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Sam doesn’t want to admit he’s nervous, but in his defense he has every right be to a little... concerned. Babies hate him, and okay, maybe he doesn’t exactly have a lot of experience with the care and handling of infants, but Jess had told him that things would get better with time, and so far that has not proven true.
Lailah hates him.
As she is currently the only baby he’s had an extended amount of contact with, that’s a really bad sign, because that is a serious amount of hatred for a tiny person who has only been alive for seven and a half months. That’s a lot, actually, and Sam wants to think that in the two months they’ve known Castiel, that he’s developed a rapport with the kid, like maybe he won’t end up being a shitty-ass father (god knows he didn’t have a good role model, just look at what the Winchester track record is like).
Except he hasn’t developed a rapport with Lailah at all. She hates him with the sort of determined, illogical fury that is kind of impressive if witnessed from far away.
The first time Sam held her, she vomited on his neck, and ugh, ugh, okay, because maybe babies were cute when they weren’t vomiting gross runny milky stuff all over you, but Sam wouldn’t know. That hasn’t ever happened to him. Babies are vile, he thinks, they are disgusting little vomit-and-poop monsters, and he’s really, really, really not ready to be in charge of one.
Even if he does have Jess to help.
And Dean, who for some awful reason that probably means the universe is laughing at him, is really good with kids.
So Sam is standing by the observation window, looking at the extremely small, tiny human in the NICU and the label by his incubator says Baby Boy Winchester, but Sam knows that he can’t do this. He can’t, he isn’t -- he isn’t Dean, isn’t Castiel, isn’t the sort of man who holds babies comfortably and makes them stop crying. He’s a fuckup, is what he is, he’s a fucked up little boy in an overgrown man’s body, and he cannot do this.
He was never meant to be a father, he thinks. This baby is going to hate him, and Sam knows deep down he’ll love it anyway, even though it won’t want him to hold it and it’ll cry all the time and vomit all over him, and Sam’s going to love the shit out of that baby anyway. It might drive him insane.
“Mr. Winchester?” The nurse is giving him an odd look, and Sam sucks in a deep breath that does nothing at all to calm the frantic pounding of his heart. He’s pretty certain he’s going to faint or throw up, or cry, or something equally embarrassing.
“I’m coming,” he says, and the nurse nods, holding the door open for him like she knows Sam is about two seconds away from chickening out and running screaming from the hospital.
He’s not scared. He’s not.
He just really cannot handle it if his own baby hates him.
Inside the NICU is quiet, not silent but hushed with soft humming of machines and the soothing voices of nurses as they tend to the babies. Sam pauses beside Baby Boy Winchester and his heart is in his throat, he can’t breathe, he’s pretty certain that the nurse is going to look at him and know that he’s just a big fraud, a phony, she’ll snatch the baby away and demand to see his Fatherhood License and Sam knows how to change a diaper when the baby is crying and actively hating you, but he doesn’t know how to be a dad.
“Would you like to hold him?” The nurse asks. Her name tag says Maria K, and she’s smiling at him, smiling as if Sam’s exactly what she expected, and that’s... that’s.
Well.
“He’s so small,” Sam tells her, because he really is. The baby in the incubator is tiny, and even though Sam can see the dark blond fuzz on his head and the way his teeny nostrils are flared around the tube in his nose, and the way his wee fingers end with tiny fingernails and god, he’s just so small.
“It’s all right,” Maria K says, and she pats Sam on the arm, comfortingly.
“Are babies supposed to be that small?” he asks, because Lailah is a lot bigger and okay, maybe Baby Boy Winchester is supposed to be small because he’s brand new, Sam remembers reading that, that newborns are small, but he can’t help but feel a little panicked because he’s just -- tiny.
“He’s fine, Mr. Winchester,” she says, and then she picks up the baby and hands him to Sam who has a momentary panic attack because he doesn’t want to drop his kid.
