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Dean probably shouldn't have been up the ladder. But he figured a tiny stepladder couldn't cause any harm as he changed the light bulb over the ceiling of their bathroom. These days, house chores are all he can do to not climb up the walls bored out of his mind. Because in this damn town nobody wants to hire a twenty-two weeks pregnant guy, as if he's not capable of working in his current state. As it is, Sam is left with the responsibility of bringing home the bacon until Dean can actually get a job. While Dean spends his days at the one level open-floor farmhouse they got themselves after all this pregnancy mess started.
Apple-freaking-pie life. They are normal now, and some days Dean has trouble associating Sam and himself with the guys that stopped the apocalypse. Who would have thought this is how their lives would turn out? Not Dean that's for sure.
So, he's up the ladder, changing the light bulb while Sam is somewhere talking on the phone with one of his co-workers. When he sort of has a dizzy spell out of nowhere, and he grasps for purchase with the shower curtains but in his haste, his foot gets caught between the steps of the ladder and the toilet, and down he goes. He barely registers the pain and the sound of his skull crashing against the bathroom sink corner, before his body hits the floor and everything goes black.
2.
Sam hears a loud thud and pauses in the middle of his conversation. “Uh, David, wait a sec,” he says to the phone. “Dean?” He calls apprehensively. He calls again when there is no answer. “Hey, I will call you back.” He manages to tell David before hastily hanging up and walking fast towards the bathroom all the while still calling Dean's name.
When he opens the door and finds Dean on the floor unconscious with blood pooling under his head, Sam forgets to breathe for a few seconds. Until his hunter instinct kicks in and he's in motion. He steps over his brother, before kneeling next to him in the cramped space left between him and the bathroom sink. His eyes fall on the smear of blood on the now chipped corner of the sink.
Shit.
“Dammit, Dean.” Sam breathes out. He grabs Dean's jaw, moving his head slowly. The left side of his face is a mess of blood, and while Sam can see that the blood is coming from Dean's hairline, he can't make up how bad it is because of it. He forces himself not to panic, even though his hands are slightly shaking and his heart is trying to fly out of his chest. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot no matter how little they are, all those years of hunting and his dad training had taught them that. Still, it's scary, and Sam has to swallow the bile rising from the fear of how badly hurt Dean could be.
He has to get Dean to the hospital. There is no way he's playing nurse with something so serious like this.
Sam scans the rest of Dean's body, searching for any other injuries before attempting to move him. His hand lands on Dean's pregnant belly, wishing he could feel the baby move like Dean has been able to for a couple of weeks already. Cupping the swell lovingly he prays the baby didn't get hurt with the fall.
As he continues his assessing he sees Dean's socked feet caught between the ladder steps. He sets the task to untangle his feet first, thankful Dean wasn't wearing his boots as it would make it more difficult to get them out in the tiny space. With that done, Sam calculates how to best get Dean out of the bathroom and out to the Impala, and all he can think of is dragging Dean out to the hall, where Sam will have enough space to get him up in his arms. He reaches for one of the hand towels hanging on the wall and presses slightly over the head wound to stop the blood.
That's when Dean makes a soft pained sound.
“Dean? Hey, c'mon, wake up.” Sam coaches anxiously. If Dean is able to wake up, it eases his worry a little.
Dean groans, licking his lips, and then slowly opens his eyes into slits.
Sam can't help the choked relieved sound that leaves his mouth. “There you are.”
“S'm?” Dean slurs, eyebrows knitting in confusion, before hissing as the movement pulls on his head wound.
“You fell from the ladder, dude,” Sam explains, peaking at the towel to see if the blood had started flowing. Sam's lips purse when he sees it hasn't. “Gotta take you to the hospital.”
Dean looks at him, confusion still present on his face. Sam can't really see his eyes, as Dean keeps squinting at him like the soft sunlight covering the bathroom is too much for him, but he guesses his pupils must be blown. Sam has seen Dean have enough concussions to know the signs.
“Think you can walk?” He asks because Dean is now awake and if Sam tried to carry him he would punch him. Concussed or not.
“Yeah,” Dean croaks slowly. He blinks a few times, and then he's sitting up before Sam can help him.
“Jesus, man, take it easy.” Sam chastises, taking a hold of Dean's swaying upper body.
He's not surprised when Dean's face goes green, and he barely has time to turn to the side Sam is not currently occupying to puke what he had for lunch all over the floor and wall.
“Crap,” Sam murmurs, rubbing Dean's back softly.
