Rating: PG13. I think that one's pretty much set in stone by now.
Fandom:
Supernatural
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Warnings: MPREG, slash, possible English mistakes, some pretty nasty angel!whump because I'm a dick
Spoilers: none.
A/N:
Merry not-Christmas-yet! Here is your update that I tried to get to you early and totally isn't early at all! But hey, at least it was faster than the last update! I know I'm mean, but I'm not that mean enough to make you muddle around in suffocating anxiety wondering what the hell I've done to precious little Dean for a whole week before I go and break all your lovely little hearts. What. Nothing. So, happy couple days to Christmas/day after the day after the so called Mayan apocalypse! Well, I guess just the day after the apocalypse since most of my readers are in the US, and I'm in your tomorrow right now. I'm with the doctor. What. I'm not high…right now… just oddly excited.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, and extra brownie points to those few who suggested some names! As I predicted, you guys had way better ideas than I did, so thank you very, very much! :)

Alright, sorry about all my nonsensical rambling. I hope you can ignore me and enjoy the chapter! Thanks for reading :)


Dean falls to the ground, coughing, wheezing, sputtering blood, holding his stomach where a serious bullet wound has suddenly appeared from nothing.

It happened so quickly.

Akriel has gone, his work finished, and Castiel falls to his knees beside his rapidly fading hunter.

"Dean," he sobs through his now slightly swollen cheek and busted lip.

"Cas," the hunter chokes, as if realising just now that his angel is there, the colour is draining from his face as though it were being sucked out by a straw, blood staining the once pure snow around him. There's so much blood, so much red.

"Love you… Cas…"

The angel can see the light fading from his eyes and doesn't hesitate another second. He knows he doesn't have the strength to spare, but what is it worth if he doesn't have Dean?

The angel places his hand over the wound, healing to the best of his abilities. It's strenuous, painful. He feels sick. The world is spinning, thrashing, won't slow down, won't stop. He can't heal him, not fully, but it's helping. Dean's breathing is becoming more steady, less pained.

Castiel has to stop for a moment. He can't focus. The nausea is catching up to him.

He leans over and vomits a startling amount of blood, but he can't stop just yet. Dean is still in critical condition. The angel starts up again, swallowing down another bout of sickness. He goes until he physically can't continue, and it's still not enough.

It takes Castiel several minutes to get enough of a break from throwing up to think.

The nearest hospital isn't so far.

He knows he shouldn't be flying, but Dean's life is in danger. It's depending on this. Everything is depending on this.

He can take on the extra pain and the sickness, as long as it means Dean will be okay.

The angel touches a hand to Dean's shoulder and spreads his wings.

He is barely able to protect Dean from the landing. He crashes into concrete beneath snow, just outside the ER, shielding both the hunter and his baby and breaking the impact with his shoulder once again.

One of his wings is broken, twisted and contorted and utterly useless, and he fails to hold in a pained cry, his true voice leaking out and putting a small crack in the window of an ambulance parked at the side of the building.

Dean will be okay until the doctors find him. They'll see him, but Castiel knows he can't hang around.

He will have to lie; they will want to examine him; it won't end well.

He can't fly with a broken wing, and he can't hold back the warm blood rising in his throat much longer. He can hide, though, and he can make sure Dean is okay.

Nov. 28

Dean wakes up in a hospital bed. There's a nurse with her back to him writing something on a clipboard, but the room is otherwise empty. The sound of her pencil scratching against the paper is irritating.

The hunter coughs, not because he means to, but it gets the nurse's attention anyway.

"Oh," she says in surprise, "Well you're awake soon."

He shifts and grimaces at the sharp pain in his stomach.

"Don't move too much, sweetie. Gotta be careful with those stitches. You're lucky to be alive."

She walks over to check his vitals.

"What happened?" he asks, still a bit groggy, "How long was I asleep?"

"A couple days. Honestly, I'm surprised you're awake already. They found you bleeding in the snow outside the ER the other night. Whoever left you there had the decency to put a scarf under your head, but they didn't stick around to answer any questions. I can't really blame 'em though. You got yourself a pretty nasty gunshot wound with no bullet, already partially healed, and somehow still bleeding like it's fresh. The doctors are baffled."

Dean furrows his eyebrows as he takes in the new information.

"Cas," he whispers, "Where's Cas?"

The nurse gives him a look, probably confused by the odd name.

