The first time Dean sees his daughter (yes, his freaking daughter, that's not a typo, and no, he can't believe it either) she's swaddled in a light pink blanket on the other side of a thick plane of glass, and he's three heart beats away from a full blown panic attack. Because he's Dean Winchester, and he may sleep with a lot of women, but he's careful, and he sure as hell isn't father material. He can barely keep Sam's ass out of trouble on a good day, and that isn't saying much, considering Sam's potty trained and can support his own head. Well, at least when he's not having the life choked out of him by any manner of objects.

Of course, he repeats over and over to himself that she might not even be his daughter. A forged name on a birth certificate does not a father/daughter blood relation make. But, as Sam takes ridiculous pleasure in pointing out, she does have Dean's lips. And Dean's nose. And a shape of eye that looks suspiciously similar to their mother, and by extension, Sam as well.

But everyone knows how little one's physical appearance has to do with who they are in the inside. No, if the only thing linking Dean with this baby was a vague likeness, he would have no problem, and harbour very little guilt, about writing off the whole thing. The deciding factor is why Dean is here in the first place, how this baby's mother could have burned to nothing but ashes in a matter of minutes after forging Dean's name on her daughter's birth certificate, if she wasn't inextricably linked to the evil that has followed Dean's family since he was four years old.

See, because demons aren't bound by silly little things like law, privacy acts, and forbidden access (not that Dean entirely is either, but that's beside the point) they have a much easier time finding out things when they put their demented little heads together. So it's not entirely impossible to think that the yellow eyed bastard could know before Dean himself that he had in fact donated half of his DNA to making this tiny little red faced specimen, the one currently sleeping on the other side of the window.

The urge to run is a strong one. Sam's disappeared on a fact finding mission, unlikely to surface for another half hour, at least; the odds are good that Dean could be in the car and heading for the interstate before Sam even became aware of a problem. Sure, he might never see his brother again, but Dean could write that off as a quick-like-a-band-aid fix to an inevitable situation, effectively leaving Sam before Sam got the chance to leave him.

Because sure as he stands here, he knows that day will come, when Sam no longer finds fulfillment from an endless road trip, an endless trek to put down all those nasty little beasties that rear their ugly little heads to cause trouble for people like Sam and Dean. He knows that one day, Sam will find himself a nice young girl, maybe one that sort of reminds him of Jessica, maybe not and-

God, how pathetic is he that he's imagining his brother leaving instead of concentrating on the issue at hand? He's a freaking father now; he can't keep going off on mental tangents when he should be focusing on the safety of his daughter. Well, possible daughter, even though babies as adorable as she is can only come from so many places.

The hall around Dean is empty, otherwise it's likely he wouldn't be loitering in front of the nursery window, eyeing that baby in the back with his last name attached to her bassinet, muttering to himself occasionally and pushing his hands through his hair like he's going to tear it out in great big handfuls.

Down the hall, arson experts and crime scene investigators are combing through the remaining ashes and debris. Dean could save them a lot of time by telling them that the son of a bitch that did this doesn't leave a ton of evidence, seeing as he could literally disappear in a cloud of smoke. And he could help the detectives out, the ones that are interviewing every staff member that's come anywhere near this floor, by letting them know that no one is going to remember anything, no one is going to have seen anything out of the ordinary. But he doesn't, he doesn't move because that could be his daughter in there, and he's afraid that if he moves at all, even one step, it will be the first one in a long line of many on the way out the door. And he's not going to be That Guy. His father raised him better than to be That Guy, the one who runs out on his kids when they need him the most. John Winchester doesn't have an actual grave, but if he did, you could be downright sure as hell he'd be rolling over in it if Dean turned into That Guy.

So he stays where he is, hands tucked into fists at his sides, waiting for Sam to come back so they can figure out what the hell they're going to do. Because responsibility is one thing, but it'd be damn near impossible to raise a baby on the road. Sure, his dad had done it, but John had experience with kids, he at least knew which end to feed and which to diaper. Dean would have to start fresh.

He sighs, closes his eyes and tips his forehead against the cool glass. Yesterday, things had been going great. Well, maybe great is a bit of an overstatement, but it hadn't been awful. Or, maybe it had been. He'd been too busy trying to erase all evidence of his emotional breakdown to bother classifying the current state of affairs for the Winchester brothers. The point is, yesterday, he knew nothing of a daughter beyond the definition of the word, and therefore, yesterday is better than today.

But, if he's completely honest with himself, she's a pretty good looking baby. Beautiful might be a more apt description. He hasn't seen her up close yet, but from a distance he can make out a patch of fine blond hair, chubby cheeks and pouty lips. It's inordinately difficult to describe the looks of a baby, because, let's face it, there's not much there. But he doesn't think it would be too much to say Brangelina's baby has nothing on his.

Footsteps echo down the hall, and Dean doesn't need to look to know Sam's returning ahead of schedule. Sam stops close enough for their shoulders to brush, and Dean studies his face in the reflection for clues.

"They don't know, man." He holds a hand up to the glass, cutting out the glares to get a better look at the babies inside. "They think you signed the birth certificate. As far as anybody here knows, you're her legal guardian. Her father."

