25th December 2008

Sam's eyes drifted closed as he felt his stomach begin to return to its natural state, and resisted the urge to look down at the gaping hole. He felt the demons touch his skin, felt the tissue and muscle knit itself back together, felt the uterus that he had been gifted with disappear, hear Dean talking all the time. He wasn't saying anything in particular, just soothing words and pointless statements, one hand still pushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. He couldn't hear the baby crying – was it dead? Was it ever alive in the first place? He felt Dean tense beside him, and cracked open his eyes.

"Here He is. He will be collected in exactly eleven years and fifteen hours."

Sam took the white bundle without hesitation, sitting up better and shifting the small infant. He pushed back the white cloth and stared.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he was faced with. What was staring up at him with starling clear blue eyes was not a screaming, wailing, blue-limbed and bald form of flesh – it was a golden-haired, clean, beautiful baby, silent as anything, and staring as intensely as Dean sometimes did. Sam was momentarily dumbstruck.

"Pretty cute for a baby, huh," Dean put in, still sitting up by Sam's shoulder, and the baby curled up into a ball, pressing his face into Sam's chest and closing his eyes.

"He's gorgeous."

"He's not yours."

Sam looked up sharply at the demon that was still stood on the far side of the room, the same one that had given them the news nine months ago. It was leaning against the wall, arms folded, a stern expression on its face.

"I just gave birth to him. I would say that qualifies him as mine."

"Just do not forget that He will be collected eleven years from now."

"I won't," Sam said forcefully, and looked back down.

"What are you going to call him?" Dean asked roughly as Sam gazed at the blond infant fondly where he was sleeping in his arms.

"Do I get a choice?" he asked simply, and the demon shrugged its shoulders.

"I haven't been told otherwise. He has His own demonic name, one that His Father will use to call Him. But I suppose He can have a human's name too."

Sam looked up at his brother, and Dean stepped forward to lay one hand on the top of the soft head. The baby snuffled and reached out one tiny hand in his sleep to grasp one of his fingers as he tried to withdraw it. Dean's eyes met Sam's.


29th January, 2009

"Sammy? You hungry?" Dean called through to the bedroom, head in the fridge. It smelt stale. "Sammy?"

Frowning at the lack of response, he shut the door and stood quickly, drawing his gun deftly as he slipped into the bedroom, hazel eyes darting around quickly, heart beating painfully loudly, adrenaline spiking his blood.

He saw Sam lying on his side on the bed, one arm curled around Adam, pulling him into his chest, and lowered his gun with a small sigh. The infant was sucking his thumb, snuffling slightly, and when he let out a small cry in his sleep Sam's enormous hand tightened on his back.

Walking over to the bedside, he sat down, sinking into the soft duvet that Sam and Adam were settled on and reaching out one hand to gently stroke Adam's hair with one finger, smiling fondly at the baby. It took him a good few minutes to realise that Sam was gazing straight back at him, eyes sleep-filled and heavy and warm and loving.

"You going to stare at him all night?" he whispered, and Dean shrugged slightly.

"I could. Pretty easily. You'd give him a second glance on the street, sure, but only because he's a damned good-looking kid. Not because he's the friggin' Antichrist," he muttered, and Sam took hold of his hand, pulling him down onto the bed so that he was facing his brother over the small body.

"Is he OK?" Dean asked, concern tinting his voice, as Adam let out a small cry in his sleep. Sam smiled.

"He's fine, just dreaming."

"And this thing you've got going on with him?" Dean gestured between them. "This psychic link?"

"It's not telepathy, Dean," Sam said wryly, and his brother shrugged. "It's just an… advanced bond between mother and child. I can't read his mind. It's just emotions, really."

"Whatever."

They lay in silence for a minute, no sound between them but the gentle snuffling of the baby in between them, both of them breathing completely in sync.

"How long do you reckon until he starts manifesting?" Sam asked quietly, and Dean knew what he meant. He hesitated, looking down at the child sleeping so peacefully between them, tiny fist grasping the collar of Sam's t-shirt.