Dean dry heaves until nausea passes, and coughs before spitting the taste of the puke out of his mouth. “Ugh,” he whines, right hand holding his head in pain.
Sam gives him a minute to recoup. “Alright, ready to stand?” Sam asks apprehensively. If it was up to him, they would be in the car already driving to the hospital, but he has to give Dean his time.
Dean exhales, hand falling onto his lap. He looks like he's about to pass out again, and Sam can't have that.
“Dean, hey, stay awake.” He commands, tapping Dean's cheek.
Dean slaps Sam's hand annoyed, but he's back to paying attention.
“We’re getting up now, okay?” Sam asks again.
Dean grunts softly, which Sam takes as a yes.
“At the count of three,” Sam instructs, positioning his arms around Dean's hips and underarm to take most of his weight. Dean helps, as much as he can when they get to three, but Sam is glad that he lets him do most of the work and at the same time it concerns him.
His train of thought is interrupted when Dean yelps, toppling over, and almost falling back on the floor. Sam huffs with the added weight and moves quickly to take a better hold of him. They end up awkwardly hugging, with Dean panting erratically against Sam's neck. Sam's concern escalates, and he feels the need to move this faster.
“Fuck,” Dean grunts, voiced laced with pain. He shifts unbalanced, as he fists Sam's shirt for dear life. “My foot,” He manages to explain between his ragged breaths.
Sam curses. “Okay, don't put weight on it,” He exhales, begging his own nerves to calm down, and trying to come up with another way to get out and avoid Dean more pain.
But Dean starts to slide down, his body like a ragdoll losing all his strength.
“No, Dean, you gotta-” Sam shouts alarmed, holding him up. “C'mon man, you need to stay up. Don't go lazy on me.” He pleads, quickly thinking of what he could do. He wants to keep Dean's dignity, but he's in too much pain and Sam is running out of options here. “You're not going to like this,” Sam murmurs before in a swift movement worthy of the hunter in him, he gets Dean up in his arms.
Dean all but whines with the change in posture, gasping, and closing his eyes in a clear sign of the pain in his head is. “Sammy,” he moans.
“I know. I’m sorry. It will be over soon.” Sam reassures, irrational guilt flowing in his chest. “Hang on a bit longer.”
Adrenaline pushing him, Sam manages to carry Dean out of the bathroom. He awkwardly grabs the car keys that are resting over the table just before the door leading to the garage, trying to not to tussle Dean on his hassle to get them.
One problem though, he can open the car with his arms full of Dean.
“Hey, I need you to open the car,” Sam asks Dean, who's being too quiet for his liking.
“Um?” Dean answers drowsily.
“Don't fall asleep. You can sleep in the hospital, okay?” Sam promises. “Can you open the car for me?”
Dean blinks, and Sam has a moment of doubt that he can even understand him. Then Dean is grabbing the keys from Sam's hand under his leg, and Sam leans down a little so he can reach the door. It takes a few tries, Dean's own hands are shaking a little, but he manages to open the door.
“Atta boy,” Sam breathes happily.
He makes quick time on settling Dean on the passenger seat, and then he runs to the driver's side. The rumble of the Impala's engine fills the space while he waits for the garage door to fully open. When he does, Sam tears out of the garage.
The nearest hospital is about a fifteen minutes drive. He hopes they get there on time.
3.
Dean's brain is currently trying to rip out of his skull, and his foot is glad to join in with the incessant beating and shooting pain. He really wants to go to sleep, but Sam keeps jabbering and asking him to stay awake, and Dean isn't too far gone to not notice the desperation on his voice.
Damn, his head really hurts, and as much as he loves his car right now it's making him feel sick. He swallows repeatedly to keep nausea at bay. Good thing he puked it all back at the house. He's so freaking really tired. His eyes drop a little, but Sam is right there shaking him awake. He would punch him if he had the strength.
“You can punch me all you want when you are not bleeding from your head.” Sam retorts, voice tight.
Bitch.
“It's for your own good.”
Dean huffs. “Stop reading my thoughts,” he slurs annoyed.
Sam doesn't answer, and Dean chances a blurry look at him. Sam is looking at him, face pale and tight.
“W'a?”
Sam returns his eyes back to the road. “Just stay awake.”
“'kay,” Dean mutters.