He’s pretty certain that dropping your kid is like, number one on the list of Ways to Fuck That Kid Up For Life, and Sam would like to avoid all items on that list as much as possible. Jesus, oh Jesus, oh God almighty, he is not ready for this.
Except that Baby Boy Winchester is so small that Sam really only needs like, one and a half hands to hold him, his hands are too big to hold his baby, but instead of screaming with indignant fury or vomiting on Sam (which is how all babies respond to Sam) this one just opens his eyes and--
Oh.
Oh.
He’s got Jess’s eyes, big blue eyes flecked with green, and then his hand comes up, small fingers splayed over Sam’s chest. Sam can feel his heart twisting around in his ribcage, can feel his brain shutting off completely, because holy shit. Holy shit, it hadn’t hit him until just then, but this is his baby. He and Jess made a whole other person, that’s just amazing.
“Oh, wow,” he whispers, “Oh wow, look at you. Look at you, you’re gonna be great, you’re gonna be amazing,” and he doesn’t really notice when the nurse walks away.
--
Jess is groggy and cranky when she wakes up, and she doesn’t really get happier or calmer until Sam shows her pictures on his phone of the baby, and tells her that as soon as the doctor clears her to move they’ll wheel her to the NICU and let her hold him.
“We don’t know what to name a boy,” she mutters, petulant in the hospital bed. Her hair is pulled back into a loose braid, and she looks swollen and uncomfortable and also like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“That’s what I said,” Sam agrees with her. “But it’s okay -- I mean, he’s pretty healthy, I think the doctors were more worried about you than about the baby.”
She scowls when she hears that, and Sam decides to fall desperately in love with her all over again because Jess when she’s angry is Jess at her most brain-meltingly radiant. “You don’t need to worry about me,” she says.
She’s wrong, obviously, but Sam has spent several months dealing with hormonal-pregnant Jess, and so he knows better than to say anything about how obviously wrong she is. Instead, he settles himself in at her side, crawling onto the hospital bed with her and wiggling his way into a proper cuddle.
“You’re lucky I love you,” Jess mutters, clearly displeased at life, but Sam just laces her fingers through his and rubs his nose over the back of her neck, humming with pleasure because she smells good, like cinnamon and cookies.
“I’m lucky you love me,” he agrees.
“Stop agreeing with me,” she says, but all the heat has gone out of her voice.
“Whatever you want,” Sam smiles against her skin, lets her swat at his arm and then settle in properly.
“What are we going to name him?” Jess asks after a long moment of contented snuggling.
“Mmm,” Sam hums, thinking about it. “We could name him Dean,” he suggests, stroking his thumb over the curve of her wrist.
“Shortlist it,” Jess says, yawning. “But what about any other options? We haven’t been preparing for a boy.”
“Um.” Sam really doesn’t know what to say. “Maybe, uh, we could name him Jesse?”
He can feel the huff of laughter, and she slaps him on the arm with their combined hands, shaking a little bit. “For the last time, Sam, we’re not naming the baby after me,” she giggles.
“But Jess, you made a whole person.” Sam tells her. “Like, an entire human being, look,” and he has to let go of her hand for a second to dig in his pockets and pull out his phone. “Look,” he says, showing the picture he’d snapped, baby cuddled against his shoulder with one broad hand supporting him. “Look, Jess, he’s amazing and you did that all by yourself, how can we not name him after you?”
“We’re not naming the baby after me,” Jess says, turning in the bed so she’s facing Sam. She wraps one hand around the back of his head, fingers stroking over his hair. “I love you too, babe,” Jess whispers softly, staring into Sam’s eyes. “I love you so much, but sometimes I worry that you’re not right in the head,” and okay, maybe she’s right, but Sam’s right too.
“Well we’re not naming him Castiel,” Sam decides, finally, and Jess snorts indelicately, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek, ignoring the rasp of stubble because Sam hasn’t shaved in a day.
