Turn My Dirt to Flowers, a wrestling fanfic

written for a prompt over on wrestlingkink. this turned out a lot less humorous and way more angsty than i'm sure was intended, but it kind of got away from me a little bit.

set in some nebulous alternate universe where seth's knee injury never happened.

disclaimer: i own nothing, only the words written here. title from birthday girl by matt nathanson

For all that Dean hates Seth, and oh, god, does he fucking hate that little weasel ass punk, there's nothing quite like the feel of Seth's hands on him, grip so tight Dean feels it down to his bones, Seth's lips and teeth, hard, bruising, bite marks that Dean hates wearing, but loves relishing in the mix of pain and pleasure they give him.

Angry, infuriated Seth gives him the best fuck of his life every time, and Dean can't help but goad him into it, calls him a weasel, calls him a little bitch, asks him if he's gonna go crying to mommy and daddy because no one likes him, and it's so goddamn fun, fuck, Seth crowding him up against a wall, forearm pressing in against Dean's throat, eyes like fire when they lock on Dean's.

It's another day, another city, and there's an itch under Dean's skin that only Seth can scratch. It's been awhile since he last saw Seth, and it lights him up on the inside at how much he's missed it. Not Seth, fuck no, fuck him. Dean could happily tape his mouth shut and put a paper bag over his head, so long as he gets to have Seth's cock inside him.

Seth's sulking in his private dressing room, - more fodder for Dean to tease him over - the door surprisingly open, void of any of his security stooges or guard dogs.

"Awww," Dean says, all false care and sympathy, "who pissed in your cereal today?"

Seth scowls over at him, but his mouth stays shut, surprisingly quiet for once.

Dean walks in and shuts the door behind him, crossing his arms and leaning back against it. "What?" Dean tries again, "Mommy and Daddy put you in timeout today?"

"Shut the fuck up, Ambrose," Seth says, but he's lacking his usual fire, the usual grit and anger that stokes the flame in Dean's belly.

"I mean," Dean says, delighting in the way every sound coming out of his mouth only serves to piss off Seth even more, "they gave you this nice, cushy room while the rest of us have to slum it together. It must be so rough being Seth Rollins, Golden Boy, The Undisputed Future."

Seth is up and on him in a flash, and this is what he was waiting for, this is what Dean wants. Seth's hands are on his shoulders, pressing him hard into the wall, and Dean grins.

fucking finally.

"I'd shut up if I were you," Seth says, voice pitched low and threatening, but it only serves to increase Dean's arousal.

Dean quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do if I don't?"

Seth steps back, shaking his head, but the look that crosses his face makes Dean's hackles rise. His laugh only sets Dean on edge, that annoying, brash, braying sound. "Gotcha," Seth says, and Dean tilts his head in confusion.

"The fuck you talking about?"

"Oh, Dean-o," Seth says, taunting, and it makes Dean clench his teeth, hands balling into fists at his side. "Just can't get enough of me, can you?"

Dean wants to wipe that smug ass look off his fucking face.

"I mean, you're always hunting me down like you're a damn dog sniffing out its next meal. It's pathetic, really."

Dean snorts out a laugh. The audacity of this asshole is astonishing. "Don't flatter yourself, Sethie," he says, grinning wide enough to bear his teeth. "It's just so damn easy to get in your head. Can't help it that I'm bored and pissing you off is the best kind of fun there is."

"Right, of course." Seth stalks toward him, eyes dark, and it's all Dean can do to not fucking whimper. Fuck, but Seth is so goddamn hot like this, it makes Dean seethe silently in anger. "We both know what you're here for."

He's so fucking close, Dean can feel every exhalation of breath skating across his skin, goosebumps rising in its wake.

"Oh, please, enlighten me." Dean's all but gritting his teeth now, feeling the familiar anger that Seth always seems to evoke, smug little asshole thinking he knows everything.

Seth presses right up against him, not even a hairsbreadth of space between them. "We both know you're here for my cock," he says, punctuates his words with a roll of his hips right against Dean's.

Dean knows that's why he's here, but he'll never give Seth the satisfaction of knowing he's right. He forces out a laugh, says, "Right, totally got me all figured out. Definitely here for that pencil you call a dick."

Seth's eyes flash in anger. Between one breath and the next, he's manhandling Dean around, pushing him face first against the wall beside the door. His teeth dig into the side of Dean's neck, his hands strong and tight on Dean's hips

"That why you always moan like a little whore when I'm fucking you?" Seth asks, nips at the shell of Dean's ear.

Dean fights back the shiver that threatens to overtake him. "More like moaning 'cause it's so damn depressing that I can't even feel it."

"You'll be feeling it for days," Seth says, and Dean grins against the wall. Fuck, this is gonna be so good.

The weight of Seth against his back is gone, but Dean stays right where he is, listening to the sounds of Seth moving around the room. There's the sound of a zipper being undone, things being thrown carelessly about, footsteps on the carpeted floor, then Seth, right behind him again.

He paws at the button of Dean's jeans, pulling down the fly, then his pants are yanked down around his ankles, his boxers disappearing with them.

Seth is never gentle, all rough touches and sharp movements, and his prepping is no different. His nails scratch down Dean's back beneath his t-shirt, turning even more rough and forceful when he gets to the swell of Dean's ass. There have been many times where Dean was sure there were bruises and scratch marks left behind, but it only aids in his pleasure, every scratch a little shock that zips through Dean's veins.

Seth's fingers are strong and sure when they press into Dean, one, two, three, and Dean bites his bottom lip bloody through it all, not daring to make a sound. Fuck giving this asshole the satisfaction of knowing how fucking good Dean finds it all.

Dean shoves his fist into his mouth at the feel of Seth pressing in, somehow feeling even bigger than the last time. He chokes on a breath when Seth starts moving right away, a quick, hard snap of his hips that never stops, never slows, pushing Dean's face harder into the wall.

"Yeah," Seth says, sounding like he's swallowed a mouthful of gravel, "you fucking love this, don't you, Dean? Love how it feels when my cock is stretching your tight little ass open, don't you?"

"Keep fucking dreaming," Dean says, squeezes tight around Seth's dick, enjoying the breathy curse Seth lets out. His own dick is as hard as it's ever been, curving up toward his belly, slick trails of precome sliding down the head.

Seth fucks into him even harder at that, hips hitting Dean's ass so hard and fast he doesn't doubt that there'll be bruises of some sort later. Seth's a goddamn machine when he's pissed, and fuck if it doesn't make Dean's toes curl in his boots.

It's over far sooner than he would have liked, biting down on his knuckles as his orgasm washes over him, shooting out hot, wet pulses against the wall, not even a hand on his dick to get him off, only the feel of Seth's cock inside him and the hard, punishing feel of Seth's hips snapping against his ass.

"Didn't even have to touch your cock," Seth growls into his ear, reaching around to play with the wet, softening tip. "Tell me now how you're not a slut for my cock."

Dean grunts at the overstimulating feel of Seth's calloused hands on him, already too sensitive for touch. He clenches down on reflex, chuckling low under his breath at the way Seth curses and freezes, knocking his forehead against the back of Dean's skull.

Dean feels cold and empty and uncomfortable when Seth pulls out, lube a disgusting mess where it's drying on his ass. Seth is somewhere behind him, making an unnecessary amount of noise as he cleans himself, but Dean doesn't pay him much attention, grimacing at the sting in his ass as he pulls his boxers and jeans back into place.

"Get what you came here for?" Seth asks, and Dean finally turns to look at him, pleased buzz of his orgasm dissipating at the smug smirk on Seth's face.

Dean shrugs a shoulder, hand already on the door handle, ready to get the fuck out and away. "Hardly," he says, grinning wide. "I've had better."

He ducks out the door and slams it shut behind him, letting out a sharp bark of laughter at the sound of something thudding against the door, a shoe or a boot no doubt.

Such a fucking drama queen.

Dean heads back to the locker room, hands tucked into his pockets, whistling. Nothing beats an intense orgasm, but fucking with Seth and pissing him off sure as hell comes close.

Weeks pass and Dean steers clear of Seth. Sure, there's that itch under his skin just begging to be scratched, but after Seth's smartass, know-it-all remarks, it's better to leave it alone for now.

That, and Dean just doesn't have the energy for much of anything lately. Even getting in the ring or in front of a mic to cut a promo seems to drain all his energy, leaves him tired and exhausted and all but begging to sleep, and working out has become the biggest chore of his life.

After another hard fought match, he drags himself back to the locker room, throwing himself down on a bench. He's hot and sweaty, his shirt and jeans sticking to him uncomfortably. He needs a shower and approximately eighty years of sleep, but instead, he settles himself on his back on the hard bench, his eyes already falling shut.

He's moments away from drifting off when there's a kick against his leg, and he bolts upright, eyes flying open. "The fuck?"

Roman's looking at him curiously, head tilted to the side. "You alright, man?"

"Fucking tired, dude," Dean says, rubbing a hand over his face. He tugs at his hair, sharp pinpricks of pain waking him further.

"You ain't looking so hot," Roman says, placing the back of his hand to Dean's forehead.

Dean smacks it away, grumbling, "Not a kid, man, don't need you babying me."

Roman holds his hands up in apology, but his face keeps that worried, pinched look. "No, you don't," he says in agreement. "But you're pale as hell, and you look like you haven't slept in a year. You gotta be coming down with something."

Dean yawns, fighting through the overbearing sense of fatigue plaguing him. He hadn't thought about any kind of virus or illness, chalked it up to the strenuous schedule they keep, but it makes sense that a cold or flu could be dragging him down.

"Could be," Dean says with a shrug. "I'll stop and grab some shit before I get to the hotel tonight."

"Nah, man," Roman says quickly, shaking his head. "I'll have someone turn in my rental. You're in no shape to drive."

Dean groans. He loves Roman like the brother he never had but always wished for, but when Roman's in one of his mother hen moods, there's no swaying him, and Dean fucking hates being pampered and coddled and babied.

He doesn't even bother trying to argue this time, however, too exhausted for it.

"Try to shower before I get back," Roman says, carding a gentle hand through Dean's hair. He tries not to lean in to it, but his head is pounding and it feels so damn good.

Roman pulls his hand away and Dean opens his eyes to look up at him, not even realizing they'd drifted shut.

