his side.

“The point is,” Sam continued, “we got stupid lucky in Utah. I could have easily ended up in some government facility or something, trying to explain that magic is real.”

“Don’t forget angels and God,” Dean said as he wrapped his ribs. “Oh, and you’re a man, who was born a man, who is apparently carrying some angel-demon-hybrid that the angels themselves have never heard of.” 

Sam glared at Dean. His brother’s sarcastic tone was proving a bit much at the moment. Dean simply smiled through the pain, a little too proud of himself for Sam’s liking.

Bobby rubbed his face after helping Dean wrap his ribs. “Fine, but I’m against it." He then turned his attention fully to Dean. “There’s a whole other issue to deal with besides Dean’s fear of hospitals.”

“It’s not a fear!” Dean said indignantly. “It’s practical!” 

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Not the point.” He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He was supposed to be watching his blood pressure after all. “Walker’s definitely gotten out of that warehouse by now. Which means, he’s already contacted your father or he’s on his way.”

“Shit,” Dean muttered.

“This is why we don’t run off.” Bobby scolded as though Dean were ten years old again.

“Yeah …” Dean muttered. “Yeah, got it.”

“I mean, what were you thinking, boy?” Bobby continued his tirade. “What if you died? What if something happened to me? Or Sam?!”

Bobby knew he was losing the battle against his blood pressure, but the anger was building up inside him like steam in a pot. 

“I wasn’t thinking!” Dean groaned like a particularly frustrated teenager. He sat as far away from Bobby as he could in the small space. “I messed up. Ok? “

Sam put his hand on Bobby’s shoulder, trying to get him to ease up on Dean.

Bobby looked up at Sam. He was still furious, but he could never bring himself to yell at the kid. Those big, sad eyes got him every time. 

“So …” Sam sat next to Dean on the sofa. “We can assume, for all intents and purposes, that whatever you let slip to or around Walker, dad knows.”

Those words hit Dean like a freight train. 

He immediately started to think about it. What their dad knew – or thought he knew. Nothing jumped out at him. He was careful to keep Sam safe. He always was. But, mistakes were inevitable, and now he couldn't prepare for whatever mess he made. 

Later that day, after the sun had long since gone down, a tall, dark and weathered man sat in the corner of a dive bar just outside Casper, Wyoming.

He looked like any of the other patrons. He wore Carhartt and flannel, and a good pair of boots that could survive anything. He buzzed his hair, which with his sudden weight loss and his beard growing in, he didn't look like the person whose picture was still sometimes on the evening news. 

He looked down at a picture in his hand. A toddler with a terribly dated bowl cut holding a newborn in a hospital. It was one of his favorite pictures of his boys. A small glimpse back to a world that seemed so alien now. 

A tear slipped from his eye, and he put the picture away. 

Not long after, his contact entered the bar. Limping, looking worse for wear. 

He ordered a beer for himself before joining John. Neither man wanted the beer, but they needed the public meeting place. 

“You saw my son?” John asked when Gordon sat down. 

“Yeah …” Gordon sighed. “I don't know where they are, yet.” 

John groaned in frustration as he took a sip from his beer.

He briefly studied Gordon's bruised and battered form. A sense of pride swelling in his chest. 

“I think he has an angel on his side,” Gordon said after a moment. “He's in a meat suit, like the one you talked about. But he had wings when the lights flickered. Huge, invisible wings. And, I'm pretty sure bullets just pissed it off.” 

John nodded carefully. He noticed that one of Gordon's hands was in a cast. He imagined Gordon tried to punch whatever celestial being was helping his sons. 

He finished his beer and stood up. “Looks like we're going to Colorado. Manning Prospect.”

Gordon remained in his chair. “Why?” 

“I have a … friend there.” John crossed his arms impatiently. He hated explaining himself. “He has a weapon. A rare weapon. We'll need it to go after my sons little helper.” He nodded at the door. “C'mon. Can't waste time.”

Gordon rolled his eyes, but he got up. Something felt wrong about hunting angels, even if they did possess people like demons. But, whatever Sam was – whatever he was carrying, Gordon knew he couldn't let that into the world. If he had to kill an angel or two to get there, then so be it. That's what he signed up for all those years ago.

Chapter Text

By Holloween, Sam was starting to get stir crazy. 

In truth, they had all gone stir crazy long before that. Hell, Sam was convinced Dean wouldn’t have just recklessly run off like that on a flimsy lead. Well, half convinced anyway. Dean was Dean after all, for better or worse.

Though, if Sam was being honest with himself, it wasn't necessarily being confined to roughly an acre of land, and not being able to go outside without a chaperone. Or not being able to get off the couch without help. No, Sam knew what was actually wrong – and it had nothing to do with the holiday. 

Sam always found Halloween a little grotesque, if he were to be honest. To him, it would be like if people were actually celebrating the execution of St. Valentine every year, or even the massacre. But this Halloween stuck out to Sam more than the others. 

Now, officially a year has passed since he was taken from his own home. Since all his years of training and his sheer size failed him. Since he was made into whatever he is now. 

Sam sat on the sofa next to his brother looking at the phone Dean had picked up for him. The date glared back at him. The unchanging numbers were almost mocking. 

Oct 29th, 2005

5:15 PM

“Relax,” Dean said when he looked up from Micheal Myers’ massacure long enough to notice his brother’s unease. “Bobby just went to get some food. That Italian place you like.” He looked at his own phone. “He hasn’t even been gone ten minutes.”

Sam put his phone away, and gave a curt nod in acknowledgment. He couldn’t muster anything more than that.

Dean turned to Sam, giving his brother his full attention. “You feeling ok? Any pain or … glowing?”

Sam shook his head no. “My back hurts, and I’m pretty sure my spleen is shot. But, he’s very comfortable where he is.”

“You know, I’ve been reading all those books on pregnancy and delivery, and stuff.” Dean said, shifting a little uncomfortably. “They all say first babies are unpredictable.”

“Only baby.” Sam said firmly. There was an uncomfortable look in Dean’s eyes, so Sam quickly added, “I’m just never doing this again. Let alone anything I have to do in a month or so. Besides, I’m still very much straight.” 

Dean let out a half-hearted chuckle that sounded more like relief to Sam than actual amusement. 

They had been trying to avoid their differing opinions on the death conversation. It especially didn’t feel appropriate as a fictional mass murder on the TV just stabbed a guy and left him hanging on the wall. 

“Is it Jess?” Dean asked. “You been talking to her?”

There was a look in Dean’s eyes that said he knew Sam hadn’t messaged his girlfriend in the month since getting a phone of his own. That didn’t surprise Sam in the slightest. The two had grown close after he was taken, and not in the usual way Dean grew close with anyone even remotely attractive – or emotionally vulnerable for that matter, now that Sam thought about it. 

Sam just hadn’t been able to get the courage to speak to her. Hell, he wouldn’t even know how to explain anything that’s happened to him, or why he suddenly had a baby.

Dean knew all this. He had mocked Sam for sheltering Jessica with how serious they seemed to be. That only made Sam angry. Dean spent their entire childhood threatening Sam if he so much as tried to tell a soul. Sam could still remember how angry he was when Dean made him run four miles through the woods after writing an essay detailing a werewolf hunt when he was in ninth grade.

Though Sam couldn’t bring himself to be upset about that today. He just didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to rehash the old argument. 

But, there was a question on Sam’s mind. One that seemed to come out on its own accord.   

“Dean,” Sam began, still unsure if he should start this conversation. “Do you know what tomorrow is?” 

The look in Dean’s eye told him everything, and Sam understood what was really going on now.

Dean was doing all he could to pretend this was just any other Halloween. Where he could stuff his face with a disturbing amount of candy and tease Sam for not being in the festive spirit. Maybe even have an argument about why horror movies were actually the best – after Westerns, of course. Anything with cowboys, really. Especially if it had John Wayne or Clint Eastwood. 

“I’m sorry.” Sam looked down. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“No, Sammy. Don’t.” Dean cleared his throat. “I mean, look at everything that’s happened to you.”

Sam wanted to argue. Metaphorically slap some sense into Dean. Remind him that they’re both grieving. But, he knew his brother. He knew Dean would, at best, shut down that line of thinking and deflect with some crude joke. 

Dean scoffed after a moment, running his hand through his hair. “You know … I was hungover when I got that call. I …” he took a deep, shaky breath. “She called me around eleven or so the night before. I was plastered. You were missing, and I was too drunk to do anything.”

It wasn’t exactly news that Dean spent what was supposed to be any other Halloween drunk. Most people did. Sam planned to. Dean was even more likely to. He had a drinking problem before he was eligible to vote, let alone drink legally. Not to mention how bad the previous two years had been for Dean.

“Dean …” Sam’s eyes softened. “Dean, there was no way you could have known.” 

Sam could see the time honored argument brewing behind Dean’s eyes. He’d tell Sam that it was his job to protect his little brother, like that time in his freshman year of collage when Sam caught Dean following him around campus. But before Dean could get his usual spiel out, his phone started to ring. 

Dean wanted to curse whoever had the audacity to call him right that second, but then they hung up after only two rings.

“Wrong number?” Sam asked. 

“No,” Dean said looking at his phone. “It’s Bobby.”

Sam wanted to suggest it was something benign again when Dean got a text message. Dean’s face went almost instantly pale as he read the text. He tossed the phone down and went to the back of the cabin without an explanation, but Sam could see what was written and he understood why his brother panicked. 

On the screen was simply the word: Poughkeepsie.

Chapter Text

“Where the hell are we?” Sam mumbled when he felt the car stop. 

The sky was getting lighter, but it was still a bit before sunrise. They had been driving all night, and Sam could feel it in his back, and his shoulder. 

“Uh …” Dean looked around. “Cheyenne, I think. I kinda drove blindly.” He looked over at his brother who was trying to stretch in the confined space. “How's the roadie?” 

“Hungry.” Sam groaned, taking in their surroundings. 

They were at their usual kind of run down motel. The kind that asked if you were taking a night or paying by the hour, and that wouldn't ask questions about two men getting a room first thing in the morning. 

“There's a diner down the road.” Dean said. “I'll get you settled and get us some breakfast.” 

“You sure?” Sam stifled a yawn and looked at his watch. “We've been driving all night.”

“Baby and me need to top off our tanks.” Dean said. “Besides, I won’t become his favorite uncle if I let him go hungry.”

“You’re his only uncle.” Sam called after Dean as he got out of the car. 

Dean shrugged and closed the door before turning to go inside. He said something as he walked away, but from the inside of the car, it only sounded like unintelligible, muffled gibberish.

Sam just rolled his eyes, imagining a list of insults and jokes Dean usually had ready to go. He swore to himself if Dean called him Mama 'squatch again, he was going to lose it.  

After filling the Impala's gas tank and twice overshooting a diner that was less than five minutes down the road from the gas station, Dean was able to settle at the counter and order breakfast to-go and a coffee to sip while he waited. A trucker made a comment about how rough Dean looked, but otherwise he was left alone. 

That was until his phone rang.

It was an unknown number. This wasn’t unusual in his line of work. He didn’t even know how many people he gave his number to in the last year since getting this particular phone. Especially while looking for Sam. Still, he was nervous to answer an unknown number with everything that was after them and the last night they had.

At the last minute, Dean sighed and took the risk, answering the phone.

“Dean?” The sweetly familiar grisled voice answered. 

“Oh, thank Christ.” Dean said with obvious relief. “Bobby, are you ok?”