“No, we’re not,” She agrees. “Even though your jealousy is completely unfounded.”
“I’m not jealous,” he protests.
“You’re incredibly jealous.”
“I am not!”
They’re saved from any further bickering when Dean enters the room, knocking loudly and obnoxiously on the wall as he charges in, leather jacket tossed over one shoulder. “Hey, lovebirds,” he says, settling into the chair by the bed and giving Jess an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. “They finally gave me a bracelet and let me see my nephew, and I gotta say, damn, Jess, you made a good-looking baby. I have no idea how, given what you had to work with, but good job,” and he ruffles Sam’s hair at the same time, earning himself a scowl.
“Go away, Dean,” Sam says, but he doesn’t mean it.
Fortunately Dean seems to understand that, so he just kicks his feet up, resting his boots on the edge of the bed frame. “Have you settled on a name yet?” He asks. “I took a look at him, and I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think he looks like a Jesse.”
“Told you,” Jess says smugly. “Not naming the baby after me.”
“Both of you suck,” Sam says without heat.
Jess wiggles around and Sam moves with her, trying not to get caught in any of her IVs or the various cords that are running around her, measuring her heart rate. It takes a minute for them to get settled again, but this time she manages to lay almost on her side, facing Dean with Sam spooned up behind her.
“He kind of looks like a Dean,” Dean says, looking a little shifty.
“That’s already on the shortlist,” Jess says, yawning again. Her eyes are starting to droop but she’s not actually sleepy, just-- exhausted.
Blushing, Dean looks shocked, which is just stupid because of course they thought about naming the baby after him. Jess doesn’t know what she’d have done without Dean, he’s the one who’s been around, making midnight runs to the the convenience store and chauffeuring her around town and checking up on her in the middle of the day to ensure she doesn’t need anything. Sam doesn’t talk about his childhood a lot but she knows that Dean was there for him, all the time, that Dean is his big brother and even a short period of silence between the two of them was too much for Sam to bear.
“What else do you have?” He asks, not really meeting her eyes and looking embarrassed, which is so Dean that Jess decides to ignore it.
“That’s it,” she says, closing her eyes. “Just Dean. Got any other ideas for us?”
The sound of his laughter is comforting, familiar, and then she feels him reach across the bed to give her hand a squeeze. She’s comfortable, and that’s why she doesn’t protest when Sam shifts a little closer, pressed up against her like he thinks she’s going to try to get away. A moment of silence while the brothers converse in head-tilts and eyebrow movements above her, and then Dean says, “Hey, we could name him Ozzy!”
“No,” Sam hisses at him, sounding scandalized.
“Definitely not,” Jess murmurs in agreement.
“Oh, how about Zeppelin? That’d be a kickass name.”
“Why do you hate my baby?” Jess groans.
“Ted Nugent? No, name him Uncle Ted, that’d be awesome!”
“No.” Sam says firmly. “We are not naming the baby ‘Uncle’, seriously Dean, what is wrong with you?”
Dean pauses as he considers his options.
Opening her eyes, Jess squints at him. He looks oddly contemplative, which is kind of sad, because if he’s actually thinking hard about this that means he’s serious about naming the baby Zeppelin and not just trying to mess with them. Jesus, Jess hopes that Dean is just fucking with them.
“Oh, I’ve got it!” he announces after a moment, his green eyes brightening. He’s excited enough that he even takes his feet off the bed so he can lean in closer. “Thor!”
Sam leans in close to whisper in her ear. “Jess,” he says, voice low and breath warm where it puffs over her skin. “If Dean ever has a kid, we can’t let him name it,” and Jess squeezes his hand in acquiescence.
--
It only takes another hour before a doctor comes by and clears Jess to leave the room, although they make her promise to stay in the wheelchair and strap a tank of oxygen behind her, even though she insists she doesn’t need it.