"I'll try," Dean says, stifling another yawn. "Now go, do your thing. I'll be here waiting." He shoos Roman away, glares when Roman doesn't move immediately. "Seriously, Ro, I'll be fine. Go."

Roman nods, leaves with one last glance back toward Dean.

Dean rummages through his suitcase, pulls out a clean towel and his bag of toiletries, and drags himself to the shower, ignoring everyone else who's meandering around. It does little to calm the ache in his head or the fatigue he feels, but he does feel infinitely cleaner without all the dried sweat coating his skin.

He dries off and puts on a pair of sweatpants, a loose t-shirt, slipping his socks and shoes on. He doesn't know how much longer Roman is going to be, so he settles in a chair propped up against the lockers, folding his hands together over his stomach.

He wakes with a start, hand poised to strike before he's fully conscious.

"Hey, hey, it's just me," Roman says, voice pitched low and soothing, and it immediately calms Dean.

"Don't do that shit," Dean says, blowing out a slow breath. "I'm gonna end up punching you next time."

Roman shrugs and laughs. "Ready to get out of here?"

Dean nods, rising to his feet. He stretches, groaning in relief at the pops and cracks his body makes. Roman's already showered and changed, suitcase waiting by his feet, duffelbag slung over his shoulder. He reaches out to grab Dean's bags as well, but Dean smacks his hand away, grabbing it himself.

"I'm not a fucking invalid, Roman," Dean says with a huff.

Roman wisely chooses not to answer. Dean leads them through the halls to the back lot where his rental is parked, tossing the keys to Roman once they reach it. They shove their shit into the trunk of the SUV, climbing inside once the hatch is closed.

Dean dozes off almost instantly, barely remembering to put his seatbelt on before Roman starts his nagging him about it.

They stop to pick up some cold and flu medicine, and Dean rumbles out some choice curses when Roman says he has to pay him back.

"Didn't tell you to buy shit," he says, throwing the bag to the floor between his feet.

"Wasn't like you were gonna buy it yourself," Roman points out.

"Yeah, I was," Dean says, because he's actually not an idiot. Having any kind of bug means it'll spread through the rest of the roster, and Dean doesn't have time to deal with pissy assholes bitching at him because they caught whatever he had.

Roman gets them to the hotel fairly quick, loading up their bags on a luggage cart. Dean feels like his eyelids are weighted down with dumbbells, the ground like it's wet cement, each step feeling harder and more tiring than the last.

By the time Dean makes it into the hotel, Roman's already booked them a room for the night, and Dean is silent as he follows him into the elevator, bag filled with whatever shit Roman bought hanging from his hand.

Dean all but runs to the first bed when Roman opens the door, and he raises a hand to flip Roman off when he laughs.

"Gotta actually take that shit for it to work," says Roman.

Dean grumbles but sits up, rifling through the bag to see that there's a couple different brands, daytime and nighttime varieties, along with a cold bottle of water. He rips open the box of nighttime cold pills, popping two and downing them with a swig of water. He pushes everything off the bed when he's done, flopping on his stomach and closing his eyes, falling asleep between one breath and the next.

Nothing Dean has been taking has done him any good; he's only gotten worse. Along with the incessant fatigue and headache, he's developed a case of never-ending nausea, and food just doesn't seem to stay down.

"Seriously, Dean," Roman says, pacing back and forth in their hotel room. Roman has barely let him out of his sight lately, and Dean's too worn down to protest it. "You need to see a doctor. This shit ain't getting better."

"I'm fine, Roman," Dean says. It's become his go-to answer whenever Roman looks at him with that concerned look in his eye. He doesn't want to admit that he's freaking out over the sudden decline in his health. He's always been healthy, and the worst that's happened to him is a minor cold every now and again. Whatever's wrong with him this time is so much worse than a cold, and he doesn't even want to think about being sidelined with whatever's wrong with him.

"No, you're not," Roman says vehemently, stopping in front of Dean's bed where he's curled up on his side, the only thing that seems to calm the roiling in his stomach. "Everyone keeps asking what's wrong with you, and they're terrified that something's gonna go wrong in the middle of a match. You can't keep going on like this, man."

Dean knows, he does, and he knows that if he doesn't take care of whatever is wrong with him soon, the medical staff is going to forbid him from competing until he's over whatever is wrong with him.

"Fine," Dean says, sighing.

"Good, get up."

"What? Why?" Dean asks, confused. He's in no mood to go anywhere, and he's pretty sure if he sits up, his stomach is going to end up all over the bed.

"You've got an appointment in a half hour. Let's go." Roman claps his hands together, making Dean wince at the sharp, loud noise of it.

Fucking Roman, being a goddamn mother hen all the damn time. Fuck this noise.

"I'll put you over my shoulder and carry you to the car if I have to," Roman says, and by the tone of his voice, Dean knows he's not joking.

"Fucking whatever, man," Dean says. He slowly sits up, testing the stability of his stomach, and when it doesn't threaten to escape out of his mouth, he rises to his feet.

He's never been more grateful for his bouts of laziness than he is now, his boots laced up loose enough that he can slip his feet right into them. His phone and wallet are on the bedside table and he slips them into his pockets, throwing his arms out when he's done. "Well, I ain't got all day. Let's fucking go."

"Anyone ever tell you you're a damn peach when you're sick?"

"I'm sick, Roman," Dean says, "do you really think I'm going to be all sunshine and fucking daisies?"

Dean stumbles back out into the waiting room where Roman is waiting for him. He's pretty sure he's never laughed himself sick over something before, but apparently there's a first time for everything.

"What's the verdict?" Roman asks, rising to meet him.

Dean really doesn't want to talk about it, hopes that if he doesn't it'll all go away and this will just be some fucked up dream.

"That bad, huh?" Dean knows Roman's only playing around, but he can't. He cannot fucking process anything right now.

Dean waits until they're safely locked inside the SUV before he pulls the little test out of his pocket and hands it to Roman.

"What?" Roman asks, and Dean doesn't have to look at him to see the pure confusion written all over his face.

Yeah, that was pretty much Dean's reaction, too. And then he proceeded to laugh so fucking hard he ended up being sick.

"I don't understand," Roman says, handing the small plastic test back to Dean.

"C'mon, Roman," Dean says, with more force than necessary. "Surely you know how to read these stupid tests. You've got a kid of your own."

"Dean."

"I am so fucking fucked," Dean says, throwing the test to the floor. He rubs his hands over his face, growling in frustration. Fucking stupid Seth, stupid fucking asshole, fuck.

"So you can - "

"Obviously!" Dean yells, then takes a breath, trying to calm himself down. None of this is Roman's fault. Roman doesn't deserve an ounce of his anger. "Sorry. But yeah, I can. That stupid extra gene or whatever, yeah, I have it. Found out years ago before I first started wrestling."

"Has this ever happened before?" Roman asks tentatively, like he's afraid of Dean tearing him in half. With the anger and frustration Dean is feeling, he figures he'd probably be the same way if he were in Roman's shoes.

"No," Dean says, shaking his head. "I've always been careful. Didn't bottom all that often then and when I did, never without a condom and that spermicide lube or whatever."

"What happened this time?"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "Fuck if I know." But rest assured he'll be getting to the bottom of it.

"Do you know how far along you are?"

Dean does the calculations in his head. "Two and a half months, I think."

"What are you going to do?" Roman asks, but it sounds like what about your career?

Dean doesn't know the answer to that, either. "No idea, man."

He leans his head against the window, drawing in a deep breath. There's another life growing inside him, and he's fucking terrified for what it means. His wrestling career is done for now, that much he knows. Everything else? No fucking idea. He never planned on being a parent, never really wanted kids. His parents were shit ass excuses of human beings, and he knows nothing about raising a baby. He can hardly take care of himself, for fuck's sake.

"Whatever you need, I'm here," Roman says, soft, heartfelt.

Dean swallows past the lump in his throat, says, "Thanks, man."

Roman starts the car, the radio playing softly in the background, taking them to the arena for the night's event. There's a lot Dean has to do, and he's not looking forward to any of it in the slightest. Nothing is going to be the same after tonight, and his heart is beating rapidly in his chest.

He has to go back home, back to Vegas, has to get a doctor to oversee him for the duration, buy all sorts of shit and baby proof his house and he can't help but break out into peals of laughter. He's going to be someone's parent. What the fuck is his life?

Dean's meeting with corporate goes better than he expected, considering they have only a few hours to scramble together a viable reason for Dean being gone for an indeterminable amount of time. They didn't question his choices, didn't ask him if he was sure if this was what he wanted to do, and he's grateful for that, because he has no fucking idea what he would have said.

He's on his way to the locker room, preparing himself for his last night on the road for who knows how long, when he runs into Seth. He takes an exaggerated step to the side, allowing Seth to pass without a word. That's the last thing he wants to deal with right now. His day has been enough of a clusterfuck as it is, and it's nowhere near over yet.

The big bosses had asked if he wanted one last match, but Dean was quick to shoot that down. He may have wrestled for the last two and a half months, but luck must have been on his side. He would've never forgiven himself if something had happened, and now that he knows, there's no way he's going to endanger the life growing inside him.

Roman's waiting for him outside the locker room, tall and imposing as ever, and it brings a smile to Dean's face.

"How'd it go?" Roman asks, slinging an arm around Dean's shoulder.

"As well as it could," Dean says. "Last night tonight."

Roman turns to look at him, brows pulled down, lips drawn into a frown. "But you're coming back after, right?"

Dean shrugs. The future is so uncertain at this point, and he hates that. As much as wrestling is his life, he's not the only one he has to think about now. Does he want to come back? No fucking doubt about it, but how is he going to pull that off? He doesn't want to cart around a newborn from city to city, can only imagine how stressful and inconvenient it would be, and he doesn't want to have to rely on sitters or nannies to look after his child while he's working or resting.

"Maybe," Dean says, hating the way Roman's face falls. It's all he can offer for now, and it'll have to suffice for the time being.

"You gonna tell me who the baby daddy is?" Roman asks, so quiet Dean has to strain to hear him.

Standing outside the locker room is probably the worst place to have this conversation, Dean decides, so he drags Roman off down a separate hallway, looking every which way to make sure no one's around.