"Is Cas your brother? He came by yesterday, but you didn't have any ID on you, so we couldn't confirm the relationship."

"Giant sasquatch-looking kid?"

The nurse nods.

Dean sighs, "Nah, that's Sammy. He is my brother, though. Cas is…"

"Boyfriend?"

The hunter looks at her, flustered and slightly mortified that she could tell so easily. Apparently his horror shows on his face.

The nurse smiles.

"You don't need to answer that one, sweetie. Do you remember anything that happened at all?"

I was trying to defend my pregnant angel boyfriend from a pissed off messenger of heaven sent to kill our baby.

"No," he lies.

"Well you just lay back and rest, okay? I'm sure your brother will be around again soon," she says as she adds a clear liquid to his drip feed.

Dean wakes up several hours later, the haze of morphine still clouding his senses. He's slept through the entire day, probably missed Sam if he came by again.

A nurse comes in with dinner and informs him that Sam had been there only a few minutes ago. Great. Just barely missed him.

He's in the middle of being reminded how much he hates hospital food when there's a knock on his door.

"Dean?"

"Sam," the hunter looks up at his brother in the doorway, "Sam, where's Cas?"

"He's here," the younger brother confirms, a hint of sympathy in his voice, "He said he was going to go get some fresh air, so my guess is he's probably in the bathroom puking."

"Goddammit," Dean muses, "There's a bathroom in here too, y'know. He could at least come say hi."

"Dean, he's been really sick-"

"Well keeping a distance definitely isn't gonna help that."

"No. Dean. I mean he's been really sick," Sam reiterates, shifting his gaze to the floor, then back to his brother, "He's afraid of the doctors seeing him… plus I'm pretty sure you don't enjoy waking up to the sound of puking angel."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Dean mutters.

Sam sighs, "Not my point."

Dean realises for the first time just how tired his brother looks… sort of how he would imagine a person to look after staying up all night with a sick angel.

"Have you been with him this whole time?"

Sam looks away sheepishly.

"Well, yeah," the younger brother replies, "What else was I supposed to do? He's my friend too, y'know."

Dean cracks a small smile.

"Nothing, just… thanks, Sam."

"What about you, Dean, I'm mean, jesus! That was a close call."

"I'm fine, Sammy. It doesn't even hurt."

Sam gives him a look.

"That's the morphine, Dean."

"So what? Still doesn't hurt."

The door opens and shuts loudly, and suddenly there is an angel standing in the doorway… except he doesn't look like an angel. Right now, he is nothing more than a pale little sick thing wrapped in a blanket.

Dean stares at him for a moment, elated to see him and terrified by his state of appearance.

He looks exhausted, weak, utterly miserable.

"Dammit, Cas…"

The angel is shaking just slightly.

"Dean… I am very pleased to see you are alright."

The hunter watches his eyes, trying to read him.

"Cas, c'mere," the hunter swallows and motions for him to come closer, "Did you zap us over here?"

The angel nods, now standing close beside Dean.

"Were you trying to heal me?"

He nods again.

Dean pulls him down into a tight embrace.

"Cas, you stupid son of a bitch," he half chokes on the growing lump in his throat as he runs a hand through his angel's hair, still holding him tightly and not even caring that Sam has a clear view of his red rimmed eyes and definitely-not-going-to-cry face.

"Dammit, you could have died!" he pulls his angel even closer as he loses his control over a single tear that falls away and lands hot and wet against Castiel's shoulder.

"You would have died," the angel argues.

He's right.

Dean sighs.

"I know, Cas, but… you've gotta stop scaring me like that, man. Dammit! I can't…" he shakes his head, "I can't keep doing this."

The angel stares at him, and Sam makes some excuse to leave that is instantly forgotten by all three of them the moment he exits the room.

"They will not come after us again," Castiel says, "If they had planned to, they would have done so by now."

Dean nods.

"Is, um… is he okay?" the hunter finally asks the question that's been itching in the back of his mind.

"His movements are… becoming weak," Castiel says sorrowfully. Dean can see him move a hand to rest on his belly beneath the blanket wrapped around him.

"He needs you," the angel adds before pulling a chair up next to the bed and resting his head beside the hunter.

Dean cups his face and ghosts his thumb gently over the barely healed split in his lip.

The dried blood stands out against the sickly pallor of his skin. Even his lips are no more than a pale pink.

