I returned to the bunker to find that Sam was gone. Dean made up some excuse about him going ahead on a hunt and they would meet up later, but he looked rattled. The air was tense and Dean's hardened expression was trying to mask either extreme sadness or maddening rage – maybe both.
Frankly, I wasn't ready to see Sam yet; my wounds were still raw and would heal faster alone. So when Dean took off to supposedly join Sam on his hunt, I was glad to have the house to myself. I still felt crappy, and basically spent a few days alternating between sleeping and napping, with the occasional snack in between.
After several days of solitude, and no word from the boys, I'd tried calling. No response from Sam. Dean, however, sounded almost annoyed. "What is it?"
"N-nothing, Dean. You've just been gone awhile. I was getting worried," I explained.
"So no one's dying?" he mocked, agitated.
"No, I suppose not. At least on my end," I added bitterly. Even a run-of-the-mill hunt could turn deadly under the right circumstances, so I did not appreciate his attitude.
"Don't call again unless it's an emergency. We'll be back when we can." Didn't even say goodbye before the line went dead.
I twiddled my thumbs around the house for another few days before I went stir crazy. I had barely eaten since Sam and Dean went MIA, but still that damn belly pooch wouldn't go away. I sighed and threw on my running gear, ready to jog off those extra few pounds.
I was only a few miles down the road when I noticed something was off. I was sweating more than usual; it was hot, but it felt like I was radiating heat from the inside, causing my breathing to become labored and my head to spin. I slowed to a walk, but my heartbeat didn't slow down. I was glad that I had been running in the grass beside the road instead of the asphalt when my body crumpled to the ground.
I awoke a few hours later in the nearby hospital. Someone had apparently driven by and spotted my neon workout gear, and subsequently the unconscious body that occupied it. I wasn't hooked up to any gear, but when I opened my eyes, the attending nurse was quick to take my blood pressure and check my pupil dilation, assuring me that I was just dehydrated but wanted to make sure I didn't suffer any injuries from the fall.
When she was satisfied with her assessment, she went to get the doctor. A tall, balding man who looked more like an approachable librarian than an ER doctor came through the door. "I'm Dr. Kerry. How are you feeling?" he asked.
I tested my muscles and did a mental once-over; a little sore, probably a bruise or two, but nothing major. "No worse than usual," I answered.
"Were you having any symptoms before you lost consciousness this afternoon?" he questioned, though he gave me a knowing look, like he already knew the answer. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Nausea? Vomiting? Overly tired? Weight gain?"
"How…" I began, before realizing what he was about to say.
"Well, you appear to be pregnant," the doctor concluded.
I sighed and tried to keep my composure. Smiling sadly at him, I explained that that was impossible. I had sustained too many injuries as a child – and, frankly, as an adult – that my insides were too scarred, too broken to ever support life. Also, I had even taken a pregnancy test, and it was negative. This man was mistaken.
He continued to try and convince me for several minutes, said that a test could produce a false negative depending on when it was taken, and I was starting to get angry. I couldn't have a family, and it was like he was throwing it in my face. Seeing that he was losing the battle, he exited the room and I laid back on the crinkly paper of the exam table, folding my arms across my chest and scowling. He re-entered a moment later, wheeling behind him a small machine that looked like a computer monitor with a stick attached to it.
I bolted up, afraid of what he might have been planning to do with the device. Noting the stricken look on my face the doctor explained, "This won't hurt. I'm just going to show you an image of your baby." I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Please, lie back down."
Well, if it would prove one of us wrong… I flopped onto my back dramatically and lifted up my shirt, exposing the slight swell of my lower abdomen. He squirted some unnecessarily cold gel onto my bare skin and began moving the wand around below my belly button.
The seconds ticked by, and just as I was about to have my 'I told you so' moment, something on the screen flickered and a loud, fast whooshing sound filled the room. "Aha! There we are," he mumbled victoriously. He kept pointing out things on the screen and I nodded politely, but honestly I never heard a word he said.
Silent tears streamed down my face and my hand found its way to the screen, hovering over the little chicken nugget-looking thing. My eyes were glued to the rapidly pulsing spot that meant there was life growing inside of me.
Suddenly the screen flicked off and I was about to protest when the doctor handed me a small printout of my little nugget. When I could finally tear my eyes away from the picture I looked up at him. He was smiling – smugly, but warmly.