Dean has been dreading this conversation all afternoon. He knew sooner or later Roman was going to ask, and he'd stupidly hoped Roman would hold out for later.

"So?" Roman asks, giddy like a schoolgirl waiting to hear the latest gossip.

"Seth," Dean says, flat and resigned.

"Where?" Roman whips his head around.

"No, you dumbass," Dean says, resisting the urge to flick Roman in the forehead. "He's the other, y'know."

Roman's mouth drops open in shock, and Dean would laugh if it didn't feel like his insides were trying to rearrange themselves.

"What?"

"His hate fuck game is strong, man," Dean says, trying to make light of the situation, but from the look on Roman's face, it's not working.

"That little punk is going to be the daddy of my niece or nephew? Nah, nah, nah, you're playing, man." Roman keeps shaking his head, like if he does it enough, it'll somehow make Dean's words less true.

Dean ignores the rush of happiness he feels at Roman already declaring himself an uncle. Fucking big ass teddy bear.

"That little punk is nothing but a sperm donor," Dean says, blood running cold at the thought of Seth anywhere near his baby.

"You're serious," Roman says.

"I wouldn't joke about something like that," Dean says, shaking his head.

"Man, when you step in it, you really fucking step in it."

Yeah, Dean is well aware of that, thanks.

"You gonna tell him?"

Dean's been asking himself that question all day, and for every reason he thinks he shouldn't, he comes back to the inevitable conclusion that Seth deserves to know.

"Yeah," Dean says, blowing out a tired breath. "After the show tonight, I will."

Then it's back home to Vegas, to wait and prepare for the future.

Corporate's genius idea to explain Dean's absence is a neck injury, which is shitty as fuck of them considering how many superstars' careers have ended because of legitimate neck injuries. Whatever they need to do, he supposes. Can't change it now since it's all said and done.

Dean finally gets away from the medical trainers backstage when Stephanie and Hunter appear to fill them in on what's going on. There's a lot of business bullshit Dean doesn't really pay attention to, but he catches on when he sees the paperwork Steph hands over to the trainers.

"Nondisclosure agreements? Is that necessary?" Dean asks, watching as each of the trainers signs away, easy as breathing.

"I'm sure you'd rather your exciting news not be broadcasted to the world just yet, so this is a way to insure that that doesn't happen," Hunter says, all business-like and professional.

"We really do hope you come back," Stephanie says, placing a hand on his forearm. "You are a valuable asset to this company, and we'd hate to lose you."

Dean nods, feeling a sudden rush of emotion at the realization that yeah, this could very well be the last time he's here, as a part of the company. "Yeah, thank you," he says, through a throat that feels ten sizes too small.

"Take care of yourself," Hunter says, and Stephanie nods in agreement.

Dean quickly escapes before they can say anything else, already feeling stretched thin.

Roman said he'd be waiting out in the parking lot with Dean's shit while he did what he had to do, so Dean meanders through the halls, finding his way to Seth's private locker room.

Seth is still in there, the door cracked open, so Dean musters up every ounce of courage and bravado he can, pushing it open wide.

"How's it hanging, baby daddy?" Dean strolls in with a cocky, confident walk he doesn't feel in the slightest, quickly closing the door behind him because this is not a conversation anybody needs to overhear.

"The fuck are you talking about, Ambrose?" Seth's looking at him with wide eyes, his shirt dangling loosely from his hand.

"What? Baby daddy not clear enough for you to understand?" Dean taps his index finger against his lips. "How about sperm donor? Father of the child growing inside me? Pencil dick asshole who doesn't know how to use a condom? Any of those working for ya?"

Seth's eyes flutter shut and he collapses to the floor.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Dean says to the empty room. He ambles over to where Seth's laying, squats down and proceeds to smack Seth in the face. "Hey, buddy, this ain't nap time. Wake the fuck up."

Seth scoots away quick, like Dean's touch is poisonous. "That was a dream, right? Must've been, otherwise I'm going crazy."

"Snap out of it, Seth," Dean says, voice and temper rising. "I don't have the patience to deal with your fucking theatrics today."

"Fuck off, Dean," Seth says, rising to his feet. "I don't have time to deal with you being a lying asshole."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, because I'd go out there and fake a life-threatening injury for a lie."

"Then it's not mine," Seth says, quick as lightning. Dean's gotta hand it to the guy, he expected that to be the first thing out of Seth's mouth.

Dean's lips twist into a grimace. "Contrary to whatever you might think, I'm not actually a fucking slut, Seth," he says, barely resisting the urge to punch Seth in the face. "Only dick I've had in my ass recently was yours."

"But, but," Seth stutters, tripping over his words, "no, you're lying, man, I used a condom, I always do."

"Then it must have fucking broke!"

Seth pales, and Dean growls.

"Oh, fuck," Seth says, collapsing to the ground, head in his hands. "Oh, shit, oh, motherfucking shit."

"Care to enlighten me?" Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest. He wants this conversation to be done now.

"I-I didn't, I thought - "

"You thought what, Seth? C'mon, pretty boy, I ain't got all night."

"After I got rid of the condom, I thought the come on my hand was yours, from where I, y'know, but it wasn't. It was mine, from where the condom must have broke." Seth bites the meat of his palm, hair hanging in his face.

"You stupid fuck," Dean says, shaking his head. "I thought you used too much fucking lube."

"Oh, I'm the stupid fuck? You can't even tell the difference between come and lube dripping out of your ass!"

Dean bites back his response, takes a slow, calming breath. Doctor said stress isn't good for the baby, he reminds himself.

"Whatever, I don't care," Dean says. "It's both our faults, but what's done is done. Just wanted to let you know I'm having your kid."

"I can't have a kid," Seth wails, pulling at his hair.

"Good thing you ain't having it then, huh?"

"What am I going to do with a kid?" Seth continues, like he's not even paying attention to a word Dean's saying. "I still have so much of my career left. I'm in the prime of my life, I'm at the top of this company, I don't want a kid."

Dean raises his voice again, says, "I ain't fucking asking you for shit, you dick. Just thought you'd want to know you're gonna be someone's parent, but, like always, it's all about you and your life, never mind the fact that I'm the one actually carrying the damn thing! What about me, Seth? What about my life, my career? I'm done 'til the kid's old enough to travel, and by that time, I'll be so far from wrestling condition it'll be pointless for me to come back!"

"Why don't you just get rid of it then?" Seth asks, looking hopeful.

"Say that again and I will punch you in the fucking face," Dean grits out. "My body, my decision, and I'm keeping it. You can fuck off right outta here if you think I'm getting an abortion."

"I have a say, too," Seth says, face flushing the way it always does when he's riling himself up about something. "That baby is half mine. You don't get to make all the decisions."

"It's my baby," Dean says, the shock of it hitting him all at once. It's the first time he's actually said that out loud, and it feels like a ton of bricks was just dropped on his head. "Oh, god, I'm having a baby."

Seth wails again, the sound drowned out by the rush of blood in Dean's ears. He's having a baby. He's having Seth's baby. Oh, god.

Seth is pounding his fists against the carpeted floor, his hair a tangled mess. "I don't know anything about babies, what am I going to do? I'm going to drop it and break its poor little head, what the fuck, what the fuck."

Dean kind of wants to join Seth in throwing a tantrum. "What are Iyou/I going to do? What am II/I going to do? You get to keep going, keep wrestling, and I'm gonna be stuck at home, getting fat."

"You're going to be so fat, oh, my god," Seth says, dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny, you asshole."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Seth says, pulling in a deep breath before he's laughing again. "You're gonna waddle like a duck!"

"Swear to god, Seth, imma make it so you can't ever produce another kid again," Dean says, voice low and threatening.

That shuts Seth up real quick.

"What are we going to do?" Seth asks, more serious this time.

"Like I said," Dean says, "you don't have to do anything. I'm flying back to Vegas tomorrow morning."

"What if I want to, though?" Seth asks softly, taking a step closer to Dean.

Dean swallows roughly. "I'm not asking you for anything, Seth. Whatever you do is your decision."

"I don't know if I'm ready to be a dad," Seth admits, looking down at the floor, "but I want to try."

"This isn't a pair of pants, Seth," Dean says, shaking his head. "You don't get to 'try' then decide it's not a good fit and return it. My parents were shitty as could be, and I will not do that to my own child. I will not be like them, and I'm not going to let you pull any half-in, half-out bullshit."

Seth nods. "That's not what I mean. I mean I want to try, with you, to have and raise this baby. You're right, no kid deserves shitty parents, and I won't be that to ours, I swear to you."

"You honestly expect us to be able to raise a kid together? We can barely stand to be in the same room with each other for five minutes without wanting to rip each other limb from limb," Dean points out. The idea of having someone around to help take on parenting responsibilities sounds nice and all, but Dean can hardly stand the sight of Seth the majority of the time, not to mention Seth will still be on the road for 300 days every year.

"We could make it work," Seth says, taking another step closer. "We used to like each other. Maybe this'll get us back to that."

Does Seth really think bringing up his betrayal is going to sway Dean in his favor?

"Nothing will ever undo what you did," Dean says, closing his eyes.

"I know that," Seth says, and for the first time, Dean can actually hear a note of regret in his voice. "But maybe it could be what we need to work past that."

It sounds tempting, it really does, and with the baby, what sense is there in holding onto all that anger? Even if he and Seth never get to friendly ground, he doesn't want their child hating their other parent because he's still bitter and angry over something that's in the past, something he should've been able to see the brighter side of, in terms of his career.

"Fuck me over again and they won't find your body," Dean says, promises.

Seth nods, looking for all the world like a goddamn bobblehead dog.

"And you might wanna watch out for Ro. Wasn't too thrilled when I told him you were the baby daddy."

Dean can't hold back the grin at the absolute scared shitless look on Seth's face.

"I can take him," Seth says, pulling up to his full height, straightening his shoulders and puffing out his chest.

"Sure you can," Dean says with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway, Ro's probably wondering if you killed me or something, so I should get going."

"Oh, yeah, right," Seth says, fidgeting where he stands.

Dean sighs. "What, Seth?"

Seth's hands reach out before he puts them back at his sides. "Can I - " He nods at Dean's stomach, and Dean motions him over.