"No idea. Could be straight away. Unconscious stuff, you know. He'll probably need to learn to control it," he paused and shifted closer, one hand covering Adam's small pink legs. "I guess we'll just have to deal with it when it happens."

"But what if we can't?" Sam asked, his voice laced with worry. "What if he's too powerful? What if he's visited by a demon, and they get him to attack us? What if he turns evil? What if –"

Dean silenced him, moving his hand to cover his brother's on Adam's back.

"Sammy. You're his mom. He'll do as you tell him to, whether he likes it or not."

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched, and Dean reached up to ruffle his hair gently.

"So does that make you his dad then?" Sam asked jokingly, and Dean grinned.

"I'd say it makes the Devil his dad, to be honest."

"Adoptive dad?"

"Deal."

Their eyes met, and something passed between them that they'd never be able to put a name to, even if they'd tried. A content smile crept across Sam's face and he closed his eyes, fingers reaching out to twine with Dean's. He spoke again, his voice a tired murmur.

"So I was thinking…"

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"I was thinking that we ought to get a place. You know, rent somewhere or something until Adam's old enough. Get him an education. We owe him that at least."

"We never got a real one, and we turned out OK."

"Well, this is different," Sam shot back, his eyes cracking open with a disapproving look. "When Adam tells me that he's scared of the thing in the closet, I'm not handing him a .45, OK? I want him to be as normal as he can."

"But… we can still teach him the stuff, right? Only he won't last long without it," Dean pointed out, sitting up briefly to pull off his jacket and slip his belt out through the loops, kicking off his boots.

"Yeah, we'll teach him it. Though I doubt many demons will come after us once they find out who he is. And I guess we'll start hunting again as soon as we can?"

"You bet," Dean agreed, and Adam rolled over in his sleep to push his face into the crook of his dad's arm. "We can take him along with us."

"Yeah, we can. But until then, I want him to be normal."

Dean looked up to meet his brother's gaze, frowning slightly.

"I don't get why you care so much. I mean, he's the friggin' Antichrist. We hunt and kill things like him every day of our lives. He ain't really your son."

"If you'd had to haul him around for nine months, you wouldn't be saying that he wasn't your son," Sam pointed out wryly, and Dean was forced to agree. "Besides, if I can get just one of them on my side? I'll be glad. It's one less to be afraid of."

"You still afraid, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes met his once more, and they'd rarely been more serious.

"Hell yeah. Aren't you?"

Dean sighed heavily and reached out for his brother, wrapping him in an embrace, Adam warm and solid and real between them. Sam relaxed into his grip.

"Sometimes, dude. But I'm more scared of losing you," he whispered.

Sam was asleep within five minutes, one hand twined with Dean's, the other on his son's back.


5th March, 2009

"How long do we have to do this for?" Dean asked grumpily as he took Sam's hand in his own, pricking the tip of his finger gently. The midday light streamed in through the window, despite the curtains that they'd put up, and Sam was strategically facing the baby's head away from the brightness.

"I'll wean him off my blood once he's six months old, so he's not drinking it as much. And it's only thirteen drops, it's hardly as if I'm bleeding to death," Sam replied dryly as Dean squeezed his finger carefully. Thirteen ruby-red droplets swirled in the pint of milk, tainting it ready for Adam to drink. Dean poured it carefully into the bottle and shook it vigorously.

"So what'll he drink then?" he asked as he handed the bottle to Sam, and his brother shifted the baby in his arms. The armchair had come with the flat when they moved in, and wasn't particularly comfortable.

"Just plain milk. You're not supposed to move them onto it until they're twelve months old, but considering we've been feeding him on my blood for three months, I don't think it's really an issue," Sam replied as Adam's tiny fingers grasped the bottle, eyes wide and staring straight up into Sam's as he was fed.

"Dude. How do you know these things?" Dean asked, his lip twitching, and Sam's eyes didn't move away from his son.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, how do you know that you're meant to wait twelve months before feeding him plain old cow's milk?"