Easier said than done. Dean needs to focus on something if he's not going to fall asleep here. Watching the scenery out of his window proves to be a bad idea as his stomach twists, and for a moment there he thinks he'll throw up on his car, but he manages to keep the bile down. He keeps taking deep breaths, and in between his brain decides at that moment to remind him something. “Shit,” He says alarmed, hands falling over his belly. He waits for a sign of movement, a flutter, something. “Sammy,” he chokes out. “Baby's not moving.”
Crap, he fucked it up. He killed their baby. All because of his inability to stay still for a second. The light bulb wasn't that damn important. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How's he supposed to deal with this? How is he supposed to even look at Sam in his face?
“Dean, hey,” Sam's hand is there, grabbing his wrist and tugging. “Dean, look at me.”
Dean shakes his head, which only makes him dizzy and the pain to explode all over. He whines, deep within his throat, breathing hard through his nose.
“Calm down, calm down,” Sam whispers soothingly, thumb rubbing inside Dean's wrist. “It's okay. The baby is okay.”
Dean wants to believe him, he really does. But he doesn't have to worry about believing Sam, because the pain in his head grows stronger and his eyesight fills with black dots. The last thing he hears is Sam's voice calling his name.
4.
“Dean!” Sam shouts over and over again to no avail. “Dammit!” He slams his hands on the steering wheel. He presses on the gas, focusing on his mission to get Dean to the hospital fast.
The hospital sign comes to view a mile later, but Sam doesn't slow down until he's at the emergency doors. Dean would totally have a fit if he had been awake to hear the Impala's breaks screech at the force to which Sam stops the car. He barely manages to put the car in park, before flying out of the driver's side. He opens Dean's door, gathers him up on his arms, and then jogs inside.
As soon as the doors open, he screams for help.
The action is instant, the nurses from behind the desk run to his rescue, and what follows is a flurry of movement with getting Dean on a stretcher and wheeling him down to one of the emergency rooms.
Sam has to stand back and let them work on Dean, but he stays close enough where he can see what they are doing, and listen to what they say. By the time the doctor shows up and orders a bunch of tests, Sam's adrenaline starts to wear off, and he has to sit down on the only chair in the room, now against the wall.
“Mister?” A soft voice calls a few minutes later, touching his shoulder.
Sam raises his head from his hands and looks up at one of the nurses. “Sam,” he croaks, his throat suddenly dry.
“Sam,” she smiles, “I'm Mandy. We are waiting for the tests to come back before Dr. Cooper sutures the wound on-”
“Dean,” Sam supplies.
She smiles again, “Dean's head. You can stay with him until that time, and then I'm going to ask you to leave the room while Dr. Cooper finishes. While you wait to be called back, you can fill up all the information necessary to admit Dean.”
Sam nods chest heavy with worry. If they are admitting Dean even before the tests are back, things are bad. “Okay.”
“We'll do our best.” Mandy comforts, and with that, she walks away and lets Sam come closer to Dean.
In the time Sam spent sitting calming himself, they got Dean out of his bloody clothes and into a hospital gown. There's a temporary gauze over the wound of his head, already with a dot of blood marked on the outside. A bruise is starting to form around it, and it's stark purple against how pale Dean's skin is. Sam runs his hand over Dean's hair, swallowing the knot on his throat. His other hand finds its way to the baby bump, Dean's words in the car hammering a hole in his chest. He's wishing with his touch for his baby to know somehow that he's there and to hold on.
It would be their luck that after all they have been through, something so simple like a fall would be their undoing. Sam is not generally pessimistic- mostly just realistic- but fear loves pessimism a lot.
Right now, he's scared shitless.
Sam is kicked out for about two hours from Dean's room. It takes another hour for Dr. Cooper to diagnose Dean with a severe concussion, two bruised ribs, and a sprained ankle. There has been worry about brain swelling because of the nature of the wound, but they found none so far. For now, the doctor wants to keep him overnight to monitor the concussion.
“The androcologist will be up in a few minutes to perform an ultrasound.” Dr. Cooper informs him. “But as far as the vital signs reading goes, the baby seems to be fine.”
Sam nods, too tired and uneasy to speak. This is good news, but he won't be able to breathe with relief until Dean wakes up. He's gone through this too many times to not expect the unexpected.
Dean would laugh at his current bout of pessimism.
“I'll be back when the androcologist finishes,” Dr. Cooper says, giving Sam an encouraging smile, before stepping out of the room.
They have moved Dean up to a semi-private room at the obstetrics and androcology wing of the hospital. The other bed in it is empty, which Sam is glad because he doesn’t want to deal with nosy hospital room neighbors at the moment.