“Takes a lot more than a couple youngins to get rid of me.” Bobby said with a chuckle. 

Dean rubbed his face. A million questions racing through his head. Finally he asked, “where are you? Sammy and I can come find you.”

“Don’t. I’m fine. I’m at a bus station in Billings.” Bobby said quickly. “I’m taking a bus home. You need to find a place to hunker down again. And soon. Sam’s not looking too good, and I’m sure fleeing in the night’s not helping things.” 

“I think he’s resting. I hope he is. I’m getting breakfast.” Dean stammered out. “Who came after you?” 

“If I had to guess, Vik’s twins.” Bobby said after a pause to add more coins to the payphone. “Vikram – a hunter from Seattle. I don’t think you’ve met him. His boys can’t be more than fifteen, so this has to be their first job on their own.”

“Going after people.” Dean sighed. “Hard kids.”

There was a weight in Dean’s words. Obviously so, given his upbringing. At least his first kill had been a lizard creature of some type. He staved off the guilt of killing something that was person-shaped until the ripe old age of sixteen. 

“They got their asses handed to them by an old man.” Bobby said. Dean could hear the shrug. “Listen, boy. I really hate doing this to you and Sam, but you need to hide … and for that you’re going to need a distraction.”

“Bobby, what are you talking about?” Dean demanded. 

“It’s ok, Dean. I’m good with this.” Bobby’s voice hitched a little. 

It took a long moment for Dean to realize what Bobby was saying. When he did, he felt his heart clenched with panic. 

“No, Bobby. Don’t you dare say goodbye.” Dean slammed his fist on the counter without thinking, getting the attention of everyone in the diner.

He meekly waved in apology. Something in the way people were looking at him told Dean that he had been gaining the attention of the patrons of the diner for most of this conversation. 

“Dean, listen to me.” Bobby said firmly. “I should have died long before I even became a hunter. We all should have in that fucking war. Hell, I should have ended it after Karen, and I certainly shouldn’t have lived this long as a hunter. I’m ok with this.” He took a shuddering breath. “You know, Karen and I used to fight about having kids all the time. Then fate sent me two beautiful boys. Boys that grew up into good men. I hope I played a role in the men you became. Regardless of any fuck ups or missteps I made with you two, now I have to protect you boys ... and my grandson. That’s my job.” 

Dean pushed his tears away, desperately trying to remain composed. 

“Bobby … I don’t know what you’re planning, but we can figure something else out.” Dean was desperate. “I can lose you. Not now – not ever!”

“Dean,” There was a long pause. Dean was almost convinced that Bobby walked away without hanging up. “You’re a good man, Dean. Don’t forget that. Don’t let that hate and rage win. It’s not who you are.” He took another deep breath. “Make sure Sam knows this isn’t his fault. Or Jack’s. And tell him how sorry I am that I’m never gonna meet that boy.” 

Before Dean could argue anymore, the line went dead. 

Dean felt his lip tremble. He had no idea what Bobby was planning, or any idea how he could stop him – if it was even possible to stop him. He just felt broken and alone, even while surrounded by people. It was like getting that call from Sam’s girlfriend. 

There was a bag placed in front of him with a coffee to-go. The look on the waitress’ face said it was time to leave. Dean just took the bag and said nothing else. He didn't have the energy to argue. 

Unable to sleep, Sam sat in the dimly lit motel room while his brother got breakfast, staring at his phone screen. Jessica’s contact open. 

It was officially the day. A year to the day that their lives went to shit. Or his did at least. Dean told Sam what he knew about Jessica’s life, but he barely knew the preliminary details. 

He swallowed his pride. He owed her an explanation. 

With a shaking thumb he pressed the call button.

There was no time to change his mind, she answered too quickly. Especially for the hour.

“Hello?” Despite the yawn, Sam recognized the voice immediately. His heart broke and swelled with relief all the same time.

“Jess,” Sam said breathlessly.

“Oh my god!” There was a loud crash, and Jessica shouted out that she was ok to whoever she lived with now. When she turned back to the phone, she said, “Sam! You’re ok – I mean are you ok? Your brother called me like a month ago or whatever. He said they found you, but that you needed time.”

Sam nodded before realizing he was. “Yeah,” his voice hitched. “Yeah. I’m ok.” He didn’t say that he was only physically ok and even that was up for debate, but he was sure Jessica understood that. She always seemed to understand him without the need to verbally communicate it. To lighten the mood, he said, “I think I missed the party.”

“You weren’t kidding about hating Halloween.” She played along. Then her voice turned serious again. “What happened? I mean, if you can talk about it.” 

Sam looked down at his belly and took a deep breath. “You’re not gonna believe me. It’s ... it's a lot. You got time?”

“Always.” Jessica said, her reassuring smile coming through the phone. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. I hope you know that.”

“I do.” Sam said with another unnecessary nod. He took a breath, trying to decide how to explain any of this. “Well, I guess I should start from the beginning …”

Chapter Text

Dean wasn’t even sure how he got back to the motel. He was running entirely on autopilot. His mind was still in shock after what happened – what Bobby said. 

Bobby was the stability in their lives. He wasn’t supposed to go off doing whatever heroic bull this was. This was something Dean couldn’t see himself doing – even then, only if it was his only option left after trying everything he could, and it was the only way to keep Sam alive … and now Jack.

Then it clicked. 

That was exactly what Bobby was doing. This was Bobby’s nuclear option. He was well and truly backed into a corner. They all were, if this was how Bobby decided to resolve the issue. 

Dean felt his breath hitch, and suddenly he couldn’t put the key in the lock. He could remember one other time he was this distraught. 

He had to force himself to take deep breaths before he started to hyperventilate. 

“Jess, please.” 

Sam had only just started to explain what happened to his mother that terrible night. He hadn’t even began to explained his father's obsession with the yellow-eyed demon, or how well trained he and his brother were and the things they had done. Let alone the events of the last year, or Jack and everything that came with him.

It wasn’t strange for people to react negatively, or treat them like they’re crazy. Sam vividly remembers when their dad saved a woman from a violent poltergeist and was slapped across the face for his efforts. 

He knew going into this conversation that it wasn’t going to go well. Even then, Jessica was more level headed than most during this kind of conversation. She was more worried about his well being. Everything else was just details. Nonsense soup of a crazy person’s rantings.

“Sam,” She said in that calm voice that always relaxed Sam. “I’m listening, Sam. I hear you. Ok? I think you’ve been through something terrible and your mind is just … coping. It’s normal. How does your brother and uncle feel? Have you talked to your dad? After the hospital, I mean. I saw in the news that something happened. The arrest. I know you two have a … difficult relationship, but you’re still his son.”

“Uh …” Sam felt his words get caught in his throat. 

Sam had tried to share the important aspects of his childhood without explaining that monsters were real. Jessica knew that they moved a lot, and that they struggled with money. Sam even told her about the abuse and some of their training under the guise that their father was some Cold War doomsday prepper. Though she thought that, at best, Sam and his brother could hunt and field dress a deer, and make a decent shelter in the woods. Which technically was true. 

“Jess …” Sam rubbed his face. 

“What did he say?” Jessica pressed. “You know that you can always talk to me.”

Sam felt tears burning in his eyes, his hand drifting to his belly where he felt soft, waking movements. Jack seemed to be so attuned to his emotions. If his mind was swirling in doubt, he might have taken note of that.

“You won’t believe me.” Sam let out a shuddering sigh. “It’s so much weirder than a demon-induced house fire.”

Jessica let out a soft laugh, believing that to be a joke. Then it slowly dawned on her that Sam was deadly serious. 

“Oh!” She said in a mix of surprise and embarrassment. “Oh, God. I'm sorry. I should've – what’s wrong? Is it something that happened with that man?”

He hated how close to the truth she was without even realizing it.

“Ok … ok!” He took a breath to calm himself. “Ok, I’m just gonna say it. Laugh, mock me, hang up on me - I don’t care. I just have to tell you.”

“Sam, whatever it is –”

“I’m pregnant!” Sam blurted out in the worst way possible.

He could hear how crazy it was even though he was staring right at the reality of it. Jessica couldn't see him. She hadn't been at the hospital or felt Jack kick. There was no proof, and Sam knew first-hand how desperately people clung to their preconceived notions even when facing the reality of the matter. 

As if to prove his point, there was mostly silence on the other end, only broken by brief uncertain stammering sounds.

“Look, I -” 

Sam was cut off when Dean returned to the motel. Privacy had never been a thing with the Winchester brothers. Sam can still remember overhearing Dean having phone sex with a popular girl in some town their dad dumped them in. So, he wouldn’t care Dean overhearing whatever lame excuse he came up with for his outburst. But something was wrong. He could tell. 

“Uh, Jess?” Sam said as he inched off the bed in an attempt to get up. “Can I call you back in like an hour? Or whenever you’re free.”

“Are you serious?” The words sounded like they spilled out of Jessica. After a moment she sighed and said, “fine. Call me back today, Sam. We’re gonna talk about whatever this is.”

“Deal.” Sam said before saying how good it was to hear her voice and hanging up.

Dean wasn't paying attention to Sam or the conversation. He hadn't even realized Sam had been talking, much less on the phone. He was just unpacking their breakfast, his mind somewhere else entirely. 

He only came back to reality when Sam grabbed his shoulder. 

Dean jumped away from his brother and grabbed the gun tucked in the back of his pants. For his part, Sam took a careful step back, raising a hand in surrender, the other protectively over his belly. Jack was now painfully kicking against Sam’s hand. 

“Shit,” Dean muttered, covering his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I uh … I wasn’t here.”

“Just tired?” Sam asked as he lowered his hand, fully knowing that wasn’t it. 

Dean let out a sigh as his hand ran down his face. He shook his head as he contemplated what to do or say next. He was, in fact, tired. Too tired to make up some excuse. Not that he could do that was Sam. Not when it came to Bobby. 

Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder knowing something was seriously wrong. He could see that Dean’s eyes were rimmed red like he’d been crying. It broke Sam’s heart anytime to see his big brother in distress. 

Dean muttered, “c’mere,” before pulling Sam into a tight hug. Sam slowly put his arms around Dean, every alarm bell going off in his head. Jack seemed to be getting the message too, or he just didn’t like the way Dean pressed against him. He squirmed against Dean. 

Dean let out a huff of a chuckle when he pulled away, wiping new tears from his eyes. “That never gets less creepy.” 

“Dean,” Sam said as he studied his brother’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

Dean sighed, stepping away to brace himself on the back of one of the chairs. “Uh … Bobby,” was all he could get out. “It’s Bobby.”

Sam’s eyes became wide with panic. Horrible thoughts racing through his head. His legs wobbled under him, and he practically fell into the other chair.

"Is he alive?" Sam asked, looking at the ground. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that answer to be no. 

“For now.” Dean tried to explain, but the words wouldn’t come out. “He’s on a suiside mission. Full kamikaze. Something about other hunters ... and home.” 

Sam tried to stand up, but only ended up falling back in his chair. This snapped Dean into action. He held Sam’s down by the shoulder, keeping him down until he calmed down. 

“Where is he?!” Sam practically shouted in his brother's face. “We - we have to go after him! Stop him!”

“We can't.” Dean’t voice sounded weak, even to himself.

When Sam continued to struggle and try to get up, Dean put all his weight on both Sam’s shoulders, occasionally calling out his brother’s name to get him to calm down. Eventually yelling, “Sammy!” When that wasn’t proving enough. 