It should feel weird, having Seth's hands on him in anything other than a bruising, punishing manner, but it surprisingly doesn't. Seth's hands are gentle, inching under the fabric of his t-shirt, cradling the whole space of his belly that'll inevitably round out.

"Still too early for anything to really be there," Dean says with a shrug, ignoring the way Seth's hands have made him feel overheated.

"I kind of can't wait to see you when you're showing," Seth whispers into the space between them, cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment.

"Okay, man, hands off," Dean says. Seth's being a little weird now, and Dean really just wants to go. This has been the longest day of his life and he just wants to get to the hotel and sleep until he has to fly home.

"Sorry," Seth says, withdrawing his hands. "Keep me up to date on everything?"

"Sure," Dean says, reaching for the door handle. "I'll let you know appointments and shit, see if you can make any of them or whatever, I dunno."

Seth says, "Yeah, I'd like that," and Dean nods, letting himself out.

That was not what he expected. Seth's flair for the dramatic, yes, but Seth actually stepping up to the plate, wanting to be a part of the baby's life? Wouldn't have guessed that in a million years. He also wouldn't have guessed that he'd be so quick to acquiesce to Seth being involved, had felt so goddamn certain he wouldn't want Seth anywhere around him or the baby, but for all that Dean prides himself on being able to take on anything alone, the thought of being a single parent is fucking terrifying.

The hallways are empty as Dean makes his way through the arena, to the back exit where Roman's waiting, undoubtedly itching to give him the third degree, and probably worrying his ass off about Dean's whereabouts. He figures it'll only be a matter of time before that's him, worrying about everything.

It makes him laugh, realizing that his carefree, fuck it all days are numbered. Dean Ambrose, about to be tamed by a baby. Who would've thought.

Being home absolutely fucking sucks. It hasn't even been a week and Dean is already tired of it. He's emptied his suitcases, washed his laundry, put it all away, washed the sheets and blankets on the bed and put new ones on, cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer and stocked it with fresh food, and now he's bored out of his mind.

The nausea, headache, and fatigue all seemed to have disappeared, and now Dean's left with too much time on his hands and nothing to do with it. Roman keeps him updated with what's going on in every city he's in, but the texts are sparse; Roman's got a wife and kid he needs to keep in contact with when he's not busy driving or giving interviews or working out or wrestling, and Dean doesn't want to take up any of that precious time.

Dean had texted Seth when he made it back to Las Vegas, and again when he had scheduled his first prenatal appointment. It's on a Tuesday, which means Seth can't make it. Seth was very vocal about his displeasure, calling Dean up and going on a tirade about what a stupid day of the week it was to schedule an appointment for, and couldn't Dean just call and reschedule it for a Wednesday or Thursday?

Seth's interest in everything that's happening with Dean is really not something Dean expected, despite what Seth had said, and he hates the way it makes his heart flutter in his chest every time Seth calls or texts to see how he's doing.

Dean's relaxing on the sofa now, television on softly in the background, looking up nursery room furniture on his laptop. There are so many kinds of cribs, dressers, changing tables, rocking chairs, music mobiles to hang above the cribs, it's making Dean's head spin.

The words breast pump under the related items makes him pause, his face paling. He knows next to nothing about male pregnancy, aside from the fact that his body is capable of it, and he hopes like hell he isn't going to need one of those things.

Still, though, he can't resist pulling out his phone, opening up the web browser on it and searching for breast pumps, taking a screencapture of the first one he sees.

think i'll need one of these? He attaches the picture to the message and hits send, eagerly anticipating Seth's reply.

Seth doesn't disappoint, his phone chiming a second later, one, two, three, in rapid succession.

wtf dean

i hope ur kidding

fuck u man i shouldnt even find that so hot wtf

Seth is apparently a little kinkier than Dean thought. He'll have to remember that for later.

idk man. I told you idk what i'm doing

His phone rings a minute after he hits send, and of course, it's Seth.

"So," Seth says, skipping right over the pleasantries, "the website I'm looking at says it could happen, but it's different for everyone."

"That's good to know, I guess," Dean says, resuming his scroll through all the baby furniture.

"That's probably something you should ask your doctor about when you go in," Seth says, "just so we're prepared."

"Yeah, I know," Dean says, distracted.

"Everything alright?" Seth asks, the sound of computer keys clicking in the background.

"Hmm? Yeah, just looking at cribs and shit. Who knew there was so much stuff?"

"You're picking stuff out already?" Seth asks, and Dean can tell from the sound of his voice that he's pouting. "I wanted to help with that."

"Nah," Dean says, closing the lid of his laptop. "Just browsing, seeing what everything is."

"Oh, good," Seth says, relief palpable in his voice.

There's that flutter again, kicking up a storm in Dean's chest.

"We can wait a few months for that," Dean says. "Wait until you have a couple days off or something and we can go out and look or order online or whatever."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Seth says. "Hey, I gotta run and do some interview or something, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure," Dean says, and after a quick exchange of goodbyes, Dean ends the call and tosses his phone to the side.

The house is quiet, too quiet, and lonely as hell. For someone who used to prefer the quiet and solitude of an empty apartment, Dean really hates it now.

Maybe he can con Seth into letting his yappy little dog stay with him.

Dean's first appointment is fine, if a little unnerving. He's given a prescription for prenatal vitamins, receives the same information from his doctor that Seth had given him about nursing, but what really unnerves him is the ultrasound. Actual tangible proof there's a little life growing inside him, and a heartbeat that fills his head and heart with a love he didn't know he'd ever be capable of feeling.

The printouts are tucked safely inside his jacket pocket, and he can't wait to show them to Seth.

He takes a picture of one of them when he gets home, adds the message say hello to your niece or nephew and fires it off to Roman.

little peanut Roman sends back, quickly followed by congrats uce. youll be the best parent a kid could ask for

thanks ro. Coming from Roman, it honestly means more than words could ever say. Roman is the best father Dean knows, and for Roman to have that much faith and confidence in him, it leaves him speechless.

Dean settles on the sofa, printout of the ultrasound held delicately between his fingers, eyes tracing the curves of his baby. He can't believe that's what's growing inside him, an actual little life that his body is nurturing and developing.

"Hey, baby," Dean says, resting a hand on the slightest swell of his abdomen. It's barely noticeable yet, but Dean knows his body better than anything, and he can see the smallest curve starting to develop.

Dean's phone rings, startling him. He pulls his hand away from his belly, laughing sheepishly at himself, quickly answering the phone before the caller - Seth - hangs up.

"Hey," he says, settling his hand back on his stomach.

"How'd the appointment go?" Seth asks, rushed, like he was waiting all day for it. Knowing him, he probably was.

"Everything's good," Dean says, rubbing his hand in small circles.

"Just good? C'mon, man, gimme some details. I'm dying over here."

Dean chuckles fondly. This idiot, making Dean like him. "I got to hear the heartbeat," he says, biting his bottom lip to fight back the ridiculously wide smile that's threatening to break his face in half at the beat that's echoing around in his head.

"Yeah?" Seth asks, and the softness of his voice has a lump swelling in Dean's throat.

"It's so fast, it kinda freaked me out," Dean admits, remembering the bite of panic that gripped his heart at the too fast sound coming out of the machine.

"That's normal, though, right?" Seth asks.

"Yeah, perfectly normal," Dean reassures him.

"Did you - did you get to see them?" Seth asks, and god, Dean wishes he could've been here for that.

"I've got some copies for you," Dean says, knowing it's all he can offer right now.

"I'm flying out after the taping tonight," Seth says, "so I'll be there kind of late."

"You can fly out tomorrow. Get some rest tonight," Dean suggests.

"No," Seth says. "I kind of really hate that I'm already having to miss stuff. I want to be there for whatever I can be."

Dean doesn't argue, doesn't even iwant/i to argue, because he's right there with Seth, hating that he had to miss something he really should've been here for.

"I'll probably be sleeping, so I'll leave the door unlocked for you."

Dean hangs up the phone a few minutes later, wiping a hand over his face. A nap sounds so good right about now, and then he'll get up and make himself something to eat.

Dean doesn't wake up to make himself something to eat, ends up sleeping through the afternoon and evening, waking to the sound of suitcases hitting the floor.

"Fuck," he grumbles, sitting up. "Time is it?"

"Umm, little after one," Seth says, sliding the locks into place behind him.

"Didn't mean to sleep all night." Dean yawns, still feeling tired. He thought he was past all this needing to sleep almost constantly, but apparently he was wrong.

"Have you eaten today?" Seth asks, settling down into the sofa beside Dean.

Dean shakes his head. "I only meant to take a nap."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Seth says, running a hand through the tangled mess of Dean's hair. "I'll go throw something together, you just relax here."

"No," Dean protests, "I can do it."

"Are you sure?" Seth asks, eyeing Dean warily.

"Yeah, I'm good. You need to shower?"

"That would probably be a good idea," Seth says, grimacing down at himself. "Kinda ran out of the arena as soon as we were done filming."

"Dude, gross," Dean says, making a face. "You know how bad you must've smelled to everyone sitting around you on that plane?"

"Shut up, dude, I sprayed myself with plenty of cologne."

"Yeah, because that's what everyone on a plane wants to smell: dried sweat and nasty cologne. Get outta here before my nausea decides to make a return."

Seth scrambles off the sofa, making his way through Dean's house like it hasn't been more than a year since he was last there.

Dean pushes himself up, cracking his back and groaning in pleasure at the way his aches and pains all seem to melt away.

His stomach grumbles on the way to the kitchen, and he pats at it soothingly, apologizing in his head for going so long without eating. It's too late to make a big meal, so he settles for a turkey sandwich instead, piling it high with meat and cheese and lettuce and tomato, licking his lips when it's all assembled.

The first bite is like heaven, and Dean quickly powers through it, feeling better and more awake now that he's got some food in him. He returns back to the sofa in the living room, propping his feet up on the coffee table while he waits for Seth to rejoin him.

He eyes the scan of the ultrasound laying in the middle of the coffee table, surprised that wasn't the first thing Seth asked him about when he got in. The other one is still tucked in the pocket of his jacket, but he'll make Seth grab that one when he gets back.

He doesn't have to wait long. Seth comes tripping down the stairs in a pair of too big sweatpants, hair dripping wet down his shirt.