When I left the doctor's office, the unbelievable reality started to sink in. I may have started to panic a little. How do you deal with a future you always believed was impossible? I didn't know how to be a mother. Not that I didn't want to be, it was just never something I'd had to think about. And what about Sam? He would make a wonderful father. Did he even want that? With me? He said he didn't want it, but he might have just been trying to make me feel better, and we have only been dating a few months.
I'd walked all the way back to the bunker without even realizing it. So many thoughts and worries were rolling around in my head, and yet I couldn't keep a smile off my face. I noticed, also, that my hand was resting right over the spot where my little nugget resided.
I reached for the door handle and paused. My entire world had changed in an instant. I guess theirs had too; they just didn't know it yet. I turned the knob and the door squeaked open. What I saw changed my world yet again and my mind just couldn't take it. My knees gave out and suddenly everything went black, for the second time that day.
"Lana?" Sam's deep, concerned voice penetrated my brain fog. I groaned and opened my eyes. Noting the plush surface on which I laid, I must have been carried over to our bed. His hand was cupped behind my head and his gentle brown eyes were very close to mine. The image of Sam strapped to a chair – surrounded by Cas, Dean, and Crowley – as they allowed the demon to invade his body flashed through my mind.
"What happened?" I croaked. He sighed with relief and stroked my cheek with his thumb.
"Well, you passed out." Obviously.
"I know that, Sam," I said angrily, "but why did I pass out? What the hell is going on here?" I waited for an explanation, but none came.
"How much do you remember?" he asked. I wondered if he was just trying to figure out how much he could lie to me.
"Well, first you disappeared for a while without a word. Then you magically reappear back home, but you're tied to a chair. Your brother and an angel hold you down so that a demon can crawl down your throat. Then I wake up to find you all sweet and innocent like nothing ever happened." I glared at him. "Is that enough to earn me the truth?"
He ran a hand through his long hair and blew out a breath. "It's complicated," was all he managed. I wriggled away from him and stood up from the bed. A little too quickly, apparently, because I immediately felt lightheaded and stumbled on my way to the door. Sam's strong, steady arms caught me and held me to my feet. As soon as my blood pressure normalized, I pushed him off and stormed into the living room to demand answers.
Crowley was gone, but Dean and Cas were whispering to each other around the large table when I entered. Dean rushed over and gave me a once over. "You gave us quite the scare there, sweetheart," he said, his sarcasm poorly obscuring genuine concern. Sam stared daggers at his brother.
"Will someone please explain to me what happened?" I demanded through gritted teeth.
"Now hold on just a minute, tiger, take it easy. There's plenty of time for explanation. Why don't we get you some water?" Dean started toward the kitchen. "Sammy, why don't you come join me?" he suggested not-so-subtly. Sam reluctantly ambled after him and they disappeared around the corner. Clearly neither of them wanted me to know what was going on, so I turned my attention to the uncomfortable looking angel in the room.
"Castiel, please. Why was Sam tied up? Where has he been these past few days? And why did Crowley –" I couldn't even finish my sentence.
I listened with horror as he explained everything I had missed. Dean trying to save Sam via angel possession. All the lying and secrecy, only to lose control and once again hurt the people he loved. Sam and Dean walked back in – both fuming from their little talk in the kitchen – just as Cas finished explaining how Crowley was the one to free Sam.
No one said anything for a moment – no one even knew where to start – allowing me time to begin processing everything. "How long?" I asked no one in particular. "How long was Sam a vessel?" I choked out the last question, terrified of the answer and what it might mean for me.
Dean shuffled his feet and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. "He was going to die in that hospital," he tried to reason. The hospital. The Trials. The events that sparked Sam's carpe diem attitude, and subsequently our relationship. I looked up into the eyes of the man I thought I knew. Maybe this Sam Winchester didn't know me, didn't love me. Every moment we'd shared together – every touch, every kiss, every dream was now tainted by the knowledge that they were no longer ours.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears, reminding me of the swift whoosh that had filled them just hours earlier, and the room suddenly felt too hot, too stifling. Panic gripped my chest and I scraped my chair away from the table. I flew to the bedroom and locked the door before anyone could follow me in there.
I ran into the small bathroom and threw up the contents of my stomach. When I was finished, I rested my head on the cool tile floor. Several times there came soft knocks on the bedroom door, alternating between Sam and Dean, but I wouldn't have had the strength to go to them even if I'd wanted to. Which I most certainly did not.