There is a knock on the door a few minutes later, where a petite brunette stands. “Hi, I'm Dr. Clarissa Hofner the androcologist on shift. Call me, Clarissa.” She introduces herself, walking towards Sam and shaking his hand.
“Sam,” he responds softly.
A nurse comes in pushing a cart with a monitor on top. “Thanks, Lizzy, I will take it from here,” Clarissa tells the nurse. She then positions the car next to Dean's bed. “Alright, Sam. As Dr. Cooper should have informed you the baby vitals are good. This is just a procedure to ensure nothing we might not have seen with the other test comes as a surprise later.” She explains, turning on the machine.
“Okay,” Sam agrees.
He watches as she pulls Dean's hospital gown over his belly, keeping the sheet under it to maintain his privacy. Clarissa squeezes the gel out, and Sam's eyes roam over Dean's face waiting to hear him complain about how cold it is. But Dean doesn't even twitch. Sam instinctively grabs Dean's wrist, over his pulse, to ground himself.
“Here we go,” Clarissa announces and starts moving the wand over the swell.
Sam stares at the screen intently, as Clarissa explores the extent of Dean's pregnant belly.
“Uterus looks really good.” She explains, “let's hear the heartbeat,” Clarissa presses a button on the monitor and suddenly the silence is gone.
Sam exhales relieved, shoulders dropping from his tense stance. He blinks the burning sensation in his eyes, his hand tightens around Dean's.
“That sounds like a pretty healthy boy to me,” Clarissa declares happily.
Sam gapes, “Boy?”
“Oh, you didn't-” She stutters apologetic. “Was it a surprise? I'm so sorry. I shouldn't-”
“No, no.” Sam cuts her off. “We wanted to know. He wouldn't let us see in the previous sonograms.”
“Ah, got it.”
“It's a boy,” Sam murmurs awed.
“Yes, congratulations.”
“And you are sure he's okay? Dean said he wasn't moving.”
“He's completely fine, Sam. I'm betting he got a bit scared with all the ruckus and that's why he wouldn't move for your boyfriend.”
Sam blushes but doesn't correct her. Dean and he decided when quitting hunting and having this baby that whatever people thought they are will be fine. They weren't correcting anyone and they don't have any labels for their relationship. But they both know that at some point when their son grows up, they will have to label it something. Poor kid will be confused if they don't.
“Thank you,” Sam says honestly.
“Just doing my job,” Clarissa answers, cleaning up the gel and lowering Dean's gown. “Good luck to you two.” She wishes before leaving the room.
“Hear that Dean? We are having a boy and he's fine. Now all you have to do is wake up.”
5.
Waking up in a hospital again isn't how Dean thought his evening would end up. He couldn't remember what had happened to him, but Sam had filled up the blanks. He's glad the baby is fine, and that their kid finally decided to go full frontal for them, and now they could start using he instead of it.
They let him leave the hospital the following afternoon with his promise to rest for a week until the concussion clears out, and come back to get the four stitches in his head off at the end of it. The trip back is less than pleasant, as his other baby still makes him dizzy and nauseous. But he makes it to the house without going through the shame of puking in his own car.
Dean exhales contently as soon the car is in the garage. Being back home, having one at all, will always give him a sense of safety that all the motels he spent living most of his life never gave him. It reminds him of better times before their mother was taken and their father basically died with her.
Sam gets out of the car, going around to get Dean's crutches from the back seat, while Dean opens his door and swing his legs out of the car.
Sam gives him a doubtful look. “Do you need me to help-”
Dean scolds him because seriously, he's not invalid and he's not up for Sam's mother henning right now.
Sam backs up, hands up in surrender.
Dean hoists himself up to his good foot and gets the crutches under his arms before hobbling towards the door. Once inside he goes straight to his and Sam's room, glad there is no stairs hopping needed. He's aware Sam is behind him hovering, but he ignores it for the bed that's looking very inviting. Dean melts into the mattress as soon he's horizontal, barely able to hear whatever Sam is saying in that annoyed tone of his. Then he feels hands on his injured leg, and he opens one eye just in time to see Sam putting a pillow under it.
“I'll be right back,” Sam informs and then leaves.
Dean nods, his ability to stay awake minimizing by the second. He actually most doze off because he startles awake when Sam comes back depositing a glass of water and Dean's pain pills on the bedside table.
“You want something to eat?” Sam asks softly, eyes tired.