"I made sure they found you," Castiel mumbles, eyes closed and already drifting, "I… remained hidden, but I did not leave… not until I was sure you were in good hands."

Dean moves his hand up to run through the angel's hair. Castiel seems to relax at the touch.

"Thanks, Cas," he tries to tell him, but his angel is already asleep.

He wakes up hardly fifteen minutes later with a start and very nearly jumps out of his seat. Dean chuckles at the surprised look on his face as he places both hands on the sides of his swollen tummy.

"He has regained much of his strength," the angel says, frowning slightly as he rubs small circles over the spot on his belly where the baby had just kicked.

"Does that hurt?" Dean asks.

Castiel glances at his stomach.

"Occasionally. It's… more startling."

Dean nods in understanding and smiles fondly at his angel as he moves over and motions for Castiel to lay beside him.

"This bed is very uncomfortable," the angel remarks as Dean wraps an arm around him and he rests his head against the hunter's shoulder, "The hospital should put more effort into keeping their patients comfortable."

Dean cracks a small half smile.

"Yeah, I can't say I'd disagree with you on that one."

Nov. 29

Dean doesn't remember falling asleep. He supposes he has the morphine to blame for that.

Sam had gone home, and they somehow convinced the hospital staff to let Castiel stay after visiting hours.

Dean wouldn't let him sleep in the chair, he remembers, so the angel had been curled up beside him on the bed.

It's about three a.m. when the hunter is woken by the sound of Castiel getting sick in the tiny bathroom by the door.

The noise seizes for a moment, and Dean takes the opportunity to call out to him.

"Cas…?"

No response.

The vomiting continues.

He sits up and is surprised by the complete lack of pain in this abdomen, but doesn't think much of it.

He's a little unsteady on his feet, but he doesn't need to walk far.

Castiel is curled up, limp and leaning with his eyes closed and cheek squished against the porcelain.

He looks even sicker than he did earlier, white as snow, breaths quick and shallow, blood staining his lips and smeared in awkward directions across his face.

"Cas," Dean says softly, kneeling down beside the angel and placing a hand on his back.

"D-" is all he gets out before having to heave again, lurching forward violently, muscles clenching and quivering.

"Dean," he moans, almost a sob.

"Right here, Cas… Man, you look like shit."

The angel whimpers and dry heaves.

"Hey, hey. It's okay, buddy."

Castiel shivers and curls up more tightly.

He seems to be done, so he leans against Dean who puts an arm around him and rubs his shoulder comfortingly.

"What's going on, man? How come you're getting so sick?"

Castiel doesn't answer.

"Cas…?"

"Dean, I… I wanted you to get better. I want to go home," the angel says shamefully.

"What? Cas, stop worrying; I'm fine, okay? I wanna know what's up with you."

Castiel looks down, observing the tiles.

"I told you, Dean, I… I wanted you to be better."

The hunter looks at him, confused for a moment, and then realises.

He lifts up his shirt and looks at the place where the bullet wound once was. There is nothing left of it but a bit of scar tissue.

"Cas… did you do this?"

The angel looks away again and nods.

"Dammit! Cas, why would you do that? I was fine! I would have been fine!"

Castiel swallows, looking shameful.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I… I underestimated the amount of energy I was using. This along with the strain from my wing was… too much."

"What? Cas, what's wrong with your wings?" the hunter questions, concerned.

Castiel presses his lips together and shifts his gaze to the side.

"One is… twisted and broken in several places," he says, "From when I landed here."

He doesn't mention that it was due to carrying Dean's extra weight and is grateful that the hunter doesn't seem to notice that he left out any details.

"Dammit, Cas! You can't keep doing this! You can't keep letting yourself get hurt!" Dean reprimands, "The baby needs you. Dammit, I need you! Cas, you can't do this to yourself over shit that doesn't matter… you can't."

"You were hurt-"

"I was fine," the hunter tries to explain, "And now you're not fine!"

Castiel slumps further against him, "I did not intend to cause so much damage," he says slowly, quietly, "I told you, Dean, I miscalculated. I didn't mean…"

The hunter waits a moment for him to continue and then realises he's fallen asleep.

Dean sighs as he scoops up his angel and carries him back to bed.

It's a bit of a struggle; Cas has gotten noticeably heavier, but he gets there, even if his breathing does become a bit laboured.

He lays him down and runs a hand through his hair as he plants a kiss on his gently parted lips. He looks so deceptively peaceful.