I curled up in a ball, consumed with thoughts about the child growing inside me. Sam was the father. But he was possessed at the time. Could Gadreel be the father? The image of Sam's gentle hands caressing my body shifted to the hands of a stranger. I threw up again.
I must have fallen asleep for a while, because when I woke up I was cold and stiff, still on my side on the bathroom floor. I looked like a mess, so I ran a hot shower, which eased my aching muscles. I threw my hair into a disheveled bun and put on a tank top and some flannel pants.
I wasn't ready to talk to Sam or Dean. I needed to know more about what was happening with Sam while he was possessed and what it meant for our child. Cas had told me the truth before, and I trusted him to do it again. He was a terrible liar anyway.
I shuffled to the door and cracked it open. Two large figures rushed toward the door, but I held my hand up and they paused. "Only Cas," I whispered. The angel looked startled and the brothers looked hurt, but allowed him to pass by into the room with me. I closed the door behind us and sat him down on the bed.
He looked uncomfortable, but then he always did. He waited for me to speak first. "Can angels have children with humans?" I asked the question pressing most on my mind.
If he was surprised by my line of questioning, he didn't show it. "Unfortunately, yes. The Nephilim are vile, soulless creatures who thrive on pain and suffering – their first victims being their own mothers. They never survive the birth." Terrifying. He didn't ask why I wanted to know; just waited for me to continue the conversation.
"How does it work? I mean… this body that you're in, it isn't you technically – the angel Castiel."
"Technically, yes, this is a vessel. But my angelic presence has fully integrated within it. Were I to bed a woman and she then bore a child, that child would be Nephilim." He said it so matter-of-factly. Like his words didn't just shatter my entire being. I was carrying the child of a stranger; a child with no soul. He waited for me to continue, but I couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
"What do I do, Cas?" I pleaded.
He tilted his head to the side like a confused cat. "About what?"
Apparently it didn't occur to him that my interest in angels' sex lives was more than just hypothetical. Unable to say the words, I took his hand and placed it on my stomach. Understanding sparked behind his eyes. He leaned in and placed his other hand on me, enveloping my entire midsection, and closed his eyes. A small, bright light began to emanate from them and I felt a cool, tingly sensation traveling outward from the center of my body.
The angel opened his eyes, but continued to stare at the place his hands had been. "Hmm," was all he said.
"What did you just do?" I prodded, impatient.
"I was analyzing the DNA of your child. Sam was a vessel for Gadreel, yes, but he was not wholly possessed by him." I hung on his every word.
"What does that mean?" I dared to ask.
"Your child is not Nephilim. She has a soul." She? "It means that, genetically, your daughter is 100% yours and Sam's." Suddenly the weight of the world was off my shoulders. Actually, it was more like I was flying. I was having a little girl. Sam's little girl. I would have leapt for joy if it hadn't been for the look of concern still etched on the angel's face.
"This is good news, Cas!" I pecked him on the cheek. "Celebrate with me." I tried to pull him from his seated position, but he didn't budge.
"There is something else," he said, not looking into my eyes. I gripped his hand even tighter, not sure my heart could take another beating.
"Cas? What is it? Is something wrong with her?" I took a deep breath. "Is something wrong with me?" I wasn't supposed to be able to carry a child, and I was worried that he was about to confirm it.
"Well, Sam was dominant, but he was still a vessel. Gadreel's grace flowed through him, healing him. Some of that grace has… integrated itself into your child's genetic makeup."
"What does that mean, exactly?" He could hear the uncertainty in my voice and rose from the bed. He squeezed my shoulder sympathetically.
"To my knowledge, nothing like this has ever happened before." He paused, wanting to stop but knowing that I needed something more. He sighed. "If I had to guess," he paused, making sure that I understood that it was only a guess, "I would say that the child – a human child –" he added when I stopped breathing, "will possess certain angelic powers. Speed. Strength. I don't know." Was that all? "I suspect that is how you became pregnant in the first place. Normally, your body could not support a growing child. But this child is not normal…"
I hugged him tight. He pulled back, apparently confused by my joy. "This is a very dangerous situation for you, Lana. Your daughter may not be Nephilim, but her grace is strong and you are human. It is likely that you would not survive this pregnancy." I let go of Cas and wrapped my arms around my torso defensively. "Even if you both survived through delivery – which is highly improbable – she will be hunted her entire life. Angels will want to kill her, and demons will want to use her." His eyes bore into mine, willing me to heed what he was saying. I understood, and it was starting to make my head hurt.
