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As if in a trance, Dean stared at the red-colored water flushing down the drain in a circular motion. You'd think Dean Winchester had seen enough blood in his life, but his hands, which could take down a werewolf with deadly certainty, trembled under the cold stream of water. There was water warming in a pot on the strange stove in this strange house, but he couldn't wait any longer to feel clean.
Two hours.
They should have driven two damn hours longer to arrive safely at the bunker. But why would Winchester's „luck“ ever spare them? A grunt escaped Dean's lips. He had been foolish to believe that a wish would be granted without them paying a price.
"I want to give you something back," Amara had explained. "The thing you want most." Dean had a zillion appropriate answers on his lips, from a lifetime ration of tacos, to always blue skies over Baby, to Cas growing little fairy wings. It would have been really funny! But Amara didn't fall for his cocky charm. God's sister looked deep into his soul and dug out what no one should ever have seen.
With his wet hands, Dean washed his face, removing the sweat and fatigue. He systematically opened all the cupboards until he found a large bowl into which he carefully poured the boiling water.
It sounded like a joke–two hunters defeated God, celebrated their victory, and one of them woke up pregnant.
Only no one was laughing.
Neither Sam, who puked his guts out from then on, nor Dean, who couldn't put into words what was happening inside him. Worry for Sam, who looked pale and really pissed off. Anger that Amara had exposed him like that, because no one should have known about this wish. And joy... because... well, because.
Slowly, Dean carried the bowl of hot water down the dark hallway. Why did you need hot water at a birth when whiskey was the only thing that was supposed to help? He could see Baby through the window, a thick, powdery layer of snow already covering the Impala.
"Dean."
That was all Sam had said as he slid deeper into the passenger seat, his face contorted with pain. And Dean knew what Sam meant. They weren't going to make it. And his brother was right.
One last hunt, a promise to Donna. It sounded so simple. A series of misfortunes happening in one place. Was it coincidence, was it a serial killer, or even something demonic? Dean would go out, check it out, and then drive back home. He'd belt out Chris Rea's Driving Home for Christmas and if Sam was a good boy, Dean would maybe put on that ridiculous Santa costume he'd ordered off the internet. He would massage Sam's feet, repeatedly reassure him that his brother didn't walk like a waddling duck, and eat the vegetarian stew with relish (at least he would pretend to).
But of course Sam, the world's most stubborn man, had insisted on going along for the ride. And of course it wasn't a demon, because the Winchester brothers had made sure that God had disappeared, along with his cranky relatives and all the monsters. And of course it had to start snowing so heavily on Christmas Eve that the Impala's tires skidded dangerously more than once, no matter how hard Dean drove.
...and of course that was when Sam went into labor.
Dean quietly pushed the door to the guest room open with the tip of his foot. The floorboards creaked as he stepped over them to place the bowl on the small table next to the bed. Dean had found cloths in the bedroom, some of which he now dipped into the hot liquid.
The bedside lamp bathed the room in a warm glow and Dean's heart leapt as he glanced at the bed. Dean had wrapped Sam in fresh sheets. Nothing should remind him of the past hours. As if Dean could ease the pain, the agony, and the despair with a clean sheet. Sam should feel nothing but a warm, soft cocoon when he woke up.
When he woke up.
Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He stroked Sam's pale face with the warm cloth. His hair was still damp from the exertion. Dean tentatively felt for Sam's faint pulse. Had to feel it, had to know that Sam was only asleep, surely only asleep and would soon wake up. The fainting was only due to his exhaustion and not the blood he had lost or anything worse.
"Sammy, you need to wake up, do you hear me?" Dean's voice sounded so foreign to his own ears. Far too worried. There was nothing to worry about. Sam was just sleeping, he just needed a break. Because Sam had just performed the greatest miracle in the world, and then who didn't need a moment.
The warm cloth traveled over Sam's left arm, which was resting on the blanket. Dean cleaned each finger. Because it made Dean seem a little less helpless. "I need you to tell me what you need. That was our deal, wasn't it? We had a plan, Sammy."
Among the many things Dean admired about Sam was his ability to adapt. Sam hated it as a kid, when they had to move for a new job, but he always made new connections. Whatever Dad asked of them, Sam found a loophole in Dad's system. Dean still didn't understand how Sam had managed to go to Stanford, but he knew Sam could do it. When his brother realized what Dean had wanted from God's sister, and the effect it had on Sam, Dean believed this was it. The final straw that would cause him to lose Sam.
Dean didn't see his brother for four days. He heard him rummaging in the library, making tea in the kitchen, or listening to music in his room. When Sam knocked on Dean's door on the fourth evening, Dean expected to see Sam with his suitcases packed and a goodbye letter.
But Sam surprised him again. "We're remodeling the room next to mine. It's close to the bathroom and the heating pipes aren't as noisy. When the baby arrives, we'll ask Donna and Jody to help with the birth certificate. And when it's old enough, we'll move away. To a house with a garden and a veranda. It will officially be ours, no lie from a deceased aunt or anything. We'll do it all or nothing. Deal?"
Dean reached into Sam's hair and pulled his brother close until he could kiss the corner of his mouth.
"Deal."
Sam's eyes gleamed and he headed toward Dean's bed. "Shit, I'm really pregnant."
Dean's gaze automatically went to Sam's muscular stomach. "Hey at least it wasn't an Immaculate Conception." Sam threw his pillow at Dean's head. It wouldn't be the last time.
Dean gazed mesmerized at Sam's right arm, which held the most precious gift Dean had ever thought possible. Snuggled up as if in a protective nest, lay their daughter. So delicate and fragile. She was asleep, but her little mouth moved with every breath.
"She's got your nose," Dean smiled. "Other than that, she's beautiful." When his brother didn't say anything back, Dean couldn't suppress a slight sob. "She needs you." I need you.
Books of demon summoning rituals disappeared for newborn sleep rituals. Dean no longer brought home chicken legs, but chicken soup, strawberry ice cream and pickles. Usually on the same evening.
Instead of iodine for stab wounds, there was lavender oil for pregnancy marks. Dean no longer dismantled weapons, but built a wooden crib with all the defense runes carved into it, because better safe than sorry.
He pureed smoothies without gagging, and learned that pregnancy jokes were just never never never funny.
Dean didn't look back, he only looked forward.
But in no scenario had he imagined he’d find himself in an abandoned house two hours from Lebanon, with his daughter, while Sam...
The baby cooed and gave a small cry. Little fingers reached out for Dean, who gently grabbed them with an index finger. "Hey little one, you don't have to cry."
Dean's other hand sought out his brother's. He reached for the slender long fingers and buried his hand in them. "Sammy, she's so perfect."
"It's Sam."
Dean closed his eyes for a moment, shooing away the moisture in them before looking up into his brother's exhausted but happy face.
"Not for me, Sammy."
Sam laughed tiredly and Dean hoped the little girl inherited Sam's dimples. He hoped she’d never have to be afraid of a monster under the bed because her daddies are the best monster hunters in the world. He hoped that her only scrapes will be from climbing trees, and that wherever the Winchesters go, it will be their home. Forever.