Dean takes a minute to take in Sam's dropped shoulders, the light stubble, and the beginning shadow of dark circles under his eyes. And he's faced with how much this incident affected Sam, making he feel guilty for scaring him that way.
He shakes his head slowly.
“Okay, I will let you sleep then. Holler if you need anything.” Sam instructs, ready to leave again.
Dean grabs his wrist and pulls him toward the bed.
“Dean, I got stuff to do-”
“They'll still be there after you sleep.” Dean responds stubbornly.
Sam opens his mouth, no doubt to argue further, but seems to think better of it and just sighs. “Alright, just for a few minutes.”
Dean smirks, and scoots over without jarring his bruised ribs too much, while Sam makes sure the pillow under Dean's foot goes with him.
Sam lies on his side of the bed gingerly. Just like it happened to Dean, as soon his head hits the pillow, he melts and all the tension leaves his body.
“Not such a bad idea after all, isn't it Sammy?” Dean teases.
“Shut up,” Sam retorts, smiling softly.
They fall into silence, the tiredness and softness of the mattress lulling them into sleep. But just then, a flutter of movement in his belly grips Dean out of his slumber. He can't help but smirk and rub his hand soothingly over where he feels the ripple stronger happy that their kid is making his presence known, at least to Dean, again.
“Is he moving?” Sam asks sleepily.
Dean looks at him and smiles. “Yeah,”
“Wish I could feel him.”
“At the rate he's moving, I don't think it will take long.” Dean muses.
Sam places a hand over where Dean is still rubbing his belly, smile tugging at his lips, before he goes locks eyes with Dean. “Can you promise me to take better care of yourself?”
Dean sighs. “Sam,”
“That was really scary Dean. In scale of things we've gone through, this seems mindless now. But just the thought-”
“I know.” Dean cuts in. He doesn't want to hear what could had happened, and that it was sheer luck they are lying here with nothing to feel the lost for. “I'm sorry.”
“You don't need to apologize for being you.”
“Yeah, well, so much for that.”
Sam turns on his side, his head resting on his free hand. “I know how hard the changes you're going through are for you.”
Dean crunches up his nose. “You say it like I can't deal with it.”
“Don't be an idiot.” Sam berates. “Of course you can handle it. You are the strongest person I know Dean. If anyone can turn a daring situation into a good outcome that's you. But that doesn't mean you can't feel overwhelmed or ask for help. I'm right here.”
Dean scratches his neck embarrassed. “I know, Sammy.”
“Then don't forget.”
“Okay. I hear ya,” He agrees.
“Good.” Sam nods. “I'll keep repeating it, until you get it in that thick skull of yours.”
“Oh, goody.” Dean retorts sarcastically.
“Get used to it.”
Dean thinks about what Sam said, and makes a deal with himself to slow down. Even when they have not hunted in months, his brain keeps working like a hunter and he has to find a way to balance it with what their lives are now. He needs, wants, to keep this baby safe and for that he has to accept how things have changed and would keep changing.
“Baby's not moving anymore, I think you bored our kid with all your Dr. Phil talking.” Dean sneers for good measure.
“You're such an ass.” Sam scoffs, turning his back to Dean for that.
Dean snorts, pleased with himself.
6.
Sam goes back to work after two days. A part of him is worried about leaving Dean alone when he's still recovering from the concussion. But he's glad to be out of the house because they would end up killing each other if they spend any more time holed up together. It's all Dean's fault for not letting him help when Sam should be helping, then they end up yelling, and Dean throwing whatever he has near at Sam's head like it's a target practice. Sam would, for the first time in his life, love it if Dean didn't had such a good aim.
So, yeah, he's much better taking some time off from the crazy-concussed-hormonal brother he has at home. But it doesn't stop him from calling home any chance he has to check on Dean, which with how slow work tends to be in the middle of the week it's almost every hour. Dean of course doesn't appreciates the concern and they end up having another fight until Sam hangs up the desk phone more forcefully than he should, and scares an old lady browsing the books near him.
Damn Dean and his stupid “I'm fine” macho shit motto.
By the time he has to go home, he stops to pick up some Italian food and a cherry pie for dinner, and he has cooled down enough to admit he might be acting a bit crazy too.
The house is quiet when he comes in, only the faint glare of the television and the unfolded blanket on the couch in the living room announces that Dean is home. Sam leaves the bags with the food on the kitchen counter that faces the living room and it's about to call for his brother when Dean limps with one crutch out of the bathroom.