Sam stopped his struggling. Dean had only yelled at Sam like that a handful of times in his entire life. And only when he absolutely had to. When Sam needed to listen to him. He looked up at Dean, absolutely stunned by the tone in his voice.

“I will not let you near that house.” Dean’s tone was more level now, but no less commanding. “Do you understand me?” 

Sam nodded helplessly. 

“Good.” Dean let himself collapse in the other chair. “Now eat your breakfast. You need it.”

Sam looked at the styrofoam boxes. It felt strange to eat after, for all intents and purposes, Dean just told him the only real father they ever had was gone. Still, he didn't have the strength or will to argue. He eventually picked one at random. He didn’t know what else he could do other than eat. He felt like his world shattered for the countless time that year, and it always happened on this cursed holiday. 

Chapter Text

Later that morning, when Dean had fallen asleep, Sam slipped out the door to call Jessica back. The motel had cheap plastic lawn furniture outside, making it easier to stay out here and let Dean sleep.

His mind was still on Bobby and what little Dean could tell him. If it had been any other time, Sam might have taken the Impala or even hotwired someone else’s car and gone off on some reckless mission of his own. He was about as sensible as his brother when it came to the people he loved. But it wasn’t just him anymore. He couldn’t put Jack at risk like that. Besides, he was fairly certain he couldn’t fit behind the Impala’s steering wheel.

His fantastical planning was cut short when Jessica picked up.

“Sam,” She said with a relieved sigh. “You worried me there.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Something … uh, something happened.” Sam sighed. “I’m ok, though. Don’t worry.”

“You know when you tell me not to worry that only makes me worry more.” Jessica said with a soft chuckle. “Especially with how we left things.”

“I wasn’t lying – and I’m not delusional, Jess.” Sam looked down at himself. “I mean, it’s really obvious at this point. Like if you could see me ... he’s coming any time now.”

Jessica sighed. Sam could hear her argument now. She’s seen him without pants. More than seen him. They had a baby scare only days before that awful night. Sam was and had always been a man, there was no doubt in her mind about that.

“I am a man.” Sam said suddenly as though Jessica could hear his thoughs and make sense of them. “I mean, obviously I’m a man. Just that guy – Bliss, he changed me. Like more than that girl in your dorm in Freshman year. I know this doesn’t make sense.”

“Sam, that’s not possible.” Jessica said firmly. “Like at all.”

“He’s a witch.” Sam said quickly. “Or we call them witches. I guess that term inadvertently became gender nonspecific.”

“Who’s we?” Jessica asked, momentarily putting aside the fact Sam just claimed witches were real.

“Hunters.” Sam had forgotten just how weird the innocuous term could sound in this context.

“Hunters?” Jessica repeated. “And what is it you hunt? Witches? Bigfoot?”

“Oh no, Bigfoot’s not real.” Sam cringed at the words that just slipped out. “Look, I know this is a lot.”

“A lot?” Jessica scoffed. “Sam you, a man as you so eloquently reiterated, just told me that witch got you pregnant. And you expect me not to think something is seriously wrong?”

“Look, I wanted to start with the beginning.” Sam said firmly.

“Oh, with your mother being burned to death on the ceiling of your nursery at the hands of a demon?” Jessica was getting upset. She took a slow, deep breath before she could say something she’d regret. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and you already had a lot of trauma going into this. I’m sure I only know half of it. But, Sam, you need help. Real, serious help. I’m gonna call your brother. He should know what’s going on.”

Sam couldn’t help the choke of a laugh that came out. Dean was the last advocate for therapy on the planet. He was convinced that therapists gaslit people into believing they were more sick then they actually were so they could push pills. Not that Sam wanted to talk to anyone about any of this himself.

Besides, Dean had seen the proof of it everyday. He knew the truth that Sam didn’t know if he could ever convince Jessica of. That thought alone made Sam’s breath hitch with realization.

He knew what he needed to do, and that broke his heart more than Jessica writing him off as a kook not worth her time.

“Jess,” His voice faltered, and it took all his effort to keep speaking. “I still love you, Jessica. I think … I think I always will.” Sam felt tears burning in his eyes. “I hope you’re happy. Please be happy. You deserve it.”

Before Jessica could say anything or beg Sam not to go, he hung up. He didn’t have the strength to hear her voice any more.

Not long after hanging up, there was a ringing in Sam’s ears. Like a bomb had gone off. But it quickly got louder and more intense.

He couldn’t breathe. Not even to let out a sob. And it wasn't because of the sound that Sam still wasn't fully convinced was real.

There was this twisting, growing knot in his chest. A tightness that restricted any and all function, and left no room for relief. It was like the last thread finally broke. Like everything in his life was over and gone, and there was nothing else left.

He only truely realized the ringing was real and that he was glowing when his brother grabbed his shoulder. Dean had run out of the room so fast that he was still clad in nothing but his boxers. His lips were moving, and Sam thought he might be calling his name. Blood was running out of Dean's ear, but he didn’t seem to care. His entire focus was on Sam.

Several lights above them and the window behind them burst as soon as Sam looked at Dean. Exactly how it did when Castiel tried to speak to them. Only, there was no language to this, like with the angel. It just seemed unintelligible. Child-like, if Sam had to put a word to it.

Dean had instinctively covered his brother’s face, shielding his own with his arm. He got some glass in his arm, but it wasn’t a serious cut.

The ringing had stopped and his skin returned to normal when Dean pulled his head back to look Sam over. His voice was muffled, as though they were underwater, but Sam could hear Dean ask if he and Jack were ok.

Sam nodded pathetically. “Yeah …” He looked down at his belly. “Nothing hurts. Jack’s not moving funny.”

Dean gave him a look that told Sam they were going to talk about this later, before getting up to pack their things and run … again.

Chapter Text

They had been in the car little over an hour, now. The landscape had long since melted into blurry pine trees rushing past the window, only broken by miles of fields. Sam wasn’t even sure if they were on the Wyoming or Colorado side of the border, or frankly cared at that point. 

They barely spoke the entire way. Except for Dean periodically checking in on Sam, and for Dean to ask Sam what road snack he wanted from a gas station. Even then, Sam only muttered yes or no responses. Dean had to play twenty questions to ask Sam what he wanted at the gas station - and he was just happy Sam was answering him, even if it was in a disturbing monotone.

Just to fill space, Dean to lecture his brother on the importance of Black Sabbath in the establishment of heavy metal as a genre as he played their greatest hits, before falling into the inevitable debate with himself on whether Ozzy Osbourn or Ronnie Jame Dio was the stronger vocalist. Dean even tried to defend Osbourn’s more eccentric post-Sabbath activities just to get a rise out of the younger man.

He became increasingly worried when that didn’t work. No matter what Sam was doing at the time - or how upset he was, Dean could always get him engaged if he just defended the whole bat thing. Even though they both knew Dean thought it was just as fucked up as Sam did, it was just the fact that Dean would even pretend to defend it. 

Dean was considering using the nuclear option – clowns – but that seemed a step too far. He just had to hope something more serious wasn’t wrong, and that Sam would let him in.  

Eventually, he stopped when he saw a sign for Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest. He took out a pocket map that he took from the gas station, taking a moment to triangulate where they were and where he seemed to be going. 

“Trig was the only subject you ever did ok in.” Sam muttered. “Well, before they introduced algebra.”

Dean looked up from the map. “He speaks!” 

Sam simply rolled his eyes. 

“What’s been going on in that oversize melon?” Dean asked, drawing a line for a route. He muttered something to himself about owing his car a tire rotation when this was done. 

Sam only shrugged. He was not in the mood for talking. 

“Well, we got like another hour.” Dean said as he started to drive again. “You wanna tell me what happened with Jess? Or maybe we can talk about the motel. But, I’m thinking those are connected.”

“Castiel gave us a meeting point.” Sam sighed. 

“There’s the smart kid I know.” Dean chuckled. After a moment, he schooled his face back to a serious expression and said, “Jess called when I was at the gas station. You told her … everything. Or you tried by the sound of it.”

“I don’t need the lecture, Dean.” Sam rubbed his face. “Whatever I had at Stanford … whatever life I was going to lead after law school, it’s gone now. Bobby …” he let out a broken sigh, not wanting to cry again. “It’s all so broken. I break everything!” 

“Hey - whoa, whoa!” Dean’s eyes were trained on his brother, waiting for him to glow or something else to happen. “Easy, tigar. You damage my car, I kill you.”

Sam only glared at Dean, telling the older Winchester that he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. 

“Ok,” Dean gripped the wheel a bit tighter, like he was bracing himself. “Look, believe it or not, I get wanting to tell someone. The right one. Or who you think is the right one.” 

“Wait …” Sam furrowed his brow, sitting up properly to give his brother his full attention. “Wait, you were in love?”

Dean only swallowed nervously. 

“Mr. Anti-Social Lone-Wolf was in love, and told them the secret? The secret?” Sam scoffed in astonishment.

“Look, I’m not proud of it.” Dean’s voice was a little harsher than he meant for it to be. “I made a mistake. That’s it.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

There was no judgement in Sam’s eyes. Even the resentment that was in his voice just seconds ago was gone now. All that was left were those big puppy-dog eyes that could get Dean to do anything. The tears were definitely not helping in that respect. 

With a reluctant sigh, Dean said, “dad and I split off for a case. He went down to the border to investigate a possible chupacabra, and I stayed in Ohio to babysit some college kids messing with something they shouldn’t have.”

“Dad let you handle a case on your own?” Sam interrupted. 

“I’m twenty-six, dude.” Dean said in an incredulous tone. “Well, I was twenty-five then.” He shrugged. “Not important. I met a girl. Cassie. And I might have lied my way through staying for a few months. To stay with her.” 

“And you told her.” Sam raised an eyebrow even though it wasn’t a question. 

Dean nodded. “She laughed in my face. She thought it was leading to some halloween prank. I mean, I think she figured I was a drifter at that point, but monsters were a little much.” 

“That’s why you went out and drank so much. That night, I mean.” Sam sighed. “That’s why you blame yourself. Or, at least, why you blame yourself more than usual.”

“I got a job, Sammy. A real freaking job. And I bought a ring with money I earned.” Dean bounced his hand fist on the wheel. “I was looking into becoming a mechanic in Missouri. Hell, I was asking myself what kinda dad I would be.” He wiped a tear from his eye, not wanting to cry in front of Sam. “So, yeah, I get why that hurts. But, losing Cassie and almost losing you taught me something. No matter what – no matter who or what we lose – the one thing we have in this life is each other and this car.” He patted the wheel to emphasize his point. “We’re not apple pie life guys, Sam. And that’s ok.” 

Sam nodded, contemplating his brother’s sentiment. After a moment he said, “You are a good dad, Dean. You deserve that life. If that’s what you want. We both do.”

Dean only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was pretty sure if he opened his mouth he wouldn’t be able to stop - blathering to Sam that he gave that life up long before Cassie, and it had nothing to do with the hunting life. 

Nearly an hour later, they found Castiel was waiting for them at a trailhead not far off the main road.

From what they could see of the trail head and the enter at your own risk sign in the shape of a bear, and it seemed this trail was not frequently visited even during optimel season. Meaning they had a lot of privacy, unless a bear was looking for a snack.

Castiel made Sam sit on a bench by the trailhead, and then he didn’t waste time on looking Sam over. Eventually putting his hands on Sam’s belly without warning. 

Sam jumped and looked to Dean for guidance, but the older Winchester simply shrugged from where he leaned on a nearby tree.  