Sam pushes her down the hallway with Dean tagging along beside her, and Jess is... she’s nervous, because she doesn’t remember much about the actual birth -- they’d had to put her under, do an emergency c-section and there had been a few minor complications like her hemorrhaging blood and almost dying, so this is actually the first time she’s going to get to meet the little guy aside from all those times he sat on her bladder or kicked her in the spine.
So she is definitely allowed to be nervous.
They put a blanket on her lap and then just hand her the baby, put the little bundle in her arms and Jess already knew she was going to love him more than anything, but it’s not until she’s holding him in her arms that she realizes how much that is.
He’s got ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes, and the diaper he’s wearing looks too big for him, poofing around his little bottom. “Wow,” Jess says, and her voice has gone all watery on her, like she’s about to cry, except Dean gives her a handkerchief and it turns out she’s already crying.
Sam is grinning like an idiot, which is normal so she decides to ignore it, lets him dab at her cheeks with the hanky so she can hold the baby. “Wow,” she says again, “Oh my boy, my darling baby boy, Sam he’s so perfect.”
Dean leans in close, grinning that besotted, proud look that he usually reserves for Lailah and occasionally for Sam. “He sure is,” he agrees, giving the baby his finger to tug on. “He’s a trooper, all right, that’s how you know he’s a real Winchester.”
“We really have to give him a name,” Sam says, his hand resting on the back of her neck, a proud, fiercely protective look on his face. “We can’t just keep calling him Baby Boy Winchester.”
“You should call him ‘Like-the-Rifle,’ so everyone will stop asking that stupid question,” Dean suggests, and Sam rolls his eyes and punches his brother in the shoulder.
“Don’t be stupid, Dean,” Sam says, even though he secretly agrees, it would be kind of funny to see him listed down as Winchester, Like-the-Rifle.
“Rifle’s a stupid nickname anyway,” Jess says, not taking her eyes off the baby, who has opened his and is gazing back up at her with the mistily curious expression of a newborn. “It would have to be Like-the-Gun, then we could call him Gunny.”
“Yes,” Dean says, eyes lighting up.
“No,” Sam says firmly, but Dean isn’t even paying attention to him, having transferred all of his available enthusiasm to Jess in her wheelchair and the baby.
“You could be a Gunny, eh? You like that don’t you?” Dean coos, and Sam shoots a horrified look at Jess.
“Dean, that was a joke, we’re not naming the baby ‘Like-the-Gun’, Jess, tell him!” Sam pleads, desperately, because once Dean has an idea in his head it’s like trying to stop the tide.
Jess is cooing at their son, though (and Sam takes a second to enjoy that, their son, they have a son) and Dean is already stroking the fuzz on his head, saying “Yeah, little Gunny Winchester,” and Sam feels like he has no control over his life.
“It was a joke,” He insists, but everyone in the room is ignoring him. It’s a desperate last-ditch effort, but Sam goes for it anyway. “I’d rather name him Dean Junior,” he says, and maybe a little piece of him dies inside when he says it out loud, but Dean’s head snaps up and he looks --
Okay.
He looks practically devastated, and Sam doesn’t know what to do with that, with the fact that there are actual for-real tears in Dean’s eyes, and Sam feels like an awful person because he doesn’t want to name his child something so god-awfully stupid but he’d do pretty much anything to get Dean to stop looking at him like that.
“You really -- you’d name him after me?” Dean says, and his voice is hoarse like he’s choking back a flood of emotion, and Sam realizes that Dean is actually that freaking stupid, Dean really doesn’t know how amazing and important and loved he is.
“Stop being stupid, Dean,” Sam says. “Of course we’d name our son after you!” and okay, Sam has to stop to let his internal child squeal and dance like an idiot at the words again (he has a son) before he can continue. “Dean’s a great name for a kid.”