"Did you eat?" he asks, throwing his clothes into one of his suitcases.

"Yep," Dean says, drumming his fingers against his thighs.

"Good. Now lemme see the ultrasound pictures." He makes grabby hands, and Dean laughs softly, sitting up and grabbing the single photo from the coffee table.

"There's another one in the pocket of my jacket if you wanna grab it," Dean says.

Seth turns to where Dean's jacket is draped over the back of the loveseat, searching through the pockets until he finds what he's looking for. Dean can tell the moment he finds it from the way his body freezes up and he lets out the softest sounding oh, barely louder than an exhalation of breath.

Seth's shoulders start shaking almost imperceptibly, but it's enough that Dean notices.

"Man, are you crying?" Dean asks, going for light and playful.

"Fuck you, no," Seth says, but his voice is trembling, and his shoulders are still shaking.

"Hey, come here," Dean says, voice slipping into something softer, soothing, a tone of voice he's never used before, at least not with Seth.

Seth turns back toward him, slowly making his way to Dean. His eyes are red and wet, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hands are shaking where he's holding the ultrasound, and it looks like he's a second away from falling apart at the seams.

"C'mon, come here." Dean pats the empty space of sofa next to him, waiting for Seth to drop down onto it. When he does, Dean wastes no time in pulling Seth in against him, his arm curled around Seth's back. "Scary, huh?"

Seth nods his head, breathing shakily.

"Yeah," Dean says, pressing a soft kiss to Seth's head. "Fucking terrifying, man. But hey, we're gonna be okay."

"How do you know?" Seth asks, sitting up to look into Dean's eyes. "You were right when you said we can hardly stand each other. How are we supposed to raise a kid together without royally screwing it up?"

A week ago, that was true. Now, now it's not. Dean doesn't know what it is, but he doesn't want to punch Seth anymore, can't find it anywhere in him to muster up that sharp bite of anger, hurt, betrayal that made Seth's face so damn punchable. Whatever the reason, he doesn't really care at this point, because he doesn't want to do this without Seth, can't imagine doing it without Seth.

"I was wrong," Dean says, transfixed on the pools of chocolate brown eyes staring into his own. "You and me, yeah, we might not be the best of friends anymore, but we're making it work, ain't we? We're gonna knock this parenting this outta the park, man."

Seth closes his eyes, a single teardrop sliding down his cheek, disappearing into his beard. "Being a dad has already made you soft," he says, eyes playfully bright when he opens them.

"Fuck off, Seth," Dean says, pushing him away, but the small smile on his lips takes away any traces of heat.

"I'm serious, dude," Seth says, "I could really get to like this version of you."

"Keep it up and imma take that picture from you." It's such a terrible lie, Dean doesn't know how Seth doesn't catch on and call him out on it.

"Okay, okay." Seth holds his hands up in surrender, then drops them back down to look at the photo again.

"Next scan is in five weeks," Dean says, watching Seth's expression carefully.

"Is it on a Tuesday again?" Seth asks cautiously, and Dean knows he's afraid to get his hopes up in case he can't make it.

"Nah," Dean says, shaking his head. "It's a Thursday."

"You want me to come with?"

"The doc said if the baby is in the right position, we'll be able to find out the gender."

"You serious?" Seth asks, wide eyed and flushed cheeks.

"Yeah, man," Dean says, nodding. "Was hoping you'd wanna be there."

Seth is apparently unable to hold back his excitement any longer, grinning and laughing and fucking fist pumping, what the fuck.

"Do that shit in the exam room and I'm kicking you out."

"You wouldn't dare," Seth says, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Guess we'll have to wait and see."

Dean tries to stay up a little longer, but his eyelids slowly start getting heavier, and Seth's incessant chattering is soothing in a way nothing else is. He listens half-heartedly to Seth rambling on about his upcoming matches, how he has to fight twice in one night because he has two titles, and Dean wants to tell him he better get used to that exhaustion because that'll be a piece of cake compared to late night feedings and changings, but his tiredness gets the best of him, and he's asleep before he can voice any of his thoughts.

Having Seth around is fine. It's a little awkward, learning to be around each other again without all the built up animosity between them, but Dean thinks they're doing okay.

Except when Seth feels the need to coddle him, which is becoming way too often for his liking. Just because he has a baby inside him doesn't mean he needs to be fucking babied. He can't even count how many times he's had to tell Seth that he's fully fucking capable of doing something on his own, fuck. He's worse than Roman, and Dean didn't think that was possible.

Seth leaves in the early hours of Friday morning.

Dean's asleep on the sofa in the living room, which has become his new bed as of late, a fact his body really hates him for, when he's woken by the sound of Seth stomping around like a herd of fucking elephants like he never learned how to be quiet.

"You leaving?" Dean asks, voice rough with sleep.

"Yeah, my flight leaves in a couple hours," Seth says. He looks comfortable in well worn jeans, a loose t-shirt, glasses askew on his face, hair tied up in a bun and tucked under a hat.

"I'll drop you at the airport," Dean says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looks around the room for his shoes, his keys, but before he can even get up, Seth is gently pushing him back down onto the sofa.

"No, that's okay," Seth says, shaking his head. "I already called a cab. Just stay and sleep."

Dean wants to protest. This is how it's been for the last two days. Seth has refused to let him do anything that could be considered strenuous, wouldn't even let him drive anywhere for groceries, and it's wearing on Dean's nerves.

He gets that Seth is probably playing over every worst-case scenario in his head, freaking himself out over nothing, but that doesn't mean he needs to keep Dean trapped inside the house like it's a goddamn jail cell. Pregnant people go on with their lives every goddamn day. The world doesn't stop just because someone's got a baby growing inside them.

"Nothing bad is gonna happen, Seth," Dean says softly, hoping to allay Seth's fears and paranoia before he leaves.

Seth shakes his head. "You don't know that. You didn't even know you were pregnant and you were still wrestling, Dean. Do you know what could've happened? Do you have any idea the kinds of things that have been running through my head since I found out?"

"No, Seth, because you don't talk to me about those things. You don't talk to me about anything that isn't your upcoming matches or how much we're going to suck at this or how I'm a goddamn invalid and can't do anything for myself." Dean doesn't mean to raise his voice, but fuck Seth if he thinks he's the only one struggling with all this.

Seth looks so small standing there in front of the door, his shoulders pulled in, staring down at the floor. "You could've lost it," he says, soft and broken. "I never would have known. One wrong hit, one wrong kick, a botched landing, anything could have taken it away from us."

"Seth, c'mon," Dean says, fighting the lump in his throat, because he knows, he fucking knows. Seth has no idea how fucking relieved Dean was to hear that the baby is perfectly healthy, that he or she is growing and thriving just fine inside him.

Seth's eyes are wet and red when he looks up at Dean, and Dean can't take it anymore. He's up and off the sofa in an instant, standing in front of Seth, gripping his hands and placing them on his stomach.

"I get that you're scared, Seth," Dean says, pressing Seth's palms harder against his belly. "I'm fucking terrified here. I have no idea what I'm doing. I never planned on being a parent, let alone actually carrying one. I don't know the first thing about being anyone's parent. But this baby, our baby, he or she is perfect, and I will fight to the death to make sure this baby comes out kicking and screaming."

Seth drops to his knees in front of Dean, his arms wrapping tight around Dean's hips. In any other situation, Dean would be so hard so fast he'd be dizzy with it, but all he feels right now is a surge of fondness in his chest, his heart picking up speed.

"You hear that, little one?" Seth's voice is soft, gentle, and it's making Dean feel all kinds of things he doesn't want to be feeling right now. "You have the best daddy in the world. He will always protect you and care for you, and do whatever he can to make sure you're safe. You're the luckiest baby ever."

Seth punctuates his words with a soft kiss to the small curve of Dean's belly, and Dean can't help but place a comforting hand on the back of Seth's neck. He doesn't trust his voice right now, sure that if he says anything he'll end up blubbering like an idiot.

Dean is spared from having to say anything when the honking of Seth's cab alerts them of its arrival.

Seth rises to his feet, skating the tips of his fingers over Dean's stomach one last time. "Guess I should get going."

Dean nods, swallowing roughly. "Yeah," he says, grateful that his voice holds steady.

"I meant what I said," Seth says, meeting Dean's gaze. His eyes are still red, but they're open and honest, soft and fond and full of so many other emotions Dean couldn't name them all if he tried. "Little one does have the best daddy in the world."

"Daddies," Dean corrects, smiling. As overbearing and overprotective as Seth is being, Dean knows it's because he cares, and it's going to make Seth one hell of an amazing parent.

Seth hums softly in his throat, darting in to place a chaste kiss to Dean's cheek before he disappears out the door.

Dean doesn't know how long he stands there after Seth leaves, but all he can feel is Seth's lips and the scratch of his beard against his skin, and there's something like want floating through his veins, more than sexual, more than physical, and it's really the last thing he needs to deal with.

He chalks it up to hormones, ignores the traitorous voice in his head that says it's more than that, and trudges into the kitchen. No sense in going to sleep now that he's wide awake.

Between one day and the next, it seems like Dean's body remembers there's a baby growing inside of it, and his stomach suddenly fills out. Everything he puts on feels too small, too tight, and there's now a noticeable curve where there was barely anything before.

dude im gettin fat, he texts Roman, staring down at his stomach in the mirror. He's never been overly vain, but his waist has always been thin, small, and it feels weird, different, now that it's suddenly ballooning out.

not fat dumbass. baby belly, Roman sends back.

fuckin same shit because really, what's the difference? He's still gaining weight, his stomach is still getting bigger.

its really not at all. What does Roman even know, anyway? Even Seth said he was going to get fat.

Dean pokes at his stomach, hard now where it used to be a little softer with muscle packed beneath the skin. Fat, baby, whatever, it's all the same to him.

It's so goddamn boring being stuck at home with nothing else to do. There's only so much cleaning and sleeping one person can do, and Dean's over it. He tries to enjoy the quiet, knowing the days are slowly dwindling down, but there's nothing enjoyable about it.

Most of his days off were spent running through the desert, scaling rocky cliffsides, but that's not something he can do now. He tries going for walks around the neighborhood, but it doesn't have the same appeal as the rough terrain of the desert, dodging rocks and plants and feeling the crunch of the landscape beneath his feet.