“I was sleeping when it happened.” Dean eventually said when it seemed Castiel was done. “But everything kinda went,” he made an exaggerated explosion noise. “Well, it was more like your angel voice. All the glass just burst. But only around Sam – our room.”

“I've been trying to find answers on what Jack is.” Castiel said after a moment, his eyes still fixed on Sam. He then turned to Dean. “I told you that I was speaking to one of my brothers. Gabriel.”

Dean's gaze shifted from Castiel to Sam and back again, unsure what to say. Not that the angel gave him time to think.

“Gabriel has an idea.” Castiel continued. “It's not necessarily a bad one, either. In fact, it may save Sam … inadvertently.”

“But?” Dean prompted.

“But …” Castiel shook his head. His brow was furrowed in frustration, like he was still mulling over his opinion. “But, Gabriel isn't the angel I knew. About two millennia ago by your time, something changed in Gabriel. He left, and I still don't know what happened exactly. All he's told me is that he now understands who our father is, and he can't be a part of that. I can't say I disagree, even if I don't like his … methods.”

“What methods?” Sam asked. 

“He's been playing games with humanity over the millennia. Starting religions, ending religions, prompting people to power.” Castiel shook his head. “Not important.” He took out a piece of paper from the breast pocket of his blazer. It had a phone number and address on it. “He's willing to talk, but he's asked you go to him. I don't know why.”

Dean looked over the paper. He wanted to make a joke about an archangel in Ohio, but Sam spoke up before he could. 

“You trust him?” Sam asked. 

Castiel only nodded, but there seemed to be an understanding between the angel and the younger Winchester in the simple gesture. 

Sam looked up at Dean and said, “we should go.”

“Hold on.” Dean said firmly. “What's this guy gonna do?”

“Normally, a nephilim experiences an accelerated growth around the time it's born. It's what actually kills the mother. Not the grace, though I suspect that also contributes to it.” Castiel began to explain. “Gabriel knows how to slow this growth. He's the only angel who knows how.”

“Ok.” Dean ran his hand through his hair. “Why? Besides saving Sam, what's this do?”

“We don't know what Jack is. We don’t know how powerful he is, or what he'll do with that power.” Castiel's voice took on a new tone of urgency. “Gabriel and I believe that if Jack is forced to grow – grow into his powers – he may wield them better, and put the world at less risk. Be less useful to those who want to use him for their own means.”

Dean looked at Sam for a moment. Despite how much he's matured over the years, Dean still saw the scrawny ten year old shaking him awake because he was convinced something was outside. Or the awkward four year old who toddled after him like a lost puppy. 

Still, he knew Sam had come a long way from the goofy kid who liked magic tricks and history class. He was more than capable of making this decision, and he had to be the one to make it. 

After a moment, he said, “it's your call, Sammy. I'm with you. Always.” 

Chapter Text

There was no sound. No warning. Nothing like that awful night. Just one second, Bobby Singer was alone, and the next, he wasn’t. 

The older hunter let out a sigh from behind his computer. Even though he much preferred the quiet apparition, he was still annoyed by the angel’s constant presence. 

“How are the boys?” Bobby asked, not hiding his annoyance.

“Jack is growing. Alarmingly so.” Castiel said in a gravely monotone that somehow conveyed a child-like quality. Or maybe that was just the angel himself. “I’ve decided to send them to Gabriel,” he continued. “I don’t feel Jack puts anyone in immediate danger at this point, and …” He couldn’t bring himself to say he couldn’t think of any other plan. These recent revelations and his new state of helplessness was taking some getting used to.  

Bobby scoffed a little. He was not in favor of the Gabriel plan after everything Castiel told him about the archangel — but he also couldn’t think of another plan. He was just happy he wasn’t going to leave Sam out in the woods to explode. Or that was Bobby’s interpretation of the so-called plan B.

“How’s Sam?” Bobby clarified. “Not physically. How’s he holding up? How are they both holding up? Dean’s gonna put a smile on through the worst pain, and then make a dumbass joke that will make you want to smack him upside the head and hug him at the same time.”

“Is this where I reiterate my position on your ridiculous suicide mission?” Castiel asked.

“You made that clear last night.” Bobby griped. “Do you know where John is? Or any of his cronies?”

Castiel glared at Bobby. They had been through this before. Castiel wasn’t sure who was protecting John or anyone else helping him, but he knew it was another angel. He realized that when Gordon Walker was able to sneak up on them in Denver. He just hoped it wasn’t Zachariah or someone worse. 

The two were very much in a stalemate, and they knew it. Castiel wasn’t going to admit that he went into what could very well be his suacide mission, half cocked and entirely blind, after millions of years leading armies and faithfully following his father — or, at least, the idea of his father. And Bobby wasn’t going to concede to even the thought that there could be another way. 

Castiel sighed as he approached the window. For a moment he just watched the rain fall. He looked far away in thought in that moment, like he was trying to come to terms with whatever was on his mind.

“Did you know that there were angels who fell before Lucifer?” Castiel asked. 

Bobby turned away from the computer. He could see something was weighing on the angel, so he gave Castiel his full attention. “Are we talking about pre-Canaanite interpretations? The Elohist?” 

Castiel furrowed his brow. “Honestly ... I’m not sure. Early. Before my time, I can tell you that. Before this universe, I think.”

Bobby leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He’d seen that look on soldiers and hunters alike. That dead, almost static stare. Their mind in another time and place entirely.

“I met one of them once.” He looked down at his body. “In a different form. A different time.” He turned to Bobby. “Belial.”

“Isn’t he known as the demon of lies?” Bobby asked. 

“Lies, greed, and disorder. Depending on the story. Though, I think he preferred to be called a monarch.” Castiel shrugged, returning his gaze to the window. “He’s the original trickster. I was told about him, and the others, when I first came into creation. They were … warnings. Cautionary tales. What not to become or your fate will be worse than Lucifer’s.” He rubbed his face. “When I met Belial, he was ... rude, and belligerent, and just unpleasant to be around. But he wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t harming people to simply harm people. He was picking up where my father left off … in his own way. In fact, I think Gabriel has been simply carrying on Belial’s work all these years.”

For a split second, Bobby thought of a couple off-handed jokes to make about God in the Old Testament. He tried not to smile at his own jokes, well knowing this was not the time or place. 

Instead, Bobby asked, “what’s this about, Castiel?”

“I spent more than six thousand years believing Belial was trying to trick me. Make me fall. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.” Castiel’s voice carried a weight to it. A weariness that was entirely too human for Bobby’s liking.

“I blindly listened to Zachariah and Uriel for far too long.” Castiel continued when he turned back to Bobby. “I … I decimated people and civilizations on their orders. I warred with my own brothers and sisters without ever asking why. I killed my nieces and nephews before they could be born. And I never once questioned why, or who I was really serving. This is why I have to save Jack. This is why he’s important to me. Because I have to repent for everything I’ve done.”

Bobby swallowed as he shifted in his chair. He may not have spent God knows how many millions of years being the blunt instruments of others, but he had things in his past he wasn’t proud of. Things he’d never make up for. He understood the pain Castiel carried far too well.

The angel walked over to Bobby's desk. His presence was now intimidating, despite the desperation in his eyes. 

“What I want to know is: am I wasting time on a man who has long since given up? Or are you going to help me and protect your boys?” Castiel’s gaze burned with an intensity that almost made Bobby wince. “I do need you, Rob– Bobby. I need your knowledge of hunters — especially John Winchester. And you need mine on angels. We’re on the same side, and we can’t possibly save them without each other. But I can not carry you.” 

Without a word, Bobby stood up and walked over to a bookshelf. There was a picture of Dean when he couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He was covered in grease, and in the middle of dismantling a Ford Pinto’s engine. John abandoned them for weeks in the middle of a terrible summer. It was easy enough to keep Sam occupied. Even at six, he was happy to be given a rabbit hole and spend hours in Bobby’s library. Dean was going through a bit of a crisis that summer, so Bobby worked on teaching him about cars. He took to it like a fish to water. 

In another frame on the same shelf was a picture of a seventeen year old Sam holding up his high school diploma and his acceptance letter to Stanford. Bobby had been so proud of Sam, and he swore he never saw Sam as happy as he was in that moment. 

Above the picture of the boys was a wood box carved with flowers. Bobby could never display the pictures of Karen, but he also couldn't get rid of them either. His fingers lingered on the box, even now he didn't have the strength to open it and see her face. 

With a deep breath, he turned back to Castiel and asked, “what do you need?”

Chapter Text

Dean barely made it an hour before he needed to find a bed to sleep in. Unfortunately, in this part of Colorado, that was typically easier said than done. However, it seemed they had a little luck for once in this whole mess. 

They found a small hunting lodge in downtown Walden. Well, lodge was too friendly a term. It was more a glorified cafe that they turned into a hotel to cater to the various hunting seasons. Still, that might as well be the Ritz Carlton compared to the places they usually stayed at — as Dean’s nearly two day nap could attest to. 

Sam got some good sleep too, and an actual bath. It was absolute heaven for his back, though it was probably ill advised without someone ready to help him get out again. He was just happy he didn't have to wake Dean up for help. 

When he didn’t need to sleep, Sam occupied his time with any book he could get his hands on or he busied himself with whatever small task that would help Dean most when he was feeling himself again. But, at the end of it, Sam couldn’t avoid the elephant in the room forever. 

That elephant felt like it was getting bigger as he sat alone in the cafe that functioned as the hotel lobby. It had been getting bigger since Cheyanne, but now it felt suffocating and unavoidable. 

Sam still was coming to terms that his future with Jessica was gone. In truth, he probably lost that future the moment he was taken. If Dean had his say, he would point out that Sam probably never had a real future with Jessica — not if he was hellbent on keeping his past from her. The events in Cheyanne didn’t help sway Sam’s feelings on the matter.  

But, life changes — often in the way you least expect it to — that’s the only real guarantee in life. Well, maybe death, too. His brother and father proved that taxes were bull if you just stay on the move. 

Sam looked down at his belly when he felt movement. A tear came to his eye.

He had been attached to Jack from the moment he heard a heartbeat with that old stethoscope Bliss let him have. That’s when he became real, and that’s when Sam had to fight for something more than himself. But, this had been a long suicide mission, if Sam were to be honest. His life didn’t matter so long as Jack was safe and away from that monster. Now, there were more dangers from every direction. Of course Sam trusted Dean implicitly — in all things. But, if it was his job to keep Jack safe, then he would need to be alive to do it. 

There was something else about the prospect about surviving this. Something exciting about just the possibility of seeing Jack grow up. It wasn't necessarily surprising, but Sam hadn't realized how long it had been since he felt this way. 

A tear slipped from his eye as Dean joined him.

“Look at the big ol’ mama’squatch,” Dean teased as he sat down. “What’s got the water works going today?”

Sam shook his head and wiped the tear from his eye. This side of Dean would never fail to annoy him, but that didn’t matter. He was just happy that Dean was acting himself again.

“I’m happy, asshole.” Sam said as he threw his straw wrapper at Dean.

“Wait,” Dean’s face turned serious for a moment. “Happy? Like happy-happy? Not weird hormones, manic happy?”

“Happy-happy.” Sam said, taking a shuddering breath. "Hopeful."

Dean was so flabbergasted by the change in his brother, he didn't even make a comment about Sam’s egg white omelet or his turkey bacon when their food came. For quite possibly the first time in Dean’s life, he didn’t have anything to say. 