Dean looks dangerously weepy. Sam takes a step back, worried his brother might try to hug him or something. “Dean,” he hisses at his brother. “Dean, remember what we agreed? No chick flick moments, Dean--”
Yeah, he hadn’t really expected that to work. Dean practically climbs into Sam’s lap, which is difficult and kind of impressive because Sam is standing up and Dean is a grown man, but at least if he’s busy hugging the shit out of Sam, Dean can’t be trying to name their child ‘Like-the-Gun’. Seriously.
--
“What’s wrong with Jehoel?” Castiel asks, head tilted to one side as if he’s genuinely curious as to the answer.
Jess is at least fifty percent certain that Castiel is screwing with them.
“What’s wrong with Jehoel,” Sam says flatly, and it’s not a question. “Look, it’s just. Not. What we want to name our kid. Any other suggestions?”
Castiel suggests Qaphsiel, Ongkanon, and Nisroc, all of which are promptly vetoed by both Jess and Sam.
Occasionally they manage to say “No,” at the same time, and in the same horrified tone of voice, which is likely bringing them closer together as a family but at the same time it is also bringing Jess to a devastating revelation. "Wow,” she says, pained. “Wow. Castiel, you... you're just like Dean."
Castiel doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He gives them a considering look. "Well, how about Melchisedek? Melchisedek is a strong name, it is the name of the Angel of Peace.”
“Dear Lord,” Jess mutters. "I finally understand. Your family had to intervene on your daughter’s behalf, didn’t they? Lailah was probably the least offensive name you suggested, and that was probably just a fluke."
“I have no idea what you mean,” Castiel says primly. “If you don’t like my suggestions, why don’t you just name him something boring, like Michael, or Jonathan?”
Jess turns to Sam. “How do you like Michael? Or Jonathan?”
“We’ll put them on the list,” Sam says, head buried in his hands. She’s not sure, but if she had to guess, she’d say that Sam is trying his best not to cry with laughter. His shoulders are shaking.
Castiel looks horrified. “Surely you don’t want to name your child something so unoriginal!” He says. “A child’s name should be unique and meaningful! Consider Galgaliel, or Colopatiron!”
At Colopatiron Sam’s laughter finally escapes, and he lets loose a loud bark and promptly tries to stifle it, but even slapping both hands over his mouth doesn’t muffle the noise.
Jess pats Castiel’s shoulder consolingly.
--
They don’t name the baby Colopatiron.
Obviously.
--
In the end Dean’s the one who settles it. Sam and Jess have managed to get five names on their shortlist, but Sam is advocating for Tony or Neil (and Jesse comes back several times only for Jess to shoot down the suggestion like she’s a fighter pilot and it’s an enemy shooter over her territory), and Jess is defending Dean Jr. and Joshua with determination.
Sitting with a giant bag of popcorn in his lap, Dean has both eyebrows raised and is turning his his head, back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match as they duke it out.
“Why not Josh?” Jess asks. “It’s a nice name, it’s my grandpa’s name!”
“Really, Joshua Winchester?” Sam counters. “It just sounds so awkward, Jess, come on. Neil Winchester sounds much better.”
“Okay maybe,” Jess concedes finally, crossing her arms over her chest.
Sam pumps a fist in triumph, and Dean gets up from his chair to cross ‘Joshua’ off the whiteboard. He caps the marker and then resumes his seat, munching loudly on the popcorn.
“But if we’re taking Joshua off the list, we’re taking Tony off too,” she declares, and Sam’s face falls.
“Aww, Jess, Anthony Winchester--”
“No.” She says firmly. “I knew a Tony and he was a creep.”
“Well that doesn’t mean all guys named Tony are creeps, does it?”
“No, it just means we are not naming our child that, Samuel.”
They glare at each other for a moment.
Finally, Sam’s shoulders slump and he waves a hand, conceding. Dean crosses the room, takes Tony off the list, and then they’re left with Dean, Neil, and Jonathan.