He constantly finds himself in one of the guestrooms in his house, the one closest to his own bedroom, sitting on the bed and picturing how it's going to look once it's turned into the nursery.

The room is mostly bare now, a queen sized bed in the middle of the room, pushed up against the far wall, a rustic gray pine nightstand beside it, with a matching dresser across the bed. There's a small lamp on the nightstand, and a decent sized tv on the dresser.

It feels almost like a hotel room, impersonal, nondescript.

Everything in the room has to go soon. The walls need to be painted, new furniture needs to be bought, along with clothes and diapers and bottles and whatever the hell else babies need.

Dean sighs and pulls out his phone. Might as well get started trying to find a place to haul away everything he doesn't need.

The days seem to drag and fly by all at once, and Dean's belly seems to grow exponentially. The noticeable curve has rapidly increased to a full on bump, and it's taking a lot to get used to. He's had to go out and buy larger clothes, and he hates the way he drowns in them, too big everywhere but around his belly.

He's pretty sure his ass and thighs have gotten bigger, too. His old sweats were feeling suspiciously tight around that area, and not being able to work out the way he's used to means muscle is slowly being replaced by fat.

It doesn't really bother him as much as it did in the beginning, when he first started getting bigger. He probably owes a lot of that to Seth, truth be told. Seth hasn't had any time to make it out to him since he left, busy with live events and CrossFit shit, plus whatever else he does when he's home, but he calls whenever he can, and Dean takes comfort in the rasp of Seth's voice over the phone.

When Dean had mentioned how much bigger he's gotten, Seth had been the voice of reason, said that it was a good thing, that it meant that the baby was growing, and whatever other weight he gained just meant that he was keeping both himself and the baby healthy and fed.

Having Seth reassure him that everything is fine settles Dean's nerves. He's sure Seth has been doing all kinds of reading and research whenever he has some downtime, and it's something he should be doing for himself, but he just doesn't have the patience to sit and read anything.

And besides, he knows if there's anything he desperately needs to know, he can ask Roman.

Seth flies in the Wednesday morning before his next doctor's appointment, and Dean is more nervous than he should be. Seth has yet to see how big he's gotten, despite how often Dean has mentioned it, and he's afraid that Seth's going to be repulsed by it.

He knows he's being stupid, that it shouldn't even matter what Seth thinks or feels about how he looks because it's not like they're together or anything. Seth's a friend, the father of his child, and whatever stupid feelings Dean has whenever he thinks about Seth don't matter.

Dean's relaxing on the sofa, a hand resting on his belly, watching some random cooking show that's making his stomach growl, when the door opens and closes softly. He turns his head, offers a quiet hey, then refocuses his attention back on tv.

"C'mon, man, lemme see," Seth says. He sounds excited, if a little wary.

Dean blows out a breath and pushes himself up, almost losing his footing. His center of gravity is all fucked, and rising to his feet from any kind of sitting position makes him wobble precariously before he's balanced and sure-footed.

The shirt he's wearing is big, a couple sizes larger than he usually wears, and it drowns him. The shoulders are too wide, the length is too long, but his stomach doesn't feel trapped or restrained, and that's what he was looking for.

"I don't know what you were talking about," Seth says, stepping closer. "You hardly look any different at all."

"'Cause the shirt's so goddamn huge," Dean says. He closes his eyes and lifts the shirt, holding it up above the swell of his belly.

"Oh, my god," Seth says breathily.

Dean looks over at him through narrowed eyes, and when he sees there isn't the slightest trace of disgust on Seth's face, he fully opens his eyes.

Seth's hands are on his belly before he knows it, cradling the curve of it in his palms. His thumbs keep brushing back and forth over the taut skin, and Dean can't help but close his eyes, a swirl of emotions rushing through him.

"You've gotten so big," Seth says. His voice sounds so sad, and he's frowning. "I wish I could've been here to take pictures of it."

"Why would you want to do that?" Dean asks. Is that seriously a thing people do?

"I dunno," Seth says, shrugs. "Saw online how some people document their growth with weekly pictures. Think it would've been kinda cool to do that."

Nothing about that really seems cool to Dean, but he guesses he can see the appeal for others.

"Have you felt the baby move at all yet?"

"No, not yet," Dean says, a little panicked. "Is that normal? Should I be feeling it move already?"

"Hey, don't freak out," Seth says, smoothing a hand over the entirety of the bump. "It's different for everyone. Some people feel it early, but you should start feeling it soon."

"Oh," Dean says, blowing out a relieved breath. He's really going to need to do some reading of his own so he knows what to expect. He's already relied on Seth and his research for far too long. He's the one carrying their baby; he should be doing some reading and research of his own.

"So, what did you wanna do today?" Seth asks. He removes his hands from Dean's stomach, pulls the shirt back down to cover it. Dean misses his touch instantly.

"I dunno," Dean says, "but I'm hungry."

Seth laughs softly, and Dean has to admit that he's come to love the sound of it.

"You wanna go out and grab something?"

"God, yes," Dean says immediately. "Sick of being in this damn house all the time."

"No one said you had to stay inside all the time," Seth points out.

"I know," Dean says, "but there's a lesser chance of someone noticing and plastering that shit online, y'know?"

"Have you thought about releasing any kind of statement or doing an interview or something?"

"Why? It's no one's business but ours," Dean says. The idea of sharing something so private makes his stomach churn. He's never been one for airing his private life for everyone to read and see, and that's not going to change anytime soon.

"And besides," Dean continues, "everyone thinks I'm out with a neck injury. Am I supposed to like, sit down and be all 'nah, that was a lie, just needed to find a way to get my ass outta there'?"

"I'm sure the PR department could come up with something," Seth says, "if you do decide you want to go public with it."

There's so much to it, though. Yeah, there's the way they handled his exit, faking a fucking neck injury which is sure to get him some kind of heat, but there's also the fact that going public with his pregnancy is essentially him coming out, not to mention that he'll get hounded about who the baby's other father is, and wouldn't that be fucking lovely? Yeah, the guy I hate, or used to hate, whatever, he's the other father.

"What about you?" Dean asks. "I make a statement about it, I ain't gonna lie about you. You're at the top of the company. You ready to come out?"

"I don't know," Seth says, looking away. "I'm in this with you every step of the way, I swear to you, but I don't know if I'm ready for that yet."

"Hey, man, I ain't mad," Dean says, cool and calm. "Just thought I'd bring up some points you might not have thought about yet."

"We've still got some time to think about it," Seth says, sounding a little more relaxed. "We'll figure something out."

"Can we get some food now?" Dean asks, grimacing at the rumbling of his stomach. "Your kid is a porker."

Seth snorts out a laugh. "My kid? You're the one who acts like a human garbage disposal."

"Your dad is a liar," Dean says, rubbing a hand over his belly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's go before I change my mind."

Dean really fucking hates the gel the ultrasound tech smears on his stomach. It's cold and sticky and all around unpleasant, and he hates that he can't hold back the involuntary gasp at the feel of it coating his skin.

The tech offers an apologetic smile, but it does little to alleviate Dean's irritation. He's tired and uncomfortable, and he has the worst case of heartburn he can ever remember having, and being in a cold, clinical hospital exam room is the last place he wants to be.

"Alright," she says, way too perky for Dean's liking. "Y'all ready to see your baby?"

Dean's throat goes dry, but he nods eagerly, and Seth says, "Yeah, please," standing beside the uncomfortable bed Dean's laid out on.

The feel of the ultrasound wand moving around on Dean's stomach feels weird, and the way she's pressing it in against his stomach is a little on the rough side. She reaches over to fiddle with some knobs on the ultrasound machine, and the room is suddenly filled with a rapid heartbeat.

"There's the heartbeat. Sounds good and strong," she says.

Dean looks over at Seth and feels his breath catch in his throat. Seth's lips are trembling, and his eyes are suspiciously wet. Dean's sure his own eyes are similar. He reaches up for Seth's hand, squeezing it gently to let him know he's not alone.

"Did you want to know the gender today?"

Dean swallows roughly. He really hasn't given much thought about whether they're having a boy or girl. His sole focus has been on the health of the baby rather than the gender, but he won't deny that he's excited as fuck to know what they're having.

"Seth?" Dean squeezes his hand again, looks up at him as he waits for him to answer.

"Yeah, if you want to," Seth says, squeezing back.

"Boy or girl?" Dean asks, nerves a frazzled mess.

The ultrasound tech moves the wand around on his stomach, pausing a few times and pressing buttons on the machine. "There we go," she says, smiling up at them. "Congratulations, you're having a girl."

There's a sharp intake of breath, followed by a sob, and Dean's not sure if it came from him or Seth, but he doesn't even care. A girl. They're having a girl.

"A little princess," Seth says, voice trembling.

"Yeah," Dean says, a little breathless. He looks over at Seth again, and he's breathless for a whole different reason now, Seth's lips suddenly on his, the gentlest kiss there and gone in a flash.

"I'll print some copies for you, and your doctor will be in shortly," she says, but Dean's hardly paying her any attention, focus rapidly bouncing between their daughter, a girl, fuck, what does he even know about little girls, and Seth, fucking Seth.

Seth's hand is still in Dean's, and Dean really doesn't want to let go. Seth doesn't seem to be in any hurry, either, so Dean just leaves it for now.

"Oh, god," Seth says, voice high and tight like he's working himself into a panic, "I don't know the first thing about raising little girls."

Dean chokes on his laughter. "You think I do? I'm just as clueless as you, buddy."

"So much pink," Seth wails, making Dean flinch.

"Fuck that noise," Dean says. "I ain't doing any of that Pepto-Bismal pink, princess and flowers stereotypical girly shit."

"Thank god," Seth says in a rush of breath. "My eyes can only handle so much pink. Just because she's a girl doesn't mean everything's gotta be that color."

"We're in agreement there."

There's a knock on the door and his doctor is popping his head in, and their conversation is tabled for later.

Knowing the gender of the baby means they can finally start working on the nursery. The floor is already covered with a protective tarp, and the window and door frames are blocked off with painter's tape, but Dean and Seth can't agree on a color.