“Eat.” Sam said. “I’d like to get to Lincoln today. Don't need you crashing the car because you didn’t meet your bacon quota.” 

Dean shoveled in some bacon and eggs, washing down some coffee, before asking, “what changed?” 

Sam looked down at his plate. “Living. Or my chances of surviving this going up, I should say.” He took a sip of orange juice, contemplating his next words. “My mission of the last eight months has been to get out and get Jack to safety — to you, preferably.”

Dean couldn’t stop himself from saying, “just excellent parenting choice, really.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge his brother’s off hand comment. “But if I can survive this, then it’s my job to protect Jack. Especially given … everything. I need to keep helping him. Make sure he grows up to be a good man, and learns how to use his powers to help people.”

“So … two and a half supermen?” Dean asked, again with his mouth full. 

“Well, I mean, you are the Charlie Sheen of this family.” Sam smiled a little. “Seriously Dean, I don’t know what I’m going to do exactly. The trajectory of my life keeps changing every other day. But this is my job. I know that."

Dean took those last words to heart. He recognized the weight and sentiment all too well, and the look of determination was frighteningly too familiar. 

“Ok,” Dean cleared his throat. “Ok … first step, Gabriel. Then we hunker down until Jack comes. Probably away from people, just to be safe. We’ll regroup after Christmas.”

“Why Christmas?”

“If you’re still pregnant at forty two weeks, I’ll kill you myself. Especially with your gigantor genes.” Dean chuckled a little at his own joke. 

“I’m your brother. We share both parents. My genes are your genes.” Sam crossed his arms indignantly.

“You are my brother, but you also got some X-men, teenage mutant ninja turtles bullshit going on.” Dean circled his fork in the direction of Sam’s belly. “That was before all this.” 

“Dean!” 

Before Sam could go into a rant about Dean taking this seriously, his brother’s amused face turned frighteningly fast. He looked like how normal people looked when they saw a ghost. Sam moved to turn and look at whatever had his brother so scared, but Dean grabbed his arm before he could look, stopping Sam mid turn.

Before Sam could say anything, he slipped Sam a gun under the table. “There’s an emergency exit beyond the bathrooms. Go and don’t stop — no matter what, don’t stop. We’ll meet at the general store down the block.”

“Dean, you’re —”

Dean’s nails dug into Sam’s arm. “Sammy, go now! I’ll find you soon.”

Sam didn’t have a chance to react, let alone obey Dean's order. Suddenly, Dean sprang up, creating whatever barrier he could between his brother and the danger. Sam also stood up, instinctively getting behind Dean. 

Sam’s chest clenched in panic as well, but it was too late to run. Dean seemed to recognize this, reaching back to keep his hand on Sam’s arm. 

The eyes that had always been a strange refuge and source of all his pain and torment now solely filled Dean with rage. He didn’t even register how much his weeks on the run changed the man. He couldn’t spare the thought. His mind was too busy trying to plan an escape route.

“Dad …” Sam said from behind his brother. 

“Hello, boys. It’s been a long time.” John said as he took off his jacket. The action was deliberate, to show that he was unarmed. “I think it’s time we talked.”

Chapter Text

Sam put it together before his brother did.

It was in the way the owner looked at Sam when they checked in and anytime he was in the lobby, and how he ushered his daughter into his office when John arrived. It was in the way that hardly anyone looked up at the altercation — and it was in the way that locals seemed to leave, like they didn’t have all the details, but they knew there would be trouble.

This lodge didn’t cater to deer and elk hunters. Well, at least not exclusively. This lodge catered to their kind of hunters. Monster hunters. It was a road stop. The perfect place to rest after a bad hunt. 

If it were any other circumstance, Sam would spare a thought to wonder if they kept a doctor on stand-by. But, Sam knew he had to focus. Take in all the details he could. He learned that lesson the hard way. 

Sam didn’t recognize the men that came in with their father, and it seemed Dean didn’t either. Unfortunately, that didn’t exactly narrow anything down. If Ellen’s existence told them anything, they didn’t know all their father’s contacts. 

The skinnier, older of the two took their phones and weapons, giving both brothers a good pat down. Sam shoved his hand away anytime the man so much as grazed his belly, but he seemed to let it go. Then the heavier set one forced them down, hurting that sensitive spot in the small of Sam’s back in the process. 

Dean immediately checked on his brother. Only when Sam looked him in the eye did Dean relax. 

“What the hell do you want?” Dean demanded, turning to his father.  

He kept a protective hand on Sam. A long time ago, Sam would have shrugged his hand away. But right now, he was grateful for Dean’s overprotective nature.

John ran his hand through his much shorter hair. He had these grey streaks in his hair for years, but Sam didn’t realize how grey the roots had become. It made him look older than his fifty-one years. The rough beard and weight loss didn’t help matters. Sam found himself strangely worried about this man. In any other life, he absolutely should be. But he had to keep himself grounded in this reality — in the very real danger he and his child were in, regardless whatever inclination in him that still cared for his father was left. 

“This isn’t easy for me, boys. I hope you know that.” John tried to start his carefully rehearsed argument. “You’re my children. All I want to do is protect you.”

“Don’t pull that crap.” Dean practically snarled. 

Sam was genuinely surprised. No matter how angry Dean had been with their father, he never spoke to John like this. Or, Sam never saw it.

“Jack’s your grandson.” Dean pointed to Sam’s belly for emphasis. “I don’t care how he got here. He’s family. I protect my family. The one good thing you ever did was put me on a path with a man who taught me that. He made me more of a man than your sorry ass.”

Sam had to blink away a few tears when Dean talked about Bobby. He still had this fantasy of Bobby as a doting grandfather no matter where they were.

“Jack,” John mused. “You named it.”

“Him!” Sam and Dean corrected their father at the same time.

“I told you in the hospital: he’s my baby. I won’t let anyone hurt him. Not even you.” Sam looked at his brother for a moment as though he was apologizing. “Even if you shoot me in the head right now, Jack can survive at this stage. You're too late.” He nodded at Dean. “He knows better than anyone what a father would do for their kid, so I know Jack would be just fine.” 

“You’ll be dead before you even pull the trigger.” Dean’s eyes were rimmed with tears, but they still carried a deadly intensity. 

Sam could see how quickly this was escalating. It left a knot in his chest, like when he was a kid and their father would beat Dean for something Sam himself did. He almost envied that little kid who could just cover his ears and close his eyes, and pretend nothing bad was happening.

“You’re too soft.” John scoffed. “A war’s coming, boy. Do you get that? The only war that matters.” 

“What war?!” Dean demanded. “I don’t know who’s talking in your ear, but they’re using you. If there’s a war coming, it will be because of you and everything you’ve done to Sam and Jack.”

“You really don’t get it.” John scoffed to himself. “It’s my fault. I sheltered you from this. From a lot of things.”

“Sheltered,” Dean barked a laugh. “That’s cute. Do you know what your son has been through in just the last year?” He pointed to Sam. “Hell, do you want a play-by-play of all the hell you personally put us through. The beatings,” he listed his points on his fingers, “the long stretches alone without food, the training, all the god damn pressure we lived under. Do you remember what you said when I wouldn’t shoot that hag at twelve?” He mocked his father’s voice and said, “be a real man. It’s not even human. It’s evil. Be a man and do your job.” 

Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. He never heard the story, but he remembered how different Dean had been when he came home after that hunt. It was one of the few times that Sam had to care for his brother.

“That’s another thing, Dad.” Dean continued. “How many of the things we’ve killed were evil? Like truly evil. How many of them were just different and doing their best to survive. Like Sam and me, really. I mean, you’re so willing to kill your own son because you think his baby is evil. I don’t think that makes you a great judge on what’s evil.” 

“You really never grew up.” John spat. “You think you know everything —”

Dean didn’t let his father go off on him. He stood up without warning and punched his jaw so hard that he toppled over with his chair. The broken child inside him wanted to revel in the moment, but they weren’t out of danger.

Sam had also sprang up with his brother. As much as he could. He had a butter knife in his hand which made both the men laugh. Without thinking, he shoved it in the heavier set man’s eye, causing him to scream and collapse to the ground. Blood trickled out between his fingers, and he didn’t even notice Dean grab their phones or his weapons. 

The patrons were starting to take notice now. Some had guns out, others were stepping closer. 

Dean held his gun up and said, “Sammy, time to go!”

Sam nodded, clumsily reaching for his brother’s jacket as he backed out of the dining room. 

“Let ‘em go.” John said as several hunters moved to follow. “I got someone going after them. I want to see where they're going.” 

John then approached the man holding his bloody eye, the knife still firmly lodged. He grimaced at the sight, those a strange swell of pride filled his chest. He did train the boys well. That pride was cut short by the throbbing in his jaw.

“Kubrick,” he put his hand on the man's shoulder. “Get Creedy to the hospital. And tell them it was a dispute with his wife.”

Kubrick paused. For a moment, it almost looked like he was having second thoughts about this mission. But, in the next moment, the doubt melted away as soon as it came. He helped his long-time friend out of the lodge and to his car without a word. 

John watched them leave, rubbing his sore jaw as he mulled over his next move. With a great sigh, he took his phone out and called the man he assumed was already tailing the Impala. 

He didn't wait for the person on the other end to speak when they call went through. He simply said, “follow them, but don't interfere. Not yet. They knew things. I want to know how.”

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t really have a plan when he peeled out of Walden. He knew they had to go east, and they needed to quickly. He picked a state highway that indicated it would take them to Fort Collins and drove. Sam would argue that he drove at a reckless speed, and Dean was fairly certain he did — but none of that mattered. Another ticket under one of Dean’s ever growing list of pseudonyms didn’t matter. All that mattered was Sam and Jack, and their safety. The one consistent truth in his life. 

But he wasn’t himself. That was becoming painfully more apparent with every passing second. Almost literally.

He’d been sweating since Walden, but he was shivering. Or was he trembling? His chest was starting to feel tight now, and it was getting harder to breathe.

He wasn't sure if Sam picked up on his quiet gasps or his shaking hands, but he was fairly certain he heard his brother call his name. Though that wasn't what made him pull over.

The winding mountain roads were doing a number on his stomach, but the thing that made him pull over was the dark edges in his vision. Like he was going to faint. 

He pulled over on a wide shoulder, bracing himself on the wheel as he tried to catch his breath and regain control over himself. However, it didn’t take long for the building nausea to win out. He stumbled out of the car, making it half a foot before he fell to his knees and lost his breakfast. 

Dean ignored his brother calling his name as he tried to keep the bile in his stomach. The world was still spinning and the tightness in his chest was only getting worse. He could hear Sam grunting and huffing, but he couldn’t open his eyes to look over to see what was happening.

“Sammystaytheredon’thurtyourselfI’mok,” the words came out in one long, incoherent mumble. He wasn’t even sure Sam could hear him. 

He stumbled away from the vomit, but ended up on his knees again. His breath was coming in short huffs, making the spinning in his head worse. He was certain at this point that he was poisoned at breakfast. But he wondered why Sam was ok. They practically ate the same thing.

Suddenly two large hands cupped his face. When he opened his eyes, he was met with Sam’s sweet puppy-dog eyes, filled with worry and tears.

Sam was telling him to breathe in through his nose, and out his mouth, demonstrating the gesture until Dean started to follow the instructions. He continued coaching his brother until Dean’s breath evened out. 

