"The Baby!" Sam shot up in bed, gasping for air and clutching at his middle. Oh god, the Baby, the Baby. How could he have forgotten about it, for even a second? Was it okay? The last thing he remembered before the Bunker was being gassed in the white room. What if the gas had hurt the baby? The damn kid hadn't even been born yet and already he proved to be a terrible parent.

"Sam? Whas goin' on?" Dean mumbled and sat up, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. Any other time Sam would marvel at his brother's astoundingly adorable bedhead, but right now he was on the verge of outright panicking.

"The-The Baby. I—I, I forgot about the fucking Baby. What kind of parent does that? I don't even know if it's okay, what if it got hurt when they sedated me, what if-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. Deep breaths okay?" Dean waited a moment for Sam to take a few deep breaths. When he saw the panic in his eyes recede a little, he continued, "The Baby is perfectly fine. Cas checked you out from top to bottom soon as we got out of that place. Healthy as can be. Nothing to worry about."

Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Sam flopped back onto the pillows. "Oh thank God."

"You mean, 'thank Chuck'?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"And you're not a terrible parent. There's no way you ever could be, even if you wanted to. For one, you were fucking shot and kidnapped by those British sons of bitches, so it's no wonder you had other things on your mind."

"I guess. And…"

"And?"

"And I thought you were dead," Sam whispered. "I couldn't—I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't feel without you, not even for the Baby."

"Oh, Sammy." Dean opened his arms and Sam practically leapt into them, burying his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder, his favorite place to be, he'd once said. "I'm here, I'm alive. You feel my heartbeat, don't you?"

Sam nodded. "You never told me what happened? After we said goodbye?"

"Ah, that. Well, basically, Chuck and Amara just needed some couples therapy. We met, we talked, and Amara realized she just… really wanted her brother back, not the destruction of the world. Oh, and before I forget, apparently we're in charge of keeping the world safe while Chuck and Amara are on vacation. So there's that."

"…what?"

"Yup."

"I'm just… Yeah, I'm just not gonna think about that right now."

Dean snorted. "I'm right there with you, brother."

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, Sam almost drifting back to sleep, when Dean asked quietly, "How long have you known? That you're pregnant?"

"Mmmm. Not long. How long was I gone anyway? But I took the test—three of them—the night before you were s'posed to be a bomb."

"It goes to show how strange our lives are that that sentence even makes sense," Sam nodded in response and drowsily kissed Dean's neck. "But wow… we're gonna be parents, Sammy. This is really happening. Holy shit."

"Uh-huh. It's beautiful, frightening, amazing, and terrifying, now can we sleep?"

"You were the one who woke me up in the first place, Bitch."

"Shut up, Jerk."

Sam fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, possibly the best he'd had in years, with warmth and love and safety and security surrounding him, and Dean's palm resting on his swollen stomach.

"Huh. You do have a little pooch there. Looks kinda like a beer gut."

"Good morning. And our child is not a beer gut."

"Mornin'" Dean patted Sam's stomach and climbed out of bed.

Sam pulled his shirt back down from where Dean had apparently pulled it up while he was sleeping and sat up in bed. There was an excitement in Dean's eyes that he'd never seen before, and it was making him excited too, if a bit nervous. When he'd told Dean he was pregnant, he honestly had no idea how he'd take it. Shocked, definitely. Happy… probably, hopefully. But he still hadn't expected Dean to be… practically glowing. Wasn't Sam supposed to be the one glowing, or whatever? And then the whole, 'Dean has to become a bomb to save the world thing,' and he thought his world was over. Every fiber in his being had ached to die along with Dean, but the little one growing inside him held him back. He couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything at all really, but he couldn't bring himself to end it all, either. Dean wouldn't want him to kill himself, he'd want him to raise their child, so that's what he'd do.

But Dean was alive, the world wasn't ending, and they were going to be parents together. Sam's head was spinning with all the revelations. Just hours ago he was locked in the white room, and now here he was, home and safe.

"Sam? You okay?"

He shook his head, shaking off the thoughts buzzing in his head. "Sorry, zoned out for a sec. It's… it's a lot, you know?"

Dean's expression grew into something practically tender, one Sam knew only he was able to see, and a part of him puffed up with pride. Dean was his. The Baby inside him was proof of that. Sam knew he had a bit of a possessive streak when it came to his brother, but it was nothing compared to Dean's. Dean's possessive streak was a fucking highway.

It was then that Sam noticed Dean was carrying a tray in his arms, a tray full of delicious-smelling food, and he was suddenly starving. "Breakfast in bed? For me? Gimme." Sam made grabby hands and for a moment Dean was reminded of the kid he'd raised, always wanting to be picked up or something or other.

"This? This isn't for you, it's for my Baby Momma," Dean smirked. When faced with Sam's Bitch Face #023, however, he quickly dropped the tray and backed away.

"Baby Momma' my ass," Sam grumbled around a mouthful of delicious pancake."

"Well, I haven't made an honest man out of you yet, so Baby Momma it is-"

"I need to see him!" A woman's voice shouted from behind the closed door to Dean's room. Sam put his tray of food down in confusion.

"Dean, who's-"

"No, I'm sorry but you can't go in there yet-" Castiel's voice, and then the sound of fumbling and the doorknob turning—

The door burst open.

"What the hell Cas, you were supposed to watch her!"

"She is a very strong woman-"

"No one needs to watch me! I just want to see my own son."

The room was full of shouting and pointing fingers and boots thumping on the hardwood floor, but Sam didn't hear any of it. His mind had come to a resounding halt and he couldn't make sense of anything.

Because standing before him was his dead mother.