Pink is out of the question. They have no desire to have a room that's any shade of pink, not even for their daughter. Dean wants to paint the walls a soft shade of light blue, but Seth's stuck on a pastel purple, and neither of them want to budge.

It's the only thing their conversations have revolved around for the last few days, and Dean's half tempted to say fuck it, buy the color he wants, and paint the room before Seth gets back.

for fucks sake dean why dont we just use both colors

Huh. Dean hadn't thought of that. that could work. want me to get the paint?

Instead of texting his reply, Seth calls, and Dean quickly answers.

"You still have those swatches I gave you, right?" Seth asks. One of these days, Dean will get used to the way he just rolls right into the conversation without so much as a 'hey'.

"They're still taped to the wall of the nursery, yeah."

"If you want, you can go buy the cans of paint and all that other shit. We can paint it when I get home," Seth says, then, "shit, gotta go, call you later," hanging up before Dean can even say anything.

Not that he'd even know what to say. He's a little dumbfounded, stuck on the word home coming from Seth's mouth easy as breathing. Seth has barely been back to Davenport, either on the road or with Dean, and as far as Dean knows, Seth's yappy little dog is staying at his parents.

But Seth calling Dean's house home? Dean wasn't prepared for that, and he tries to ignore the giddy rush of pleasure he feels at that. Seth probably meant nothing by it, was probably just a slip of the tongue that he didn't have time to correct.

It's better for Dean not to dwell on it, but it's all he can focus on, all he can hear floating around in his head, distracted to the point that he has to turn back around when he's halfway to the store because he forgot to grab his wallet.

It's nothing Dean wants to do, but he knows he and Seth are going to have to have a conversation about what's going on between them. Between the kiss and home, everything's become a little blurry, a little muddied, and he needs to know if everything Seth is saying is because of the baby, or if there's something more going on.

Dean knows what he feels, knows that some of it is partly because of the baby, but that the majority of it is because of Seth himself. Dean gave him every out he could when he first told Seth about the baby, but Seth didn't take it, stood firm and resolute in his conviction to help and be there for Dean, and even with everything else Seth has going on, he's doing all he can.

Seth's more involved and interested than Dean thought he'd be, and it's opened him up to a whole new side of Seth he wasn't even aware existed. For all the years they've known each other and worked together, Seth has rarely let go of that cocky and cool persona, and it's part of what made riling him up so goddamn fun. Now, though, Seth drops it like a cloak when he steps through the front door, all nervous excitement, emotions on his sleeve, softer and gentler than Dean ever thought him capable of.

It's Dean's heart beating wildly in his chest at the sight of a sleep rumpled Seth, hair a tangled mess, hands searching out Dean's stomach before he's even fully awake. It's Seth making sure Dean's taking his vitamins, making sure he eats, listening to whatever worries and fears Dean has at three in the morning when he slips into the guest bedroom Seth has claimed as his own. It's Seth sharing Dean's worries, reassuring each other with quiet words in the dark of the night.

It's Dean falling irrevocably ass over tea kettle for the dumbass who knocked him up, and he realizes he wouldn't want it any other way. It's nothing he'd ever dreamed of, nothing he'd ever wanted, but so fucking lucky and thankful it was given to him anyway.

Dean leaves the cans of paint and all the painting supplies in the middle of the floor in the nursery. Painting the room isn't something he wants to do without Seth, and he can't wait until that's done so they can start shopping for furniture and really turn it into a room fit for a princess.

Dean's in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich when he hears the front door open, Seth's voice calling out his name.

"In the kitchen," he yells back, quickly cleaning up the small mess he made.

"I come bearing gifts," Seth says, appearing in Dean's field of vision.

Dean looks him up at down, nodding pointedly at his empty hands. "I don't see anything."

"It's in the living room, smartass," Seth says, disappearing from sight.

Dean sighs and looks down at his sandwich. He covers it with plastic wrap and puts it on the shelf in the refrigerator, slowly making his way to the living room, wondering if he can get Seth to give him a foot massage later because his feet are all kinds of achy.

That thought is quickly pushed to the back of his mind at the sight of Roman standing in the living room, a wide grin on his face.

"Dude," Dean says, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to get to him. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Roman pulls him into a hug and Dean lets himself be smothered by it, enjoying the strong embrace of his brother who he hasn't seen in months.

"Shithead over there wanted it to be a surprise," Roman says, pulling back. He keeps his hands on Dean's arms, looking him up and down. "Damn, uce, didn't think you'd be this big already."

Dean huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, neither did I, but apparently Seth has some kind of mutant genes or something because this baby feels huge already and I still have like, fourteen weeks to go."

"Hey!" Seth exclaims, drawing Dean's attention to him. "That's just rude."

Dean's reply gets lost in his throat at the sudden flash of pain he feels.

"Dean?" Roman and Seth are both calling his name, but all Dean can focus on is that little bit of pain in his stomach, every terrible thought flying to the forefront of his mind.

"Dean, c'mon, breathe," Roman says, voice a steady calm. "What's wrong?"

There's that twinge of pain again, stealing Dean's breath.

"Dean," Seth says, so quiet Dean almost can't hear him.

Dean breathes through it, tries to focus on the calming sounds of Roman breathing in front of him, Seth breathing beside him, and it takes a few minutes, but he can finally draw in a deep breath, the twinges of pain settled down into something more bearable.

"Are you okay?" Seth asks, crowding up against Dean and Roman.

"Yeah," Dean says shakily, wiping a hand over his face. He steps back from Roman, placing his other hand on his stomach where he can still feel the slightest ache. He feels it then, letting out the softest oh.

"She's kicking, ain't she?" Roman asks, grinning. "Yeah, same thing happened when my wife was pregnant with JoJo. Scared the holy hell outta us."

Dean nods, throat feeling too tight for words. He's overcome with a rush of emotion, eyes burning with tears he refuses to let fall. He sees Seth's hands out of the corner of his eye and he doesn't think twice about grabbing them, slipping them under his t-shirt to the spot where Dean can still feel her kicking.

It's like nothing else exists in this moment but them and their baby, moving beneath their hands.

Roman clearing his throat breaks them out of it. "Imma let y'all do your thing. I'll be in the kitchen."

Dean flushes pink in embarrassment, and a look at Seth's face shows the same. Seth removes his hands slowly, looking a little sheepish.

Dean's hit with an overwhelming urge to pull Seth in and kiss him, but he knows that's probably not a smart idea right now, not with the conversation it'll inevitably lead to and Roman being in the house.

"That's pretty amazing, huh?" Seth says, breaking the quiet.

"It really is." Dean nods his head in agreement. He wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with Seth beside him, their hands joined together to feel every movement of their baby, and he's sure Seth would be all for it, if only to feel their daughter move, but again, it's not something they can do with Roman in the house. Poor guy probably already feels left out as it is.

"Roman here to help you paint?" Dean asks.

"Uh, yeah," Seth says, floundering at the change of subject. "That, and he really wanted to see you."

"I didn't even know you guys were talking." As often as he talks to both Seth and Roman, neither of them have mentioned it.

"Yeah," Seth says, running a hand through his hair. "He's your best friend, right? And you're having my kid. Figured it was time we buried the hatchet."

"That's good," Dean says, and it is, because he doesn't know what he'd do if his best friend hated the father of his child, the man he's in love with.

"This sandwich is delicious," Roman says, walking back into the living room, chewing like a goddamn pig.

Dean whips his head in Roman's direction, eyeing the sandwich in his hand. "Roman," he says sharply, "I just fucking made that."

"Shit, man, I'm sorry," Roman apologizes. "I'll make you another one?"

Dean blows out a slow breath. "It's fine. I'll make another one. You guys go get your painting on."

He leaves Seth and Roman standing in the living room, trying to quell the rush of irritation he feels. He knows it's just hormones, but goddammit, he really wanted that sandwich. He makes himself another one, eating it right away so Roman can't steal it again, grabbing a cold bottle of water from the fridge before he goes upstairs to stand outside the nursery.

Seth is wearing an old, faded out t-shirt, and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. His hair is pulled into a bun on the top of his head, and he looks like serious business as he pours the paint out into the tray.

Roman's doing the same on the opposite side of the room, dressed in ratty sweats and a t-shirt already stained with paint, hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of his neck.

"So," Dean says, "how are you thinking of doing this?"

Seth points at one wall, then the wall opposite it, says, "These will be done in purple, and the other two in blue, and those will have two thin horizontal stripes of purple with a thicker stripe between them."

"Sounds good," Dean says with a nod. Seth has an infinitely better eye for color schemes and designs, and Dean trusts that he knows what he's doing. "I'll leave you guys to it."

Dean descends the stairs and settles back down on the sofa in the living room, hands resting on the curve of his stomach. It feels good to have both Seth and Roman in his house, their voices softly drifting down the stairs. Dean had missed it, more than he realized.

It's easy to fall asleep like this, the voices of family filling the air, no longer quiet and lonely.

With the nursery finally painted, everything slowly starts to come together. White dressers are added, along with a changing table and the most comfortable glider Dean has ever had the pleasure of sitting in.

It takes almost two weeks to find a crib they both like, and by the time they have all the pieces and tools spread out on the floor in the center of the nursery, Dean just wants to throw it all in the street and be done with it.

Seth is such a picky asshole and he made the decision so much harder than it needed to be. Every time Dean saw one he liked, he'd take a picture and send it to Seth, only for Seth to come up with a million and one reasons why he didn't like that one, ranging from not liking the design, to it looking weird, to it not being safe.

(The ones that Seth vetoed on account of safety issues were ones Dean dropped immediately without argument. If Seth said it was unsafe, Dean believed him.)

The one they finally agreed on looks like almost every other one Dean sent him a photo of, and he wants to take one of the railings and smash it over Seth's head. It's the same shade of white as everything else, with an arched footboard and headboard, and some kind of looping swirl carved into the arch of the sideboard. There's really nothing special about it, in Dean's opinion, thinks it looks pretty damn plain and generic and isn't worth the ridiculous amount they paid for it, but Seth swore up and down that it had the top safety rating out there, so that pretty much sealed the deal for Dean.

Seth's hunched over the booklet of instructions, picking up one piece then dropping it back down, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

Dean's watching from the glider, feet propped up on the ottoman, poking back at the foot that keeps kicking his stomach. He's comfortable here, or as comfortable as he can get these days, looking on in amusement at the frustrated look that's on Seth's face.

