William was a good baby, so to speak. He rarely ever cried for the first few months after Dean and Jo brought him home from the hospital. It wasn't until he was around three months old that he started. It wasn't the sort of thing that happened every night; it only happened on nights when he could sense something was off in his home.

That something that was off was that Dean wasn't there. Most nights he was back before midnight, but some nights he wasn't. Some nights he and Sam would be out for later than usual, leaving Jo to sit up awake down in the living room, her eyes darting back and forth between the phone and the door, waiting for something, anything to happen that would tell her he was okay. She'd thought being forbid to hunt back when she was young was bad; that was nothing compared to the life she was living now. Just sitting, waiting, and constantly worrying that Dean wouldn't come home. Was this what it had been like for her mother before her dad died? If so, she suddenly felt bad for pestering her all those times, either asking her to play or where Daddy was.

The similarities she was developing with her mother were what scared Jo the most, because she knew how things for her had ended up. She knew the second she admitted to herself that she loved Dean Winchester that it would be a constant risk to be with him; a risk that, one day, he might not be there anymore; that something terrible may happen. That was the price you paid when you were in love with a hunter. Of course, it wasn't as bad a few years back when she'd been hunting alongside the Winchesters; she and Dean had been the ultimate hunting couple. They were the envy of most hunters, to be honest. But then she got pregnant, and everything changed. Dean took a little over a year off to watch over her and make sure everything went smoothly, and that there was always someone there to fetch whatever she was craving. But once William was a few months old, he couldn't deny it anymore; he was restless. Sitting around the house like a typical father wasn't something he was capable of; not when he was used to the thrill of the hunt. Jo understood; she knew what it felt like to be held back from something that was practically in your blood. But that didn't mean she didn't worry.

It had been one of those nights tonight. She was sitting in one of the armchairs of the small house they shared with Sam, dressed in one of Dean's plaid button downs that she liked to wear to sleep in. She'd never been the kind of girl to like skimpy lingerie or any of that crap, and if Dean was being honest he liked her better in his shirts. They suited her; Jo wasn't a girly girl, and he wouldn't want her to be. He loved her the way she was. She'd been staring at the clock anxiously, the ticking painfully loud, the sound only interrupted when William's cries echoed through the house from upstairs, making her get to her feet to check on him. She'd never really understand how he seemed to just know when Dean wasn't home; it wasn't like he was loud when he left or got back.

"What's the matter, Willy boy?" she asked softly when she walked into the nursery, the room dimly lit by the twinkling lights of the mobile above his bed that Sam had got for him. Frowning weakly at the sight of his big crocodile tears, Jo bent down and lifted him out of his crib, holding him to her chest and bouncing him gently to soothe his tears. "Don't cry, baby; Momma's here..."

His sobs slowly dissolved into whimpers and sniffles, his little head cradled on her shoulder, and Jo sighed as she rubbed his back. She hated it when he was fussy; it broke her heart to see him cry.

"You miss Daddy, don't you?" she inquired as she brushed his thin blonde hair back, kissing his forehead when he peered up at her with his baby blue eyes. "Me too..."

William started to wail again at the mention of Dean, and she sighed, aware that there was only one sure-fire way to get him back to sleep.

"Carry on my wayward son... There'll be peace when you are done... Lay your weary head to rest... Don't you cry no more..."

William sniffled and clutched at her shirt as her singing rang softly through the room, and she kissed his head as his wails dulled. Singing was one of the talents Jo preferred to keep hidden; it had never been useful. Not until Willy came into the picture, anyway. Taking a breath, she continued to sing the tune softly to the sleepy, cranky baby in her arms, silently wishing Dean were here.

"Once I rose above the noise and confusion, just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion... I was soaring ever higher... but I flew too high..."

Her singing seemed to be working, for William's sobs had silenced and he was cuddling into her arms, his little eyes fluttering shut as she continued.

"Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man... though my mind could think I still was a mad man... I hear the voices when I'm dreaming... I can hear them say..."

Too distracted in getting her son back to sleep, Jo hadn't heard the Impala pull into the driveway below, nor the door opening and shutting downstairs. Thus Dean had the pleasure of her soft singing being the first thing he heard when, exhausted, he walked through the door, his mood instantly lifting. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her and William with a soft smile, doing his best to keep quiet so she wouldn't stop. He could hardly ever convince her to sing otherwise, and it happened to be one of his favorite sounds.

"Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done... Lay your weary head to rest... don't you cry no more."

Smiling softly as William dozed peacefully in her arms, Jo gently laid him down in the crib again, spinning the mobile so his lullaby would play softly, and she jumped when a strong pair of arms wrapped around her waist.

"You really should sing more often..." Dean muttered as he kissed her neck, nuzzling his nose into her blonde hair, and she relaxed when she heard his voice in her ear, leaning back against his chest.

"Fat chance..." she whispered in return, a small smile tugging at her lips."It's Willy's special treat. No one else gets to indulge in it.

"Not even your loving husband who spent the past two days tirelessly hunting a rather bitchy demon?" he asked, giving her his best imitation of Sam's puppy dog eyes. Sighing, she leaned over and pecked his lips, pulling him out of the nursery before they woke William up again.

"Fine. But just this once," she said with faux firmness, pulling him down the hall toward their room, and Dean's lips pulled up into a small victorious grin as she began to softly start the song over again, her voice ringing throughout the house as Sam rustled through the fridge downstairs, "Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more..."