Sam stared at Dean. If Bobby was staging an intervention . . .

"About time, ya idjits. Get in here now," the hunter ordered.

Sam found himself shuffled in front of everyone else somehow, and let himself be pushed into Bobby's living room—which had faced a drastic rearrangement. The floor was completely bare, and everything that had been there was now hastily piled up on the chairs, desk, and shelves.

The reason?

A very small toddler in a pastel blue sleeper sat in the middle of the floor with a pile of blocks. Rumsfield the Second was watching warily from behind the sofa, and occasionally the baby lobbed a block in the dog's direction. Lack of aim and force protected Rumsfield, but Bobby growled from behind Sam. "Now what did I say about throwin' the darn things?"

The baby whipped around, and a smile broke out across his face as he caught sight of the three hunter pile-up in the doorway. "Dada!"

"Something you want to tell us, Bobby?"

"He ain't mine, I can tell ya that much, Dean Winchester. And I ain't a babysitter, you two!"

"Wait a minute," Dean grimaced, dragging a hand down his face. "Start over."

All three hunters stood around the rug, looking down at the toddler. The little boy stretched upward, holding his arms out to Sam, but the younger Winchester just watched the baby blankly.

Dean wondered if Sam could be in shock. Shock was a classified medical condition as well as an emotion. It was possible.

"I'm saying some floozy waltzed up my front steps and asked if I had a nephew named Sam," Bobby growled. "And when I said yes, she dumped a baby in my arms and told me that she had a new man who didn't like brats none."

"You're sure the kid's mine?" Sam asked calmly. Too calmly.

"Dada!" The toddler made a fist and hit Sam in the shin hard. "Up, Dada! Up!" he repeated imperiously, reaching again.

"Yer angel wasn't exactly much help in convincin' her to stay," Bobby glared. "Get in here, Feathers! And don't forget to walk!"

Dean and Sam shared confused looks.

Castiel entered from the kitchen—sans trenchcoat, suit jacket, and tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and he held a bottle in one hand. "Yes, Bobby?"

The baby began to cry, still yanking on Sam's pant leg even as he stared at Castiel.

"Give me the darn bottle," Bobby waved impatiently, squatting to scoop the baby into one experienced arm. "And tell the boys what you told me."

"Gabriel fell," Castiel reported obediently, handing the bottle to Dean rather than approach the child himself.

The older hunter snatched it, casting a heavy look at the ceiling—obviously questioning the collective intelligence of Team Freewill. "Start at the beginning, wouldja?"

"That is the beginning," Castiel reminded him seriously. "Lucifer cast him down, and now Gabriel has been reborn amongst humans."

"And you brought him here?" Dean demanded.

"Pay attention, Dean. I did not bring him here. His mother did."

"Why would some total stranger bring her baby to us?"

"Because she recognized her child's father, and Annie Fisher never wanted to be a mother," Castiel explained, frustration just beginning to edge into his voice. The toddler began to shriek, rejecting the bottle and hiding his face in Bobby's beard. "Sam engaged in carnal relations with the woman twenty-one months ago. Nathan will be a year old on December 19th."

"Nathan?"

"Nathan Gabriel Fisher is the human name bestowed upon the child . . ." Castiel ducked his head. "And I must confess to . . .encouraging . . . her choice."

"You're sure the kid is mine?" Sam repeated.

"Yes, Sam."

"Then it's a Winchester, I guess," Sam stared at the baby. "So what do we do with it now?"

"Sam can't have a kid!" Dean squawked. "Look at him, Cas!"

Both Sam and Castiel turned to look at him with identical expressions of annoyance. The baby reached for Sam again, and this time grabbed at Sam's nose. "Dada!"

Sam caught the tiny hand in his, and Dean froze. Sam just stood there, the baby's hand captured in his gigantic one, and looked at the baby. "Daddy," he corrected.

Nathan scowled briefly and kicked his legs, squirming in Bobby's grip as he reached for Sam again. "Da-dee!" he howled. "Ba!"

"He seems to have retained considerably more of his angelic nature than most of the fallen," Castiel commented. "I would not have thought him capable of recognizing your soulless state or a satisfactory comprehension of Ancient Egyptian."

"The soul capable of leaving flesh behind," Sam nodded. "It doesn't seem to—"

"Idjits," Bobby growled, shoving Nathan into Sam's arms. "He wants the darn bottle."

Sam blinked, and offered the bottle to the toddler awkwardly. Nathan grabbed it, shoved it in his mouth, and leaned back against Sam with boneless abandon.

The four grown men stared down at him.

Nathan smiled widely around the bottle.

"Ta!"