There was still this heaviness in his chest, and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he didn’t feel like he was dying anymore. 

Sam clapped his shoulder when Dean seemed to be passed the worst of it. “There he is,” he offered a smile. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“I did?” Dean scoffed in a breathless voice, like he just ran for miles. “Look at you!” He gestured to Sam kneeling on the ground. “Are you hurt? Is Jack ok?”

Sam couldn’t help the soft chuckle. He was glad Dean was able to bounce back to himself, even though that meant he was focused on everyone else’s wellbeing. 

“I’m ok.” Sam said, now trying not to laugh. “Really I’m ok — we’re ok,” he put his hand to his belly to emphasize his point. “You’re just going to have to help me up.” 

“Yeah …” Dean said as he attempted to stand up.

The amusement fell from Sam's face as Dean struggled to stand up. Dean refused any help, like he usually did, leaving Sam helpless to do anything but watch and hope that he’s ok. After a moment, Dean helped Sam up to his feet and looked him over.

“I’m ok.” Sam said. “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m pretty sure Jack’s throwing a tantrum for waking him up, but we’re ok.” 

Dean nodded and patted Sam’s arm before going to the trunk to get the mouthwash.

“How long have you been having panic attacks?” Sam asked after Dean had a chance to rinse out his mouth.

“What?!” Dean almost hit his head on the trunk. “Dude, I’m not having panic attacks. I must have been poisoned or food poisoning, or something.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow, as if to raise the question Dean already did himself. He hated how smart Sam was sometimes — how intune they were with each other. It made it impossible to keep anything to himself. Though he knew he shouldn’t. Not now. 

“Dean, you made me promise not to keep anything from you. Given the circumstances,” he gestured to his belly to make his point, “I’ve kept my end of the bargain. Even if it might hurt you. Please …” Sam’s breath hitched and he had to compose himself before he could continue. “Please give me the same god damn courtesy.” He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking scared, man. I can’t be worried that you’re keeping things from me.” 

Dean let out a chuckle. “I think we’ve killed and burned the no-chick-flick rule.” 

Sam glared at Dean, thinking he was deflecting again. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He shut the trunk and leaned against the car, his eyes far away in thought. “You’re right, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I am. But Sam … it’s a lot. And I know you know that. Dad …”

“Is a bastard.” Sam finished for his brother, hearing the falter in his voice. “Always has been. That's why I had to leave. I had to find my own path. Without him.”

Dean nodded and he rubbed the stubble on his face. “I think for the first time, I get that.” 

Sam felt this warmth flood his chest. This overwhelming feeling he didn’t know how to explain. Like there had been a part of him wanting to hear those words from his brother all these years. Like he finally had permission not to feel guilty for leaving Dean behind. 

“Sammy, I don’t know what comes next or what you’ll want. Hell, I’m not sure what I want anymore.” He shook his head before meeting Sam’s eyes. “But, we don’t cut each other off ever again. You’re stuck with me, baby brother.”

Before Sam could say anything, Dean started frantically emptying the pockets of his jacket. Then he threw it on the ground some distance from the car before getting the lighter fluid from the trunk. The entire action was so casual, it left Sam speechless even as the jacket was lit a blaze. Their father’s jacket. 

Sam took a deep breath as he watched the jacket slowly turn to ash. He understood what Dean was doing, but to Sam, it didn’t feel like the clouser his brother was after. Not with his father out there, threatening them. But he hoped it gave Dean some relief. He wanted his brother to know some semblance of peace. 

Chapter Text

The smell of sulfur burned his nose.

He shouldn’t have tried to ignore that. The rational side of his continuous brain would have known that. But after two days living out of the Impala, Sam was well past rational.

He tried to turn away, telling himself they were driving past a fracking operation or something similar, but that voice compelled him to open his eyes. He didn’t recognize it. He couldn’t even understand what the voice was saying. But it just felt familiar. 

“Are we there yet, Dean?” Sam muttered as he opened his eyes. His brain taking longer than he’d like to wake up with the rest of him. “Or did you finally … crap out?”

His voice faltered with his second question as he was clearly not in the Impala or anywhere close to Ohio. He wasn’t even in a car of any kind. 

All Sam could see in every direction was an empty black nothing. An abyss worse than the basement he couldn’t let himself even think about anymore. The only thing this empty hell had were two red dots in the distance that seemed to follow all Sam’s frantic movements. He almost choked on a sob when he realized those were eyes, and he knew exactly who’s eyes those were.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, turning away from the eyes.

“Big brother can’t save you this time, Sammy boy.” It was the voice. The one that woke him. The one that he shouldn’t be able to remember. “Never could. No matter how hard he tries.”

Sam turned to that voice, his head spinning. His chest clenched when he saw those inhuman, splotchy yellow eyes. The ones that haunted his nightmares as a young child, and lead to Dean nicknaming the creature the Yellow Eyes. 

“This isn’t real …” Sam took half a step back. “This can’t be real!” 

“You’re getting older, Sammy boy. You’re coming into your abilities.” He looked down at Sam’s abdomen. In this nightmare, he didn’t have the swell of Jack’s presence, but the implication was there. “That rugrat is really speeding things along. Normally my children don’t see their abilities come in until after they’re twenty-third year on this monkey infested space rock. But, I’m pretty sure you would have been an early bloomer without your little sidekick. You were already having visions. But with him ...” He shook his head in astonishment. Sam swore he could see pride in those alien eyes. "I can't even imagine. This is a first for me, too."

“Children?” Sam choked out stupidly. He realized as he spoke that this was the dumbest part to focus on, but he couldn’t help it. The fear gripping at his insides compelled him. “What do you mean your children?”

“Not my flesh and blood children. Well … not in the sense that the idiom would imply.” Yellow Eyes’ laugh was cold and calculating, like the rest of his demeanor. “You have my blood, Sam. Like Jack has Lucifer’s grace. And like Jack, that makes you different. But you’re special. More special than any of my children.” He glanced back at Lucifer’s floating eyes. “My children have caused what you might call great atrocities and holocausts, but they were all in effort of my rebellion.” 

Sam glanced between Yellow Eyes and Lucifer, quickly realizing what this rebellion was about.

“But you, you would have finally turned the tides.” Yellow Eyes continued. “All those demons I’ve collected over the millenium, the army I’ve built, would all be worth it with Lucifer’s vessel. Now those plans mean nothing.” 

“Vessel?” Sam was now growing angry. “I’m no one’s vessel! Much less his!” He pointed to the floating eyes. “My son won’t be like him either — I’ll be around to make sure of that!”

Yellow Eyes just smiled for a moment. It was disturbing. He almost looked proud. “This is why you would have been the perfect general. You’re determined. What lesser men might call stubborn.” 

“I don’t care! I don’t care what powers I have! I don’t care about your filthy blood!” Sam snapped. “When I’m on my feet, I’ll use these abilities to hunt you down. And I’ll kill you.” 

The anger that was bubbling to the surface was primal. Like nothing Sam had experienced in himself before, but he’d seen it. Everytime Sam’s life was put in danger or he did something incredibly stupid, he saw that anger burn in Dean’s eyes. The kind of determination and rage that would let a mother lift a car off her baby. 

If he wasn’t in this endless pit, he might have taken pause at that.

“Sam is it possible that we could be on the same side?” Yellow Eyes raised an eyebrow. “Amicus meus, inimicus inimici mei? Or, if you haven’t kept up with your latin: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Sam scoffed. “You’re delusional. You poisoned me and killed my mother. You just admitted to causing God knows how much damage over time. My job is to kill things like you.” 

“Your job,” Yellow Eyes mused. “Very interesting. We’ll see how you change your mind with the wrath of Heaven closing in.” 

Sam didn’t have a chance to respond. He felt this blow to the chest like all the air had been forced from his lungs, and suddenly he opened his eyes to a blinding bright light. The sun, evidently. He was in the Impala again as though he never left. In reality, he probably never did.

Dean opened the driver side door only moments after Sam woke from his nightmare, making the younger Winchester jump in a way that made his back twinge.

“Easy, little-big man! Easy!” Dean chuckled. “I come bearing burritos!” He held up the bag like a sacrificial offering before getting in. “We’re on a college campus, so they had that all-vegetable crap you eat.”

Sam cleared his throat and sat up more carefully. “Thanks.” He took his burrito and looked around. “A campus — we’re here?” 

Dean nodded. “I called Gabriel already. Cas told him we were coming, apparently. So, at least we don’t have to worry about getting him to play along. I’m pretty sure Cas put the fear of God in him,” he paused to appreciate the irony, a snort of laughter escaping him. “Anyway, no tricks. He was really clear on that front.”

“I wonder what Cas said.” Sam muttered, just looking at the foil wrapped lunch in his hand.

Dean now realized something was wrong with Sam. 

Normally, Dean would just write off his reluctance to eat as Sam’s picky-eating. His little brother was very particular about his food, and there were times he wouldn’t eat simply because what they had made him sick. Even when they hadn’t eaten in days, Sam would complain that the greasy food made him ill or that Funyuns are, in fact, not a real vegetable. But this wasn’t his usual picky-eating grimace.

“Last night …” He let out a sigh. He was still struggling to share his feelings as freely as Sam needed him to. But he was fairly certain this was the only way to get Sam to open up right now. Like jumpstarting a car. “Last night, I had a nightmare. One of the mom ones I used to have when we were little.” He took a big bite of his burrito and continued with his mouth full, “now you.”

Sam’s eyes sparked to life, as though his brain lept at the chance for a distraction. “I thought those stopped when you were like eight. How long has this been going on?”

“First one in almost two decades.” Dean shrugged, his mouth still full. “No idea why it’s starting again — if it’s starting again. We’ll deal with that later. What’s eating you.”

The light left Sam’s eyes and he slumped in his seat. It didn’t escape Dean notice that Sam tried to make himself smaller whenever he was uncomfortable. 

“Is it those thoughts?” Dean pressed. 

Sam shook his head no. “They’re still there. Anytime I have to take my pants off, they’re worse. But, no … that’s not it.” He took a deep breath as he tried to organize his thoughts. “Cas showed you the past — right? The deal mom made … the demon blood?” His voice hitched, his hormone fueled emotions threatening to take over. “Did Cas … did he say what demon blood does to a person?”

Dean furrowed his brow. “Sammy, what’s going on?”

Sam blinked away a few tears. “I’ve told you about the premonitions. The feeling something was going to happen weeks before that night. Outright visions like the motel tub. I thought I was just going crazy.”

“Sam, you’re going to tell me right now what happened.” Dean said a little too harshly. When he was a kid, Sam would call it Dean's dad voice. “I don’t care if it’s insane. I need to know.”

“I think I’m psychic.” Sam blurted out, lost for any other explanation. “I think the demon blood gave me psychic abilities.”

“Like,” Dean raised his voice to mimic the psychic from Poltergeist, “this house is clean?” He cleared his throat and returned to his normal speaking voice. “That kinda psychic?”

“Dean, I think Yellow Eyes is talking to me.” Sam said with a sense of urgency that worried his brother.

“The demon?” Dean blinked a few times as he tried to process this new information. “The demon that started all this crap?”

Sam nodded helplessly.

“Is this the first time?” Dean asked, now his voice was filled with the same urgency.

Sam nodded again. “It didn’t feel like a dream. It … it felt like he was in the room with me. But I wasn't in the car."

Dean swallowed hard, trying not to let his anger explode. It was clear that Sam was terrified, the last thing he needed was his brother going off the handle.

