(A/N) Will's existence comes from another story, a probably-never-to-be-written one because it's too close to fall season. But this spun off the original idea and I find myself mightily intrigued.

One Midnight at a Time

The TV muttered vaguely, its blue light flickering across the tiny living room. Underneath it, the VCR shone 11:33 onto the carpet.

Dean shifted, trying to concentrate on the muted explosions and gunfire. He couldn't turn it up any louder. Sam was asleep on the couch, folded practically in half to fit, and snoring softly. His brother could sleep through a lot, but he needed it bad these days. Almost as bad as Dean did.

His brother hated that he wasn't sleeping, Dean knew. But every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Hell all around him, as if everyday life were the dream and pain, terror, loneliness were the reality.

So he stayed awake until he was so exhausted that he dropped straight into unconsciousness the moment he got horizontal. He could usually get a couple of hours that way before the dreams started. Last week he'd gotten a whole six hours.

Break out the balloons.

A thin whimper drifted out of the room at the end of the hall. Dean got to his feet, leaving the TV on. The whimper got a little louder as he got nearer to the door, but it died away when he swung the door open and slid through it. "Hey, you. Gravy train's here."

The baby stared up at him, and his little-old-man face uncrumpled when he recognized Dean. He let out a demanding squawk, like a baby bird asking for a worm. "Sh-sh-sh," Dean breathed, hoisting him out of the crib. "Everyone's asleep, Will-man. Don't you go wakin' 'em up. You just come on with Uncle Dean, he'll hook you up with a bottle, how's that?"

Jo turned over in the bed. He glanced at her apprehensively, but she went still. On the bedside table, her alarm clock ticked steadily--11:36. She'd given up the midnight feeding privileges after a week of Dean getting there first anyway.

For about the hundredth time, Dean shook his head. If either of them was going to knock up a girl, he'd've bet the Impala it would be him. But whiskey and depression and Sam and Jo had collided one night in Marquette, and here they all were.

Sometimes he got jealous, sometimes he thought that Will could've been his. But then again, maybe this was better. Jo might've slept with Sam in a moment of drunken craziness, but she had never wanted him, not the way she'd wanted Dean. But he knew--had always known--that he couldn't give her what she wanted and it would have turned nasty if he'd tried. If Will had been his, the kid would have been caught in the middle, and nobody deserved that.

So yeah. Better this way, all around.

And how could he wish Will wasn't here?

He took the baby into the dark kitchen, jiggling him lightly as he started to whimper. Navigating by the blue light that seeped in from the living room, he measured out water and put it in the microwave. The numbers glowed--11:39--for a second before he punched the preset button.

Will let out a whine.

Dean gave him a light bounce. "Heyyyyy, none of that. This is a fine dining establishment. Quality takes time." He walked him around the kitchen.

Unimpressed, the baby started gumming his shoulder. Dean let him. Jo and Sam were still in new-parent hysterical mode--don't let him put that in his mouth!--but Ellen and Dean agreed that any kid with Will's lineage wasn't about to be brought low by an unhygenic t-shirt.

The microwave dinged. "See?"

Working one-handed, shifting his weight from foot to foot to keep Will quiet, Dean mixed the bottle. He propped the baby on the counter for a moment so he could test the formula on his wrist. Will's eyes focused on the bottle and he let out a sudden shriek.

"Hey! Shhh. Here." Will fastened on the nipple and started sucking energetically. "Yeah, that's the good stuff," Dean murmured. "That'll turn you into gigantosaur just like Daddy, huh?"

While Will slurped, Dean took him into the living room. Credits rolled up the screen. "Movie's over. Let's see what else is on, huh?" He settled back in the recliner and propped one ankle on the opposite knee, settling Will in the cradle created by his bent leg. The nipple slipped out of Will's mouth for a moment, and he let out a noise of protest.

"Sh," Dean whispered, giving him the bottle again. "Don't wake your dad, 'kay?"

Sam shifted position, but his snores started up again in a moment. One hand hung over the edge of the sofa. Dean could just see the numbers on his watch: 11:43.

In Will's first couple of weeks, Sam had tried to get up for his son's midnight bottle, but he would conk out again before the baby did. Dean had just stopped waking him, and Sam had never said anything about it, and that was the way things had settled out.

With his free hand, Dean reached for the remote flipped past a few dumb-looking late movies, then stopped on one. "Okay, looks promising. She's hot, right?"

He liked it better this way. Just him and Will, two guys hanging out and watching the tube.

It turned out to be a vampire flick. The vamps all had impossibly white and symetrical fangs, and the non-vamps were all unbelievably stupid. "Dude, don't go with her. She is full-on lookin' at your neck. You are gonna get eaten alive, and not in the good way. Awww . . . see? What'd I tell ya? Was I right? I was so right."

The VCR clock flipped from 11:49 to 11:50.

He tilted the bottle to check the level; halfway done. Will was still chowing down, though. Dean let his free hand rest on the baby's soft head, brushing his thumb over a feathery shock of hair. He could just remember Sam being this tiny, his mom's voice whispering, "Gentle, sweetie, gentle," as he patted his brother's bald head.

Now Sam had a son. Life was funny.

When the hot girl got her throat ripped out, Dean changed the channel. "Nuthin'," he said to Will. "Chick flicks. And news. You done?" He jiggled the bottle, and Will latched on again. "No? Yeah, don't blame you."

He dropped his head back against the headrest of the recliner, his gaze drifting around the room. Sam's watch said 11:55 now.

"Done now?" he asked, looking back at Will. The baby let the nipple droop out of his mouth and yawned. "Sure are." He scooped Will up against his shoulder.

He went back into the kitchen, dropping the bottle into the sink. He'd clean it out later. For now, he alternated patting and rubbing Will's back, humming "Enter Sandman" under his breath.

He turned, and his eyes fell on the microwave. 11:59.

He stood rigid in the middle of the kitchen, holding Will. His heartbeat doubled and redoubled.

12:00.

The quiet of the sleeping house settled all around him. He couldn't hear anything but his own breath, sawing in and out of his lungs. His ears strained for the sound of barking and howling in the distance.

"Urp."

Dean let out his breath and closed his eyes. Nothing. No hellhounds tonight. Nothing but a sleepy, burpy baby.

"Nice one, kid," he said, trying not to hear the way his voice shook. "A couple of years and you'll be able to do your ABCs."

He started moving again, pacing a slow circle around the kitchen and patting Will's back to get all the gas out. A few more burps, and Will's body relaxed. Dean glanced down and saw his eyes droop as sleep stole over him.

"Lightweight. Can't hold your milk, huh?" Dean breathed in the smell of his nephew one more time--milk, powder, diaper, newness. "Okay, big guy. Bedtime it is."

He padded down the hall again. The pale light of the TV seeped in through the door with him, lighting up the alarm clock, which now said 12:04. Jo didn't move.

The baby settled on his mattress with a sigh, sliding into sleep with an ease Dean could only envy.

"G'night," he whispered, rubbing Will's milk-fat belly.

He closed the door behind him and went back to the kitchen to wash out the bottle. On clocks all over the house, the time ticked steadily toward another midnight.

FINIS