Ten years to the day after their kiss, Azazel uses Dr. Thomasina Jackson's gloved hands to pull the baby from the birth canal. He shrieks as she holds him up, his face red, his eyes dark, his arms and legs waving as his perfect little fingers and toes clutch at the air.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Winchester," she exclaims through the surgical mask. "You have a healthy baby boy."
Mary's smile is exhausted, but her eyes are bright.
"He'll be a big one," Azazel coos, and she leans forward to wrap the baby in a towel and place him in Mary's open arms.
Mary strokes his cheek softly. "Hello, sweetheart. You're going to be Samuel after my father." She stares down at him, determined expression surrounded by the damp golden curls of her hair. "I'll always keep you safe, little Sammy."
Azazel grins behind the mask. Samuel. It's poetically perfect.