"I read it."

"You read it?"

"Yeah, I read it," Sam said tiredly, and finally looked up at his brother. "I got some stuff delivered here. It's not as if I could ask anyone else for advice, was it?"

"Wait, you're saying that there are parenting magazines in this flat?" Dean asked derisively, and Sam pulled a face.

"Stop saying it like it's a bad thing. I needed to know what to do."

"Well I'm sorry, but it's kinda weird, you know?"

"Dean, what in our lives isn't weird?" Sam shot back moodily, and the other man shrugged.

"I'm just saying, that's all."

"Well you can take him now; I need to go to the bathroom."

Dean nodded and leaned over his brother, hands reaching around the bundle to lift him from Sam's chest and against his own, careful not to drop the bottle. He took a deep breath as Sam stood and moved across the room, and almost gagged.

"You son of a bitch!" he gasped, eyes watering, and Sam hurried the last few metres, grinning widely. "That stinks!"

"I could feel him working up to it," Sam shot back cheekily, and half-closed the bathroom door. "Besides, it's your turn anyway."

"It's not a matter of turns!" Dean protested, but Sam just kept on grinning.

"That really needs sorting out. He could get diaper rash," he pointed out, and shut the door. Scowling, Dean turned to his son.

"My God, you are one stinky asshole."

"Don't insult my kid!" Sam called from the bathroom, and Dean's forehead bunched up in annoyance. He set Adam down on the mat in front of the fireplace, and tried to hide the small smile that was playing on his face.


16th August, 2009

"Dean, can you just hold Adam for a minute?" Sam asked distractedly as he strode into the room, the Antichrist settled firmly on his hip, holding his phone in his other hand. "I need to go outside to get signal, and it's raining."

"Sure man," he replied slowly, heaving himself up and out of the low armchair and taking the smiling infant from his brother's arm. "Who you calling?"

"Just Bobby," Sam replied absently, and shut the door behind himself. Dean waited for a beat before setting Adam down on the floor next to the cushions that were laid out and crept to the window, silently easing it open and pressing his ear to the gap in an attempt to hear the conversation over the hissing rain.

"…Adam John Winchester… nope, none… what do you think, Bobby?… well I'll talk to him, but I can't see him being happy… how long?… I already said I'm good, I'm not the one you need to worry about… yeah, I'll ring you tomorrow… will do… bye."

Dean frowned, and Adam tottered over to him on unsteady feet. Why did Bobby need Adam's full name? What would he not be happy about? He peered out through the darkness to Sam, who was glaring out into the wilderness, and started to close the window.

"Da!"

Dean was so startled that he dropped the window and it slammed shut, but he didn't care. With a huge grin on his face, he reached down and swept Adam up onto his hip, and the baby giggled. "Da!"

He looked up as the door banged back open and Sam stormed in, rain dripping from his hair and down his neck.

"Hey Sammy! Our kid said his first word!" he said cheerfully, and his grin didn't slip as his brother scowled at him.

"You were listening into the conversation, Dean," he said bluntly, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up. "It was private."

"Never mind that!" Dean replied dismissively, and held Adam out to him. "He said my name."

"Dean, that was just a noise. And besides, he said 'da', not 'Dean'."

"I think you'll find it was 'dad'. And we agreed that I was his Dad."

"It was just a noise, Dean," Sam replied tiredly, and sat down, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. "And this is not the point! You were listening in, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was. And?" he replied gruffly, sitting down in the armchair opposite, Adam bouncing on his knee. "What were you talking to Bobby about?"

"I was just settling something. But you really need to stop doing things like that!"

"What were you settling? Why won't I be happy about it?" Dean shot back, as Adam settled himself against his chest. "Come on, Sammy! Tell me, dammit."

Sam paused for a moment, scowling heavily, and then sighed and turned to lay down on the couch.

"Bobby's got a job for us."

"So?" Dean asked, with a small shrug, cradling Adam. Sam closed his eyes.

"It's in England."