"You doing alright over there?" he asks. Seth looks up at him, brows pinched, and he looks like he's seconds from ripping his hair out. "Need any help?"

"No," Seth says, "I've got this."

Sure as hell doesn't look like it from where Dean's sitting, but he hums softly, watching for a few more minutes before he heaves himself up, grimacing at the ever present ache in his lower back. He doesn't even try sitting on his ass on the floor, slowly dropping to his knees and settling down on his haunches.

"Gimme that." He grabs the instruction booklet from Seth's hands, flipping back to the first page and quickly scanning through it. From the way Seth was looking at it, Dean expected it to be written in fucking Greek, but it's all incredibly self-explanatory.

"Give that back," Seth says, ripping it right out of Dean's hands. Dean barely resists growling at him.

"Seriously, Seth," Dean says, feeling a surge of anger run through him, "if you can't do it, it's fine, I'll put it together myself."

It's not like he'd be mad about it. As great as Seth is at most things, he's a lost cause when it comes to tools and putting things together. If it doesn't come already built, Seth will not buy it, no matter how much he likes it. It's admirable as fuck that Seth wants to be the one to put the crib together, but Dean would rather do it himself and know that everything is where it needs to be instead of finding out a few months down the road when their child is sleeping in it.

What's angering him is the fact that Seth is still acting like he's an invalid who can't do shit for himself. He's mostly made peace with it, but sometimes it just really grinds his gears.

"I can do it." There's a note of anger in Seth's voice, and his face is flushing that ruddy color that means he's about to blow a gasket.

"As amusing as it was to watch you look like you were trying to read a foreign language, it's just sad now," Dean says, holding the instruction booklet behind his back.

"Why won't you just let me do this?" Seth asks, rising to his feet. His face is really flushed now, his chest heaving as he takes loud, deep breaths that are probably meant to keep his temper in check.

"Why won't you let me?" Dean shoots back. He clenches his hands into fists, belatedly remembering he's still holding the instructions in one of the, paper crinkling and crunching and biting into his skin.

Seth suddenly deflates, a puppet with his strings cut. "I just want to take care of you. Why won't you let me take care of you?" It's a whispered confession to the floor, Seth hunched in on himself.

Dean realizes now that it's time for the talk. He can't keep going like this, they can't keep going like this, or things will only get uglier and uglier until Seth decides fuck it, he doesn't have to deal with any of it.

It takes Dean longer than he'd like to admit to rise to his feet, and he's pretty sure Seth is biting back a laugh. He loves his daughter, but the size of his stomach has become a fucking nuisance, and he still has twelve weeks to go. He dreads how much bigger he's going to get.

He motions for Seth to follow him out of the room. He refuses to have this talk in there, refusing to spoil the sanctity of the room with it when shit inevitably hits the fan.

Down in the living room, Dean picks up the thread of conversation immediately, arms crossed over his chest as though he's trying to protect himself from whatever Seth is going to say.

"I don't want to get used to it," he says with a shrug of his shoulders, trying to keep his voice calm and even. "I mean, I know you're only acting like this because of the baby, and it's nice and all, but like, I don't wanna let myself get used to you being all caring and shit only for you to stop once I'm no longer pregnant, y'know?"

"You're a goddamn idiot," Seth says. His lips are twitching, like he's fighting back a smile, and Dean would love to know what's so fucking amusing.

Dean narrows his eyes at him, tilting his head to the side. "Says you."

"Yeah," Seth says, chuckling, "says me." He runs a hand through his hair, pulling it free from the bun he had it tied up in. "I think maybe in the beginning it was mostly because you're preggo, and all I could think about was terrible things happening, and it drove me fucking nuts, y'know? Like, I was hardly sleeping because every worst possible scenario seemed to be right fucking there."

If it wasn't for the sheer exhaustion he feels half the time, Dean's pretty sure he wouldn't be sleeping much, either. For all the wrestling he's done, every match he's been in, the hundreds and thousands of people he's been in front of, nothing is quite as terrifying as having a kid.

"But then, I dunno," Seth continues, "like, dude, you're carrying my baby. Like, you didn't have to tell me. You could've lied and said it was someone else's, or you could have told me to fuck off, because let's be real here, we hated each other."

Seth stops and swallows, licking his lips, and Dean has to force himself not to follow the movement of his tongue.

"Anyway. Somewhere between then and now it became more. More than just being about the baby. Being here with you feels like being home, like we're building something here, you, me, and the baby."

Dean's pretty sure he's not breathing at this point. Is Seth saying…? Does he mean what Dean thinks he means?

"I just want to be here with you all the time," Seth says softly. "I want to be here and share a life with you, with our daughter. I want to stop sleeping in the guest room and start sleeping in your bed. I just - fuck, man, I just want everything with you."

Dean swallows down the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly to clear the tears from his eyes. He wants so badly to believe everything Seth is saying, but there's that voice in the back of his mind telling him that Seth will change his mind, that once the baby is born he'll realize everything he'd been feeling was because Dean was pregnant.

It's like Seth can read his mind, because the next thing Seth says is, "I swear to you, on my life, on everything I love and believe in, I mean it."

Dean nods, unable to stifle the sob in his throat any longer. He feels like such a little bitch right now, crying when he's being given everything he wanted but hadn't dared hope for, but it's so fucking much and his hormones are a goddamn wreck, and he can't fucking help it.

"I want that, too," Dean manages to get out, breathing a little easier at the look of sheer relief on Seth's face. Seth eats up the distance between them quickly, pulling Dean in as close as he can. Dean rests his head in the curve of Seth's neck, breathing in the scent of Seth, of home, of love, a few stray tears trickling out.

Seth's hands cup his jaw, cradling the back of his head with his long, long fingers, thumbs brushing back and forth over his cheeks. Dean's entranced by the look in Seth's eyes, the crinkle of skin at the corners of them. It feels easy as anything to lean in and press his lips to Seth's, swallowing down a gasp at the shock of electricity he feels bursting over his skin.

Seth's lips part against his and it feels like they've been doing this forever, their lips and tongues sliding together effortlessly, soft and sweet and so unlike any other kiss they've shared before, ones that were full of anger and hate, biting and bruising and intent on causing more pain than pleasure.

Dean quickly feels the heat simmering in his body, and it makes him groan, both in pleasure and frustration. As much as he'd love to take this further, and oh, god would he love to, fucking hormones make him horny all the goddamn time, it's too fast too soon.

He pulls away reluctantly, licking his lips and stifling a moan at the subtle taste of Seth still on his lips and tongue.

"What now?" Dean asks, voice rough like gravel, hoarse with need and want.

"Well," Seth says, dropping his hands to Dean's belly, grinning at the feel of their daughter kicking up a storm. "We've got a crib to finish putting together, but how about I take you to dinner?"

"Like a date?" Dean asks, snorting out a laugh. "I'd rather order in and watch a movie."

"Sure," Seth acquiesces, a smile on his face. "Whatever you want."

Epilogue

Baby Ambrose-Rollins is born crying and kicking at 4:52 AM on March 9, 2016, 8 pounds, 4 ounces, 22 inches long. She has a small tuft of Seth's dark brown hair, Dean's blue eyes, a small, button nose, ten fingers, and ten toes.

She's perfect.

Dean can't stop staring at her, even through the tears clouding his vision. Seth is right beside him, sniffling in his ear, fingers stroking over the downy soft hair on the baby's head.

"I love you," Seth says, and even though it's far from the first time he's said it, it still makes Dean's heart race in his chest.

Dean smiles wide, exhausted and happy. "I love you."

"I'm ready," Seth says suddenly, and Dean looks over at him in confusion.

"For what?" Dean asks, feeling a little slow and sluggish from the drugs still flowing through his veins.

"To come out." Seth looks nervous, and Dean won't lie and say that he isn't, because this is big, this is huge, and it's what he's silently been hoping for. He wanted to months ago, but he refused to do it without Seth. He never pushed, never forced him to make any kind of decision, never even brought it up after that initial discussion.

"When?" Dean asks, a little apprehensive. As much as he wants it out there that this is his life, this is his family, sharing anything with the public makes him nervous. He's a private person, but he knows Seth's not, uses social media all the goddamn time.

"Uh, now?"

Well, that's rather soon.

"Just, trust me?"

Seth pulls out his phone, sits precariously on the edge of Dean's hospital bed, one arm over Dean's shoulder, their cheeks pressed together, the baby safely between them.

"Smile," Seth says, squeezing the three of them into the frame.

Dean's tired, knows he looks it, but he musters up a smile, which isn't very hard when he looks down at their daughter in his arms. Seth takes the photo, then does something on his phone before he shows it to Dean.

There on the screen is the photo of them, Dean looking down at the baby, Seth looking at him, and they look happy, happier than Dean ever thought they'd be together. It's an instagram photo, Dean sees, and the caption beneath it reads welcome to the ambrose-rollins dynasty #thearchitectsofus #thefamilymen, and Dean's heart swells in his chest.

"Think Vince is gonna shit a brick?" Dean asks, worry settling like a heavy stone in his stomach.

"I mean, he wasn't exactly thrilled about it," Seth says, "but he gave me the green light when I talked to him and told him what I wanted to do."

Dean hums softly, feeling the grip of sleep tugging at him. He wants to keep talking, has a million and one questions he wants to ask Seth about his meeting with Vince - which Dean had no idea about - but the need for sleep is becoming too strong to overcome, and he's going to need some sleep to deal with Seth's parents and Roman coming to visit later.

"Wanna take her?" Dean asks. He's fighting to keep his eyes open at this point, but he knows their daughter is safe with Seth.

Seth nods eagerly, and the transfer goes a lot more smoothly than it should for two people with as little experience as them. Dean smiles tiredly at the sight, their baby girl nestled in the crook of Seth's arm, and he swears his heart grows in size.

He never thought they'd be here, happy and building a family together. They've been through so much, from rivals to friends to enemies to fuck buddies who couldn't stand each other to being parents and living together. It's been one hell of a ride, but Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

He has Seth, and they have their daughter. Life's pretty damn okay.

"Sleep," Seth says softly. "We'll be here when you wake up."

Dean does.