“Look, this is awesome, don’t think I want to interrupt you guys because this is the most adorable argument I’ve ever seen,” Dean says, offering Jess some of the popcorn. She grabs a handful, sticking her tongue out at Sam because he doesn’t get any popcorn, does he?
He pouts at her, so Jess gives in and hands him some of her popcorn.
“But seriously,” Dean gives Jess a disappointed look, one that says, That Was Your Popcorn, Jess, What Are You Doing? before he continues. “What’s wrong with Jonathan, again? You two are both arguing about the others, but why hasn’t Jonathan been crossed off the list?”
“Because it was my brother’s name.” Jess answers around a mouthful of buttery, salty goodness. “My twin brother, he died when we were little. SIDS.”
“And sort of Dad’s name,” Sam adds, licking his fingers lasciviously.
Jess holds out her hand and Dean gives her more popcorn, clearly conveying Do Not Share With Sam by the angle of his eyebrows. “So neither of us can think of any reason to take it off the list.”
Dean nods, munching contentedly on his popcorn. “Right. So, if you both like the name, and it’s on the list, why aren’t you just naming the munchkin Jonathan? I mean, instead of arguing about names that you both apparently aren’t fond of.” He pouts around his popcorn, and then he seems to realize what he’s said. “Not that I don’t like Dean Junior! For the record, I strongly reccomend that you name your kid Dean. But I mean, if Sam likes Neil better than Dean and Jess likes Dean better than Neil, it kind of looks like you’re both being really stupid right now.”
Sticking her thumb in her mouth to lick off the last of the butter, Jess considers this. Sam looks a little torn, too, because he really wants to name their son after the first man to walk on the moon for reasons that don’t make any sense to Jess. But. Well.
She thinks about it. Jonathan Winchester.
Jonathan Winchester.
Jon Winchester.
Johnny Winchester.
Little Johnny Winchester.
It works, which is almost surprising considering that they haven’t really been thinking seriously about it. It’s a nice name, it’s got plenty of appropriate nicknames, he’s not going to get teased if he grows up being called Johnny.
“I like Johnny,” she says, and Sam looks torn.
Beside them, Dean eats another kernel of popcorn. Loudly.
“We’d still have to decide on a middle name,” Sam says after a minute.
“Dean,” Jess suggests. “Jonathan Dean Winchester, it rolls off the tongue.”
“Jonathan Neil Winchester,” Sam counters.
“You guys suck,” Dean announces, leaving to get more popcorn.
--
Four days after he’s born, Jonathan Dean Winchester finally has a name. He’s out of the NICU and into a bassinet, and Jess spends hours lying in bed, looking at him. Johnny’s tummy is rounded, not fat but round like a baby’s belly should be. His legs and arms are still skinnier than the rest of him, because he’s premature and small, but for all that his limbs are too small they’re still perfectly formed, with tiny, pudgy hands. There are tiny dimples on his elbows, on his knees, and if she looks carefully she can see each one of his eyelashes, baby-fine and blond lying perfectly defined against his cheek.
He is, without a doubt, the best baby in the world. Jess feels a small tinge of regret, as if she’s betrayed Lailah, but she feels that Lailah would want her to keep firm to the truth, and the truth is that Johnny is the best baby in the world, perhaps in the entire universe.
And he’s hers.
--
It takes eight days before Dr. Atkinson gives them the clear to leave the hospital. Jess doesn’t even complain about having to sit in the wheelchair while Sam pushes her out of the hospital, because it means she gets to hold Johnny the whole time and doesn’t have to take her eyes off of him to do things like navigate through hallways.
Dean pulls up in front of the hospital, Castiel-approved car seat already in the car, and Jess settles herself beside Johnny and let’s Sam take the front seat.
“Ready to go home, Johnny?” she asks, smiling down at her baby.
In his seat, Johnny yawns, tiny red mouth opening up and eyes squeezing shut, then he curls his tiny fist up beside his head and goes to sleep.