Notes: I do not own the television show Supernatural but if I did, they would not have killed Jo! I'm so pissed they did (but, I'm pleased to know that others are just as angry as I am). Unite, Angry-FF-Mob-Participants! We shall override Supernatural's writers with mean, threatening letters. Well, not really because that would be illegal. :P Okay, please enjoy.

Side Notage: These shots will be based on various prompts.

Summary: He loved them all, he really did. But, seriously? She was his baby; he couldn't just let her go like that.

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Possibilities
Supernatural
Chapter o1. Stubbornness Always (Temporarily) Wins
Original Plot Ownership: mikesh
Rating: PG-13/T (mild language, minor suggestive themes, adorableness)
Prompt: #28―torn

Dedication: To mikesh. Honestly, you were a huge inspiration in writing this. If it wasn't for you, this story wouldn't be happening. Thanks so much for your encouragement!

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"No way."

"Uh, yes way."

"Jo, it's not going to happen," he shot back. William, Sophia, and Mary watched interested as their parents stood on either side of the kitchen, their stances and attitudes reminiscent of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, a classic by their father's standards.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll do as I say," a tall, apparently very stubborn blonde retaliated. She stood firmly, hands on hips as she glared down the oak floors at her husband.

"Oh really? If I know what's good for me?" the brunette mocked. His jade-colored eyes were narrowed, dark browns furrowing together. They stared down at one another, both of their faces grim as neither refused to budge. There was a knock at the door; no one really paid attention to it.

The doorbell rang. Nothing.

It sounded like someone was physically kicking the door and Mary, the eldest, sighed when she realized she would have to be the one to answer it. Brushing past her five-year-old brother and fifteen-month-old sister, Mary skidded around the corner of the kitchen before regaining her footing and walking to the entryway.

Pulling back on a grayish-blue curtain, Mary saw her uncle, Sam Winchester, standing frustratedly on the front porch. Though Mary was only six years of age, she knew trouble when she saw it. Quickly, she opened the door.

When Sam saw the young Winchester, his exasperation and anxiety faded away. He knelt down to Mary's height and spread wide his arms, waiting for a hug. The young brunette obliged and embraced her uncle warmly.

"Hi, Uncle Sammy," she murmured.

Softly, he remarked, "Hey, yourself, bean sprout. I'm glad to see you're okay." Mary, confused, pulled back from Sam's grasp to look at his face.

"Why wouldn't I be okay, Uncle Sammy?"

The older Winchester stood back up and patiently remained still until Mary moved aside to let him in. As he took off his coat, he replied, "Well, I called your daddy, but he didn't answer so I called your mama. When she didn't pick up the phone, I got worried."

Mary giggled girlishly, her response breaking slightly with her laughs. "Oh, we're fine. Mommy and Daddy are just having a little argument, but, Big Uncle Bobby says it'll, how'd he put it, 'blow over.'"

Sam sighed with solace. He had truly been concerned when neither Winchester had answered their phones. There had been a few 'mysterious deaths' around town lately and Sam had been worried that maybe his brother and sister-in-law had been hurt. Currently, however, he realized that maybe a killer zombie wasn't the worst of Dean's problems.

"What's your daddy done wrong now?" Sam asked.

Though a normal child would've replied that her daddy did nothing of the sort, Mary just exhaled loudly before muttering, "Mommy wants Daddy to give up his baby, but Daddy said, 'No way.'"

A jubilant chuckle burst forth from Sam's throat at Mary's innocent retelling of events. Only with those two would a car be such a big deal.

"Sounds about right," he commented.

Suddenly, there was an apprehensive call from further in the house. "Mary, honey, who's at the door?"

The child yelled back, "Uncle Sammy."

There was a quite, "Oh, crap."

"Yeah, yeah, Dean, I already heard about your little endeavor with the Misses."

"Shut your cakehole, Sammy," Dean snapped.

Sam grabbed onto Mary's petite hand and the two of them walked past the living room into the kitchen where both Jo and Dean were still in a stare-off. Little Sophia was secured in her highchair, her hands clapping together in amusement as William watched from his seat at the table.