He stops when he sees Sam. "You're back early." He says surprised.
"Work was really slow," Sam answers, shrugging. "I brought dinner?" He smirks sheepishly.
Dean glances at the food briefly. "Pie?"
"Of course."
Dean smiles widely, then reaches for the bags. But Sam shoos his hands away.
“You can't carry those and the crutch at the same time,” he explains when Dean gives him a dirty look.
“I could if you let me,” Dean mutters, limping back to the living room.
Sam rolls his eyes, and grabs the food before joining Dean in the sofa. He's barely sitting before Dean steals the bags from him, and Sam can't help the fond smile that spreads over his face at the way Dean beams when he sees the lasagna.
“Alright, you're forgiven,” Dean states, digging into his lasagna with gusto.
Sam chuckles shaking his head, and happy their fighting is over; for now.
They watch an old western movie while finishing their respective dinners, and Dean his beloved piece of pie. It's still so new to Sam how domestic their lives have turned. While he never embraced the hunting life as much as his brother, and the change has been easier for him, sometimes he does feels the itch of being in the move. But he will never miss their lives being in danger with every monster or ghost they had to put down. Nevermind the whole apocalypse shenanigans and the demons after them. All he ever wanted for him and Dean was for them to be safe. They've worked hard for it, and lost enough in the process. If anyone deserves this it's them.
He's happy with Dean here, and sometimes he wakes up at night with nightmares about everything ending and them being pulled back to the danger. But they are prepared if push came to shove, and that's all they can do to stay protected. Sam prays they never have to get to that point, but life has taught him better.
It seems kind of easy to bury those thoughts, when Dean looks at him like Sam is his universe. And Sam can just stop worrying about everything as long Dean is next to him. Even when they have stupid fights, and most days don't see eye to eye, Sam wouldn't have it any other way.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dean asks, eyebrows furrowed. And Sam realizes that he must have been staring too long, but all he cares about is the smudge of cherry next to Dean's lips and how much he wants to lick it off.
So he does.
It never ceases to wonder him how easy Dean melts into him. His big, tough, manly brother, who protests at every emotional talk, but gives himself open to Sam with just one touch.
Sam swallows Dean's approving moan along with the lingering taste of the lasagna sauce and the cherries on Dean's lips. It gets heated pretty quickly, because when they are together like this, they are a fire to be reckon with. Dean welcomes Sam's tongue eagerly, hands moving and pulling until they are as close as Dean's baby bum will allow them to be in this position. The make out session heating up their blood, Sam moves over Dean, pulling him down on the sofa where he can rut his crotch against Dean's with the thrust of his hips. It has been a few days since they were this intimate, what with Sam working long hours and Dean's accident. And Sam will totally love to take this to their bedroom if he can manage to detach himself from Dean's sinful mouth. He's about to do it, when he feels a push against his ribs just as Dean gasps surprised.
Sam pushes off Dean enough to look at his belly. “What's that a-?”
“Yeah,” Dean answers smiling softly at his baby bulge.
Sam gapes.
“He's doing it again,” Dean informs, grabbing Sam's hand and placing it on the side of the belly where their son is kicking.
“Holy crap,” Sam whispers awed.
“Told you it wouldn't be too long.” Dean chuckles then winces.
“Is he hurting you?” Sam asks worried.
“Nah, it's just a bit uncomfortable because he's right on my ribs,” Dean assures.
Sam crawls back until his face is right over Dean's belly. “Hey, you.” He says lovingly to his son.
“Seriously?” Dean protests.
Sam ignores him. “I'm really glad to finally feel you, but how about you go to sleep now, huh?” he asks, rubbing Dean's belly softly until the baby stops moving. He glances up, to where Dean has been quiet and isn't too surprised of the adoring look Dean is giving him.
“You're such a girl sometimes,” Dean whispers, his voice lacking any of the usual heat or sarcasm that accompanies such a remark all the time.
Sam gives the belly a kiss. “Bed?”
“Yeah,”
Sam stands up quickly, and then pulls Dean up handing him the crutch. Once both on their feet, they make their way to their bedroom and get into bed. The happiness of feeling their baby move for the first time and feel closer to his son, has Sam's dimples on display even as he start to drift to sleep. His hands finds his way toward the baby bum protectively. This time Dean doesn't protest and joins his own hand to Sam's.
Whatever the future awaits for them. However hard things can be. One thing is for sure: They are keeping their son safe and happy.
~Fin~