“Ok …” Dean said after a moment. His eyes darting as he worked out a plan. “Ok, here’s what we’re going to do.” He met Sam’s eyes. “I’m going to call Cas and you’re going to have your lunch. Then we’re going to meet this archangel and get you fixed. Then we go from there. Got it?”

Sam nodded once more. That seemed to be all he could do.

Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “It’s ok, Sammy. I’ve got you.”

He watched Dean get out, and make a phone call. The hopelessness seemed to subsided with those simple words, though Sam wished he didn't have to depend on his brother as much as he did. For Dean's sake more than anything. 

Sam let out a deep sigh and unwrapped his burrito. His stomach growled and Jack kicked at the smell of roasted habanero and fresh homemade tortilla. Sam took a bite and rubbed his belly. He was craving a Three Musketeers bar again, and his mind wondered to the debate he'd been having on whether these cravings were Jack's tastes or not. The kid loved sweets as much as his uncle, if that were the case. 

A few tears pricked at Sam's eyes, and he remembered how happy today is supposed to be. He couldn't let this demon or Lucifer take this joy away from them. Not after everything he already lost. He needed this win. To know in a few weeks, he would have Jack and still be alive. That was the only thing that had kept him going over the last week — and it would keep him going as long as it took. 

But looking out at his brother's very animated conversation with their angelic helper gave Sam pause. Nothing could ever be simple for a Winchester, he thought. 

Chapter Text

In a secluded parking lot on a small college campus sat an outdated Winnebago. Kubrick had been meaning to update for a while now and he actually had his eye on a new Georgetown, but that would have to wait. He had far more important matters now. 

His phone rang again and JW appeared on the small screen. He ignored it, as he had been ignoring John’s calls all morning. 

He couldn’t believe how he let himself be misled. How far he strayed. 

The ones who called themselves Zechariah and Uriel couldn’t be angels. He didn’t accept that anymore. No angel would stand in the way of God’s will. Regardless if this child was the Antichrist or Christ himself returned, these were the last days. These were the events of Revelations. No one could possibly convince him otherwise. He doesn't know how he didn't see it until now.

Kubrick let out a sigh when the phone stopped ringing. He couldn't stand that sound anymore. He couldn’t stand the thought of John, period. 

He sat down with a cup of cheap coffee and looked over Winchesters movements over the last few hours and little information he’d been able to collect on this janitor they seemed to be meeting. In the short time he had to gather information, he couldn’t figure out why the Winchesters were so keen to meet this man, but he supposed it didn’t matter. It only mattered that he knew where the Winchesters were and that he was prepared for anything.

His preferred revolver sat on the table in front of him, freshly cleaned, along with an old wooden box that looked like it belonged in a different time. He was ready to kill whatever got between him and his new mission, but he only had five bullets to kill anything that wasn’t human. He had to be judicious. He knew he only had one opportunity. 

The phone rang again, and Kubrick took the battery out. Nothing was going to stop him. 

Sam sat at an old linoleum table, biting his nails as his brother and Castiel debated the meaning of Sam’s vision — or was it a communication? He wasn’t even sure if it happened, or what was real anymore. He felt like he was losing his mind. 

The archangel they came all this way to see, leaned against the counter, his arms crossed and his eyes far away. On the surface, it looked like he was disassociating. Sam could understand that. His family’s problems didn’t seem as terrible when compare to the angels, and his father had been actively trying to kill him for the last two months. However, on second glance, it looked more like Gabriel was contemplating something. 

“Dean!” Castiel called out, growing frustrated with the older Winchester’s ranting. “Dean,” his voice became softer when Dean jumped. “I’m worried about this revelation, too. I never heard of Demon’s using the corrupted blood of their vessels to do … well, anything.”

“I have.” Gabriel muttered. 

Everyone turned to look at Gabriel. It worried both Sam and Dean to see Castiel so surprised. 

“What are you talking about?” Dean’s voice faltered, exposing his fear despite himself.

“After Yeshua’s — Jesus’ murder, I couldn’t go back to my father and I couldn’t stay in Judea. I wasn't supposed to watch over the kid anyway. Now, I know why that was the plan." He shrugged. "Guess I'm just a softy. Anyway, I abandoned my vessel and sought out my true vessel. After a few modifications, that’s the mug I’ve still got.” Gabriel sighed and rubbed his temple, mustering the will to continue. He was clearly distressed by these memories. “I enjoyed my time with the Celts, especially the Druids, but the Romans did the only thing they seemed to be good at. I positioned myself in Commodus court. I thought he was just another sadistic human, but one night, I saw it — he was drinking blood from a demon acting as his lover.”

Dean had a face that looked equal parts horrified and disgusted. Sam himself wasn't sure how to react to the idea if purposely drinking demon blood either. 

“I don’t know if Commodus was … related to Azazel in any way, but he had powers,” Gabriel explained. “He would infuse his favorite gladiators with parts of demon essence and control them like his own puppets.”

“What does any of this have to do with Sam?!” Dean demanded.

“Dean, if that’s what a grown adult given enough demon blood can do, what would happen to a baby?” Sam asked. It was the first time he said anything since Castiel’s arrival. 

“Not just any demon — the Prince of Hell.” Gabriel felt compelled to add.

Dean decided to ignore Gabriel, and instead focus on his brother. “Commando or whoever was clearly a sick bastard. You’re not. You’re … well, you’re Sam. I don’t know anyone else with a heart as big as yours. Sammy, when you were eight, you didn’t let me teach your bully a lesson because he had it hard enough at home.”

Sam blinked away a few tears and nodded. “Thanks, Dean.”

It was hard to tell if Sam believed him or not. He spoke in that sad, flat tone that he used when he thought Dean was too close to something to understand. Though, Dean supposed it wasn't the pressing issue at the moment. 

“Ok,” Dean clapped his hands together. “Let’s get on with what we came here for in the first place. Then we can solve the problems of the universe.”

“Well, it’s the one good thing I can do in this whole mess.” Gabriel pushed off the counter and started to look over Sam. “This is going to be painful. The kid’s almost done cooking, and he’s strong. His grace isn’t going to like going into a box. But, they’ll be ok. Just ... don’t stop me once I start.” 

Dean glanced at Castiel, but the look in the angel’s eyes were begging Dean not to interfere. He only knew Castiel a few weeks, but those big blue eyes did something to Dean, and compelled him to comply. He didn’t like it, but that wasn’t the most important thing on his mind at that particular moment. 

Gabriel put a hand on Sam’s belly. It didn’t take long for the archangel’s eyes to become bright blue lights, then those glowing veins spread over Sam’s skin. Only after a second or two, Sam threw his head back, crying out in pain as the light between them got brighter.

Castiel had to stop Dean from intervening. All of his instincts screamed at him to stop what was hurting his baby brother, even if he knew that it was for Sam and Jack's collective good.

The entire process couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, but it was the worst minute of Dean’s life. When he was finally able to run to his brother, Dean knelt in front of Sam, holding his face as he looked Sam over. 

Gabriel seemed equally exhausted, collapsing in the chair across from Sam. Castiel took as much care for Gabriel as Dean did for Sam, keeping his hand on his brother’s shoulder. 

“You gotta do right by that kid, now.” Gabriel said with a weak voice. “I’m not going through that again, and I’m not watching the kid turn evil.”

Sam nodded, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to tell his brother that he was fine.

The four sat in silence after that. Sam and Gabriel both trying to catch their breath.

For a moment, it was peaceful. Things looked good, even if the Demon was after them, along with almost every angel in existence and their own father. They accomplished something, and Sam was going to be ok. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a loud crash broke that peace. 

Chapter Text

Dean’s ears were ringing as he came to. His shoulder was killing him. Killing him was an understatement. It was the worst pain he can remember. It almost felt like his arm was ripped off. The pain made him finch and reach for the injury as he started to regain consciousness, but a hand stopped him. He couldn’t see anything in the bright lights overhead, just strange shadowy figures hovering above him. 

From behind him, he thought he could hear Sam yelling his name and an incoherent woman’s voice following every call of his name. Dean tried to call for his brother, but it was getting hard to keep his eyes open and there was something over his mouth that muffled his words.

He was starting to panic, now. But the more he fought, the more his shoulder hurt. Then there was this sudden warmth that quickly spread through his body. Like he was floating in a giant bath. There was no more pain, let alone coherent thought. Everything above him got blurry as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Dean gave one more weak try to call for his brother before slipping back into darkness. 

After Dean was taken into the OR, the nurse who had been holding him back insisted Sam be examined in the emergency room. Regardless of Sam’s height and overall masculine appearance, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was pregnant at this stage. Especially for a nurse. 

Sam wanted to argue against it. He didn’t want to be poked and prodded by god knows how many doctors and nurses, and he didn’t want to go through another pelvic exam. Frankly, he would prefer to never take his pants off in front of anyone else ever again. But at the same time, he couldn't deny that something felt wrong. Anytime he moved, there was a strange stab of pain in his lower abdomen. It didn’t feel like contractions, Braxton-Hicks or otherwise — and he wasn’t glowing. Though after what Gabriel did, he wasn’t sure if he would still glow when he went into labor. After a long agonizing moment and a flash of pain in the region he’d rather not talk about, Sam decided to give in for Jack’s sake. They put him in a wheelchair and whisked him away in the opposite direction of Dean. 

The emergency room nurses ran a few blood tests and hooked Sam up to an ECG and a FECG, giving him terrible memories of the night he arrived at that hospital in Salt Lake. The pelvic exam was mercifully quick, and Sam was allowed to sit in a chair in his own clothes while he waited for the blood test results. Even with his shirt rucked up to acomiadate the band of the FECG, there was a dignity in wearing the clothes he was comfortable in. 

The doctor’s best estimate was that the stress was causing false labor symptoms, but he couldn’t see anything wrong or any other potential cause for the pain. He decided against an ultrasound until they had the blood test results.

Sam didn’t really hear the doctor. Only that was fine. Well, physically he was fine. Sam knew his mind was an entirely new level of broken long before any of this — long before Bliss and the basement, and every cosmic force in existence coming after him and his kid. Still, the last hour of his life didn’t help his already delicate mental state. His mind was still replaying those terrible few seconds, blocking out anything that was happening in front of him. He could still see that man from Colorado kicking down the door and shooting blindly into the small apartment. It was like a movie that wouldn’t stop playing in his head.

He shot Gabriel almost as soon as he was through the door. This light burst though Gabriel and he collapsed within seconds. The scorch mark of wings forming on either side of him. It was so fast — so unceremonious. It was not the end that Sam would imagine for an archangel, not that he ever really put thought to it. 

Castiel was shot within a second of his brother, but he didn’t go down like Gabriel. He collapsed to his knees and held where he was shot in the thigh.This ripple of light ran through him at the point of the injury, but he lived. He tried to save Dean after he healed himself enough, but the injury was like nothing the angel had experienced. He couldn’t heal his own leg fully. He could only do enough to ensure that he and Dean would live, but the older Winchester still needed medical attention.

Dean had charged the man, taking a shot to the shoulder as he wrestled the gun away. He still managed to get the strange gun away and unload it into the man. Sam could still see him collapse to the ground in the aftermath, screaming for Sam to run. It was the worst part of any of it, and Sam could see it on the hospital floor as clearly as the poorly repaired tile next to his foot. 

He couldn’t leave his brother like that. No matter what danger they were in, he couldn't leave Dean on the ground to die. He wouldn't! No matter what. 