Without tearing his eyes away from Jo, Dean pleaded, "Sammy, tell Jo that it's a ridiculous idea to sell her. I mean, look at all she's been through."

Jo butted in, "C'mon, Sam. You know as well as I do how sweet that car was―in 1967. Hell, she even ran great while we were on the chase but still, it's 2016; time to move on."

Dean inhaled a rather superfluous gasp, his eyes shining with mock hurt. "Jo, how could you say that? After all she did for you, you'd just toss her to the curb like that?"

The blonde rolled her eyes, her voice thick with delight as she retorted, "We're not 'kicking her to the curb,' Dean. You're giving her to Stevie. We all know how much he cherishes that car. Shit, he'll probably take better care of it than you did."

"Woman," Dean exclaimed, "you did not just say that." No body, no body, messed with the Impala. He would be damned if he let anyone else touch her.

"It's a car, Dean," Sam tried.

"She is my baby, Sammy."

"Car," Sophia babbled.

Everything stopped.

Jo finally looked from her youngest daughter to Dean, her mouth wide. She eventually sputtered, "Did Sophia just say 'car?'"

Dean nodded, his jaw too slack and ajar.

Sam walked over to his littlest niece and picked her up adoringly. "Soph, what did you just say?" he all but cooed.

"Car," she repeated, her tiny voice nearly giggling the word. She squealed in delight when Sam kissed her cheek, his smile wide.

"Sophia, you just spoke," Jo pointed out, her tone light and joyful. Both she and Dean momentarily paused in their argument as they reached for their daughter.

Sam watched happily as his brother and his wife cuddled Sophia. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but the sight the three made tugged at his heart. If only their parents and Ellen could've seen them; he knew they would've been so proud. To think, Dean Winchester would have had the guts to propose to Joanna Harvelle, let alone procreate with her. It was so bizarre and yet touching at the same time.

William and Mary ran to their parents, their hands outstretched as they demanded to take part in the group hug. Jo and Dean complied.

Okay, so the sight was actually somewhat creepy and a bit too much on the mushy side for Sam. Really, he loved his brother's family, he did, but, there had been enough embracing and love-giving for one day.

"Guys, this is adorable and all, but I've got to hit the road." Never in Sam's life did he think that he would be the one still roaming around and fighting the supernatural while Dean settled down with a wife and kids. Sure, Sammy had his girlfriend, Emily, a young English Major, but they were still in the throws of early dating-hood; nothing too concrete and serious. He nodded to Dean who returned the gesture and made his way back to front door where he grabbed his coat and let himself out.

As he walked to his cherry-red, '69 Pontiac GTO, Sammy grinned. There was no way in hell that he'd every sell his Lady. Jo didn't know what she was doing to Dean, making him give up the Impala in so they could buy some lushy, feminine crossover. Just because those newer models were more roomy and got better MPG didn't mean that they were necessarily the superior vehicle.

"Pfft, I'd never do that to you," he crooned as his fingers ran over the bright, newly waxed hood. He heard someone clear his throat and Sam turned to see Stevie, one of Dean and Jo's neighbors, his lanky figure clearly pointing out his late-blooming adolescence. The eighteen-year-old stood at the end of the driveway expectantly as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his dirty, grease-covered jeans.

"So?" he prompted.

Sam shook his head, "No dice, bud. Sorry."

"Damn."

"I know," he consoled. "Maybe next week."

"All right, man. Have a good one." And with that, Sam revved the engine, Stevie walked back to his house, and Dean, now detached from his family, stared longingly at the Impala, her sleek, black coat shinning in the sun.

"Oh, Baby," he whispered. "I love you."

Suddenly, pain registered in his head and Dean yelped. "What the hell?"

"Dean Winchester," Jo scolded, "you'd better not be telling that car you love it."

Sheepishly scratching the back of his head, Dean casted his gaze downward.

"Honestly, what am I going to do with you?"

As Jo walked away, Dean called out, "I love you too! You know that right? Jo? Jo? Hey, Jo, I'm talking to you!"

"Yeah, yeah. Go make the kids lunch."

Complaining, Dean complied knowing that should he go against his wife's command, it would be goodbye bed, hello couch and really, when you were a hormonal thirty-something, the couch was your worst enemy.

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