There was a silence so sharp that Sam thought it might cut him, and he looked down so that he wouldn't have to look Dean in the eye.

"And you've agreed to it," he stated, flatly, and Sam ran an enormous hand through his hair.

"It's a vampire clan, he can't handle them by himself."

"Well why couldn't he have gotten someone else to help him?" Dean asked aggressively, and Sam sank lower into the couch. "There's plenty of other hunters out there who aren't trying to raise a goddamn baby, and he's got the Colt, for Christ's sake!"

"I agreed because we owe him! And I didn't see any reason why we couldn't!" Sam retorted, folding his arms and glowering at his brother, whose eyebrows shot towards his hairline.

"You couldn't see any reasons why not? Sammy, Adam is the eight-month-old Antichrist. What if he starts playing up on the plane? Everybody on it could die. You could die."

"He's proved already that he can save us both if he needs to."

"Well what about the Impala? Do you expect me to just leave it lying around here?"

"We can take what we need, and leave the Impala here. Nobody's going to touch it."

"I don't like planes Remember what happened last time?"

"Dean, that was a specific demon attack," Sam shot back reasonably. "And if you really want, we can spike all the drinks with holy water just to be sure."

"Well what've we got to do with England? Why's Bobby over there? Surely they have their own hunters."

Sam sighed and stood slowly, crossing the room to Dean and kneeling down on the floor beside him. He reached out one hand and gently stroked the top of Adam's head as he dozed.

"You're grasping at straws. Plane leaves at ten tomorrow morning."

Dean glared at Sam for a moment longer, but his little brother didn't take his eyes of his son. He sighed, and his eyes softened resignedly.

"How long is the flight?"


30th August, 2009

"He's very well behaved."

Sam looked up, startled, at the middle-aged woman sat next to him and tried to focus on her through sleep-blurred eyes. Dean snorted noisily on his other side.

"Thanks," he replied with a smile once he'd processed what she'd said. "He's never been any trouble."

"Well, I'm sure he'll give you Hell when he's a bit older," the woman said conspiratorially with a wink, and Sam felt himself smirk despite himself. "How old is he?"

"Eight months. Said his first word two weeks ago."

"Oh, how fantastic!" she enthused, cheeks rosy with too much blusher. "What did he say?"

"Well, we think he said 'Dad', but it's debatable," he said quietly, and Dean shifted beside him. Adam stared up at him, sucking greedily on the bottle that he'd prepared furtively in the toilet just ten minutes ago when he'd felt the link tug slightly as Adam demanded a drink.

"I bet his mother is so proud."

Sam winced slightly, and tightened his hold on the infant.

"I'm sure," he agreed, and Dean snorted himself awake beside him. "She… died in childbirth."

"Oh my dear, I'm so terribly sorry!" she replied immediately, one ring-laden hand gripping his left arm. Adam paused to look up at her. "Are you raising him all by yourself?"

"No. No, he's not."

Sam turned so quickly to look at Dean that his neck cracked painfully.

"I'm his brother."

The woman looked slightly taken aback for a moment, but soon recovered herself, and smiled brightly.

"Well it's great that you have such a supportive family. What's he called?"

"Adam. His name's Adam."

"What a beautiful name."

Sam instinctively looked up as the pilot's voice crackled gently over the system, and Dean glared past him at the woman.

"We will soon be beginning our descent into Topeka Airport. We expect to land in about half an hour."

Sam looked down at Adam, who was quite finished with his bottle and had his face pressed into the crook of his arm. He smiled to himself and put the bottle away, glancing up at Dean. His brother was regarding him with an inscrutable expression.

"I'm gonna try and get some sleep 'til we land," he said to Dean, and pressed the button to lean his seat back, settling Adam more comfortably against his chest. He closed his eyes and felt Dean pull the complimentary blanket up over them both gently.

"I'll keep watch."

Sam was going to tell him that they were on a plane, he didn't need to keep watch – but he was so tired that he couldn't quite manage it, and he realised that Dean would keep watch even if they were in Heaven and there was nothing to keep watch for.