"Fucking dumbass," he whispers fondly, pulling away and moving to lay down beside him.

Dec. 1

They've been home for a couple days now. Cas can't button the pants he got less than a week ago, and Dean is finally starting to freak out about this whole being-a-dad thing.

"Hey, Cas?" he starts as he sets a mug of chai in front of the angel and sits down across from him with his own cup of good old manly coffee.

Castiel looks up from his book on parenting and shifts a little.

"Yes, Dean?" he acknowledges before setting the book down and happily stealing a sip of his tea.

"So, uh, well I've been thinking-I mean, I guess I didn't really think about it before, but then I did…recently, but, um… how exactly is he gonna… y'know, get out of there?" the hunter asks, gesturing to the angel's stomach and trying not to think about some of the possible answers.

"You mean, how will I give birth to him?"

"Uh… yeah," Dean says intelligently.

"To be honest, I am not entirely sure. I am… trusting that I will be able to act upon instinct, but all I am aware of is that he will detach from my grace, and I will be required to leave my vessel in order to remove him physically," he takes another sip of his tea, "I am not entirely certain of the process… the best way I can think to explain it to you is that it's somewhat similar to flying, moving between different planes of existence and-"

"Okay, Cas, okay. I'm not going to understand a thing you're saying of you keep going," Dean says with a small smile, "Well that sounds a lot better than my other theory about ass babies."

Castiel looks at him quizzically.

"Dean, what is an ass baby?"

The hunter shakes his head with a quiet laugh, "Nothing."

Castiel seems to be thinking about something. His face gradually falls from questioning to worrisome. He takes a slow sip of his tea.

"Everything okay, Cas?"

He looks up to meet the hunter's eyes.

"Yes. Everything is fine, Dean. I just… am afraid."

Dean watches him with concern.

"Is it gonna hurt?" the hunter asks.

Castiel nods.

"How bad?"

The angel shifts and presses a hand to his belly.

"I… do not know."

Dec. 4

"Dean," Castiel whispers sometime in the dark of the early morning.

The hunter rolls over and wraps an arm around his angel.

"Dean," he says a little louder.

"Mornin', Cas…" the hunter mumbles groggily.

"Dean."

"Huh? Wha-Cas, what's up?" he asks, finally blinking his eyes open and sporting a concerned expression.

"I do not feel well," the angel murmurs, holding his stomach.

Dean focuses his eyes better and sees the look of discomfort on his face.

"You gonna puke?"

The angel shakes his head.

"No, but… it hurts."

The worry deepens in Dean's expression.

"What do you mean? What kind of hurt?"

"It is like… I am being stabbed repeatedly," he breathes out, shifting slightly.

Castiel suddenly stiffens as a pitifully pained noise escapes him.

Dean sits up and reaches toward him out of habit, but the angel relaxes slightly just then.

"It… is very painful when he moves," he explains, his breathing still heavy.

"Shit," Dean muses, "Can you tell what it is, what's causing the pain?"

The angel shakes his head and locks up again.

"Dean-" he chokes out.

"Hey, it's okay, buddy. It'll be over soon," he soothes, pulling his angel closer, holding him securely.

The tension releases from his body after a moment, and he lays there shivering in the hunter's arms.

"Dean, I… I think it is starting."

"What?"

Castiel doesn't answer. His shaking is gradually becoming less apparent.

"Cas. Cas, what's starting?"

"It's… only the beginning… not for… few more hours," he mumbles, hardly conscious.

Dean is finding this whole abruptly falling asleep thing very inconvenient.

"Cas? What's starting? Are you having a baby?" he tries, speaking softly and slowly.

The words feel strange on his tongue.

Castiel shakes his head meekly, "Not for… few more hours."


Now the question is, is Cas really about have the baby, or is he just talking nonsense because he's sleepy?

I'll give you a hint: Occam's Razor.

They mentioned that in the last episode, and I was really proud of myself that I understood what that was.

Ugh, I'm looking back in this now and realising I feel like I did a shittastic job on this chapter. I'm sorry if it wasn't good quality. I tried to get it out really quickly as sort of an early Merry Christmas to all you wonderful readers, but I failed miserably at that, and I think all I really did was do poorly with my writing, so I'm sorry.

Reviews are cherished as always, thank you so much for reading!

Merry Christmas to all of you fantastic people! I hope you all have a wonderful holiday! (;