Dean doesn't say anything for a long minute. He's reluctant to admit it, but there is more than a faint resemblance between the face he sees everyday in the mirror, the one attached to his head, and the one currently scrunched up in sleep on the other side of the glass. It's not completely implausible to think he could've knocked a girl up, because there's careful, and then there's having sex multiple times with a different girl each week. And Dean is a firm believer and steady subscriber to the condom, but he's got more experience with the latter than the former. How this woman got a hold of his contact information is another question, though.

"What else did you find out?"

Sam's hand falls away from the glass. He turns to face Dean, leaning back against the observation window with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "They have no idea what happened. As we suspected, the fire started in the ceiling. Fire Chief said he hasn't ever seen anything like it, a fire burning so hot and so quickly without evidence of some kind of accelerant. He says it's a good thing the station is on the same block, otherwise they might've lost the whole floor, if not the hospital."

Dean nods, brow creased in thought. "And the nurse said the fire started right after this woman signed the certificate?"

"Yup. She didn't even get back to the nurse's station before the alarm started going off. They evacuated the surrounding rooms, and by that time, the fire crew was already here." He shrugs. "They're looking at the room above, because of the origin, but I'm pretty sure they're not going to find anything."

Dean scrubs his hands through his hair, and without realising it, begins pacing the width of the hall. Sam tracks his movement with olive green eyes hidden beneath hair desperately needing a cut. "What about the woman? What did you find out about her?"

Sam pulls a slip of crumpled paper from his pocket and consults it before saying, "Baby's mother is Catherine Reid. The nurse I spoke to said she worked at a bar down the road until she got too big to fit behind the counter. She admitted herself three days ago, gave birth after sixteen hours of labour. The nurse said she never met the father, he was always parking the car, or in the washroom, or down at the gift shop."

Dean pauses mid-stride to rub a hand along his jaw. "Jesus. Any relatives? Will? Anything?"

Sam shakes his head. "No one but her and the invisible boyfriend. This doesn't make sense, though, Dean. How could no one have realised she was alone? Don't they pay better attention than that?"

"I don't know, Sammy. My guess is people are pretty believing of a woman hours away from giving birth to her first child. Besides, maternity wards are busy places. And it sounds like this Catherine woman had everything worked out ahead of time."

Sam nods. Considering the shit load of complications that have just been dropped into their collective laps, and aside from the nervous fidgeting, Sam thinks his brother is taking this extremely well. Of course, they had nowhere to go but up after yesterday, when proof that Dean actually does have tear ducts, and yes, they do in fact function, came into light and Sam was stunned into silence. He knows his brother probably wouldn't share the same sentiment, but Sam would gladly face taking care of a newborn before another Dean Winchester emotional breakdown.

So deep in his own thoughts, Sam doesn't realise Dean has stopped pacing until his brother says, "I don't know if I can do this, Sammy."

His tone is different, more reminiscent of yesterday, and last month, and last year, and all those other times Dean seemed to think he wasn't up for the job. It's the same tone that has Sam wanted to wrap his fingers around his brother's neck and pound the back of his head against the nearest hard surface, because his brother is worth something, goddammit.

"I don't think we have much of a choice, Dean." Clearly, Sam's words are not what he wanted to hear. Dean's shoulders slump, and just like that he pacing again, with considerable more speed this time around. "We can't pretend the demon isn't after her; that much is painfully obvious, right? So we can either leave her here and pray that someone adopts her, if she makes it through the night, or we can take her with us, keep her safe between us."

Dean scrubs his hand through his hair. "Those aren't very good options, Sammy." He sighs heavily, world weary, and his shoulders bow even further as if the weight he's been carrying just doubled in size. "Can we do this, Sam? Can we raise a baby on the road, fighting demons one minute and changing diapers the next? Wouldn't it be better for her to live a normal life, in foster care or something?"

Sam merely raises a sardonic eyebrow. "Can you imagine our life without Dad? And you know as well as I do, that once this life grabs you it doesn't let go. This Demon doesn't let go. So, if you ask me, the question isn't whether or not you can a raise a baby on the road. It's whether or not you can leave her here for whatever He has planned."

That seems to get through to his brother like nothing else could. Regardless of what he might say to the contrary, Sam knows Dean has felt some fatherly instincts towards this small child. Some part of him must recognize the startling similarities, even while other parts of him rebel. And Sam knows that irregardless of how panicked he might feel, or how difficult he knows this will be, Dean will not leave this baby behind. End of story.

So Dean sighs, lifts his hands from his pockets and readjusts his jacket over his shoulders. "Okay. Let's go find somebody, and get this the hell over with. I want to get back on the road."

Sam smiles and falls into step next to his brother when something occurs to him. "Oh, by the way, what's up with all this 'we' crap? You're the one who couldn't keep it in his pants; it's your name on her birth certificate. I don't know what you have planned, but you're not pressing me into dirty diaper service."

Dean's hand, the same hand that will soon learn to change diapers all over again, that will warm a bottle and check the temperature, that will soothe a cranky baby to sleep and rub her back so she stays that way, lifts up and cuffs his brother upside the head. Sam retaliates with a less-than worthy shove, and the two brothers round the corner in search of a maternity nurse.