Sam buried his head in his hands, trying to hide the tears as the memories became this swirling black pit of guilt. Like ghost circling him. 

He just got Dean back. It was a shoulder wound, of course. But something felt ... wrong. The injury looked wrong. Castiel, an angel, called it wrong. It left this twisting feeling in his guts, and the pain was back. He was sure he was going to be sick.

Sam kept telling himself that Castiel said Dean would live, but he still had this overwhelming feeling that something was terribly wrong. This guilt and fear was threatening to swallow him whole. 

He was a curse. He felt like a blight on everyone who had the misfortune of crossing his path. Like no matter what he did — no matter what he intended to do, it would all go spectacularly wrong. 

He was trying to stifle sobs when he heard a knock at the door.

“I’m fine!” Sam snapped. His faltering under the weight of a sob. 

The nurse still opened the door.

“I said that I’m —” 

All the rage fell from Sam’s eyes when he looked up. His eyes betraying the whirlwind of emotions racing through his mind.

“Bobby …” was all Sam could say.

“Um,” the nurse said uncomfortably. “This man claimed to be your father. I’m sorry, he followed me. I can —” 

“Stepfather,” Sam and Bobby corrected simultaneously. 

It was a cover they once used when Dean got himself arrested and Bobby bailed him out. The white lie came back to Sam so naturally. If he could process any thoughts beyond an internal debate on whether this was a terrible, demon induced nightmare, he’d probably find that funny. 

“I’ll leave you two, then.” The nurse was still uncomfortable. “Your blood test results should be ready within the hour. We’ll come and get you.” 

When they were alone, Bobby sat beside Sam who was still bewildered and speechless.

“How are you feeling?” Bobby asked, his eyes shifting from Sam to the monitors near him. “Castiel told me that you were —”

“Wait …” Sam held a hand up to keep Bobby from asking anything else. “Wait, you spoke to Cas? When? How’d he find you so quickly?”

Bobby looked down at his lap. Even with part of his face hidden behind a trucker hat, Sam still recognized the shame in Bobby’s posture. 

“What happened Bobby?” Sam asked, his voice cracking with the threat of more tears. “After that phone call …” He swallowed hard, finding it hard to finish the question. “We thought you were dead, Bobby — or good as. What happened?”

“I should be.” Bobby sighed. “The same day Castiel convinced me to give up the pity party, your old man’s friends caught up to me. They burned down the house. I thought it was better that John thinks I’m dead. Gives you two some cover.”

“Some cover.” Sam muttered. Though he immediately regretted his venomous sarcasm.

“Yeah …” Bobby sighed. “I heard about Colorado … and Gabriel.”

Sam wiped a tear from his eyes. His heart rate was elevated, but not enough that a barrage of nurses would separate them.

“I learned something.” Bobby added after a moment. “I don’t think the angels helping John want to kill Jack. I think they want to use him. John more or less said it from the beginning.” 

Sam’s eyes flicked back and forth for a moment as he slowly processed that possibility. He didn’t like where this was going. 

Bobby patted Sam’s thigh. “When Dean’s back on his feet again, we have a lot to discuss. You two are coming home with me.” 

“H-home?” Sam stammered out.

“Well, I’ve been calling it home.” Bobby shrugged. “Better than: hole in the ground that I’m trapped in with the world's worst roommates.” 

Sam blinked stupidly for a moment. 

Bobby gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry I put you boys through this. It'll make sense ... eventually. I promise. 

Chapter Text

Dean’s surgery was short, much to Sam and Bobby’s relief. According to his surgeon, the bullet didn’t damage anything important, but he did have to remove some necrotic tissue around the wound. It would leave an awful scar. Sam was sure Dean would find a way to show it off. The thought was enough to make him laugh in his giddy relief. 

The doctor seemed concerned about something, but whatever was on his mind, he had no intention of explaining himself. Quite possibly due to Sam's so-called delicate condition, as Sam overheard a nurse call it. Though Sam was fairly certain it was the necrosis. That worried Sam too, if he were being honest. 

That’s when it hit him. The gun killed an angel and wounded another — not just an angel, an archangel. That was no normal weapon. 

Another stab of pain ripped through Sam, now accompanied by an intense headache. Unlike the pain in his abdomen, the headache was persistent and getting worse with each passing second. He couldn't string together a coherent thought, let alone contemplate the nature of the strange gun.

While studying for his finales in his freshman year at Stanford, Sam experienced migraines for the first time. The doctor at the on-campus clinic said that Sam was simply fatigued, dehydrated, and drinking too much caffeine. He was probably a little stressed too, but a case of Gatorade and nearly ten hours of sleep later, he was back to himself again.

He hadn’t experienced anything like that since, and he wasn’t sure if he was having one now. This was worse than the migraine he had before.

“Sam?” 

A solid, grounding hand gripped his shoulder tight.

“What’s going on?” Bobby’s voice cracked with worry. “What hurts? Your head?”

“Let me have a look,” Dean’s surgeon said, and Bobby stepped aside. “Hey, Sam, look at me.”

Sam tried to open his eyes, but the fluorescent lights made everything worse. He gasped in pain, shielding his eyes from the lights overhead. The beeping from his heart monitors only made everything so much worse.  

“Sam?! Talk to me, kid!” Bobby yelled from beside the doctor. If Sam could open his eyes, he would see the panic and helplessness in the kind eyes that always brought him so much comfort. “What’s going on?!”

“Does he have a history of migraine?" The doctor asked, then he seemed to turn his attention from Bobby. “Hey, go get his attending — and call L&D!”

A woman was now speaking, but the sounds melted away along with the room.

At first, all Sam saw was a bright white light. Then shadowy outlines of a person began to form. It was blurry, but Sam thought he could see Pastor Jim. He was looking Jim in the eye — he couldn’t have been more than an inch or two taller than Jim, which wasn’t right. They were in his church. He wanted to reach out and touch Jim, ask him what the hell was going on, but there was a gunshot. The room flashed like an old film projector, and the next thing Sam saw was Jim on the floor, holding his chest. Then another flash and the church was gone. 

His eyes open, wide and wild. He was breathing heavily, and he could feel his heart beating in his chest. Jack had been kicking and squirming, too. He could feel the light taps against his hand — he didn’t even remember putting his hand on his belly.

A nurse told him to take deep breaths. Sam nodded and started to take calming breaths. The heart monitor stopped its frantic beeping soon enough, and the frenzy in the small room quieted down. 

The doctor who did his intake was standing over him, and soon another doctor joined them. She didn’t even bother to knock, the sign of a true emergency. 

Sam was still shaken by what he saw. He imagined that it must have come off as confusion which sparked a debate between the two doctors. His emergency room doctor wanted to run an MRI and possibly other imaging. He used a lot of medical jargon that went over Sam’s head to justify his position, but the doctor who turned out to be an OBGYN was adamant against introducing an unnecessary risk. She insinuated that Sam was high risk simply by virtue of who he was — well, what she perceived him to be. 

Sam still wasn’t feeling himself, but he saw red and he had no inhibitions stopping him from acting on that anger at the moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of seeing someone he loved dead on the floor of a place he thought as safe, or a lifetime of being treated like a burden who couldn’t take care of himself. Either way, he finally, well and truly, had enough.

“Hey!” Sam stood up a little too fast. He almost lost his balance, though he didn’t care at that particular moment. He was far too angry to care, and it showed. “I’m right fucking here! Stop talking about me like — like some lab experiment!” He began to untether himself to the ECG before ripping off the FECG. “I played along because I thought something was wrong with my son. I’ve been here for nearly three hours. Nothing’s wrong. You would have found it by now, or you would have run a god damn ultrasound! Something — anything but make me sit on my ass with that beeping! I’m done!” He fixed his shirt and found his jacket with Dean’s effects. “I’m going to see my brother. You so much as touch me again, it won’t end well. Now …” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Where's recovery?”

Dean wasn’t awake when Sam found him. According to his doctor, he’d only just woken up from the anesthesia. It was probably still working through his system along with whatever pain medication they gave him, Sam rationalized. 

He was a little pale and his arm was in a sling, the bandage peaking out of his hospital gown. But overall, Dean looked like himself. It was a relief to Sam, even though Dean had taken far worse hit. Sam simply couldn’t shake the sense of wrongness, so it meant everything to have unquestionable proof that Dean was ok. 

He would have gone in to sit with Dean, but a firm grip stopped him from moving forward. He turned to see Bobby. He had the exasperated, concerned expression of an exhausted father. It broke Sam’s heart.

Then it came back to him all at once: Pastor Jim. It was like the fog of anger dissipated all at once, and he was left in the wreckage of whatever he witnessed. He couldn't tell if they were premonitions or just his anxiety manifesting in a terrible way. Either way, it scared the hell out of him. He could still see Jim on the floor of his church, blood pooling around him. He hoped this wasn't something his mind was capable of conjuring on its own. 

“Oh god …” Sam muttered. He met Bobby’s eyes, his own terrified. “I think something’s happened, Bobby. Or it’s gonna happen soon. Terrible — something terrible. D-do you have Pastor Jim’s number?”

“Sam, slow down.” Bobby gestured to a bench and urged Sam to sit down. “What happened with your head back there? And what do you think is going to happen to Jim?”

Sam sat down carefully and squeezed his eyes shut to try to will away the horrifying images in his head. Bobby was worried he was having another attack of some kind, but then Sam spoke.

“I have these … visions.” Sam muttered, still pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he looked up at Bobby and continued. “These flashes — fragments of the future. I think. They’re getting stronger.”

Bobby’s eyes slowly shifted from one side to the other as he tried to process what Sam was telling him. Sam knew Bobby heard worse. Hell, he knew a few psychics. But this was not like anything either of them had dealt with.

“It’s not because of Jack or what happened.” Sam continued, resting a hand on his belly. “They were different last year. Weaker. But, I had this feeling that I was going to be jumped in that parking lot. I thought I was just being paranoid. Or Dean was following me around school again.” He put his head in his free hand. “I’ve always been broken … and I can’t make it right, no matter how hard I try. Gabriel died because I — I —”

“You aren’t broken.” Bobby sat next to Sam, putting an arm around him. “Nothing is wrong with you — you got that? You’re a pain in the ass, and so is that idjit of a brother you have. But, you are not broken,” Bobby emphasizes each individual word to give them weight. “We’ll figure this out.”

Sam kept his gaze fixed on his lap, tears welling in his eyes. He hated feeling like this. Out of control. Like he was tailspinning. 

“Bobby,” He said after a moment. “C-can you call Jim? Just give me some peace of mind?”

Bobby patted Sam’s knee a couple of times before getting up. He then held out his hand and said, “Give me the keys. I’ll get your car while I’m at it. When’d you last eat?”

Sam had to think about the answer. “Four … maybe five hours ago.” He shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

“What if I can scrounge you up a salad or something light like that?” Bobby asked. “Will you eat just a little?”

Sam sighed and nodded, relenting. He truly didn’t feel like eating, but he would do anything to alleviate Bobby’s anxiety at that moment. 

Bobby simply took the keys and made his way down the hall, leaving Sam to gather himself outside his brother’s recovery room.

When Bobby was out of sight, Sam sighed and stood up to approach that window once more. Dean was still asleep and thankfully heard none of what they had said. He’d keep his promise to Dean and tell him everything. Just when he was more sober and Sam knew a bit more about Jim’s condition. For now, he just wanted to sit quietly with his brother, take the win that Dean was ok and still with him.