Suddenly I was very tired. My world had shifted so many times today that I wasn't even sure where I stood anymore. I went over to the bed and curled up on my side. Cas exited silently. Sam and Dean were waiting by the door and snuck a peek at me before it clicked shut. Cas was not one to keep secrets – from me or the Winchesters – and so I figured the low rumblings coming from the hall were the three of them discussing my situation.
Honestly, I was relieved that I didn't have to try to explain. My emotions were all over the place. One minute I'm overjoyed, the next terrified, the next resentful. The murmurs stopped and a beam of light cracked over the floor.
Sam's hulking form padded surprisingly quietly into the room. I didn't move, but he could see from my ragged breathing that I was still awake. "Lana, I –"
"Don't," I snapped. He must know how this was tearing me up inside. The one thing I had always wanted – and thought I could never have – dangled right in front of me. My hand was resting just below my navel and I whispered a silent apology to the child I was carrying. If I chose to be her mother, she would probably have to grow up without one. If I chose my own safety, I would probably never even have the chance again.
Sam stood there awkwardly for a few moments, torn between rushing to my side and leaving as quickly as possible. "Do you wanna talk about it?" he whispered almost inaudibly.
I shook my head against the pillow. "Just… hold me for a while?" The question sounded weak and scared even to my ears. He slipped off his shoes and curled his body around mine. I nestled under his chin against his chest, my body fitting perfectly in the space. His arm draped across my waist and paused, his hand lingering midair before making contact and pulling me in close.
It was just a brief hesitation, but it was in that moment that I allowed myself to succumb to all the fear and worry and loneliness that I had been holding at bay since Sam had gone missing. He held me as my body was wracked with sobs. His solid warmth was like an anchor, keeping me from drifting too far into the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me.
When my body had exhausted itself, I drifted off to sleep, expecting to be plagued by nightmares. What I saw instead was a sweet little girl with blond curls and chocolate eyes, smearing dirt all over her white dress as she picked wildflowers. Her father swooped her up and swung her around, eliciting a peal of laughter that was more beautiful than church bells.
I must have shifted in my sleep, because when I woke up I was facing toward Sam, clutching his chest with both arms. He was already awake and misinterpreted the tears that were falling from my eyes and staining his shirt.
"Hey, it's gonna be ok." He traced his fingertips up and down my arm. "We'll figure out how to fix this. I won't let anything hurt you." He meant these words to be reassuring, but they sounded contrary to the decision I hadn't realized I'd already made.
"I'm keeping this baby, Sam," I said quietly, but firmly.
"What?" He pulled his hand back is if it was burned. "Lana, think about this. This thing will kill you!" he said, panicked by my declaration. I pushed myself up to a seated position and narrowed my eyes at him.
"First of all, it's not a thing, it's a baby. And second, you don't know that. We could both be fine." He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. He held out his hands, eyes wide.
"If you want a baby, we can have a baby. But not like this. I can't – I won't –" I cut him off with a kiss.
"You know that's not true." I looked down, still kind of embarrassed about the total meltdown I'd had when we first met, and after I'd taken the pregnancy test… and pretty much any time the topic of my infertility came up. "And I don't just want a baby, I want this baby." He looked like a kicked puppy.
"You want it. But what about after it kills you, hmm?" he exclaimed and I flinched at the malice dripping from his words. "My father loved me, sure, but at the end of the day he hated that I was alive and my mother was dead. I don't want to live my life that way." His eyes were pleading, scared, but so were mine.
"Please, Sam. I can't do this without you." It was true; I was terrified. I reached out and slung my arms around his neck. To my surprise, he pushed me off stormed toward the door. I whimpered, dumbfounded and hurt by the sudden and complete rejection.
"If you want to throw away your life for this, fine. But that doesn't mean I have to stick around to watch," he fumed, not even turning to face me.
"You risk your life every day for strangers. Why would you think I wouldn't risk mine for my own child?" I replied softly, sadly. He paused, just for a second, before throwing open the door and stomping out.
He was halfway to the front door by the time I reached the threshold of our room.
"Where are you going?" Dean asked his brother, more of an accusation than a question.
"Out." He spat the word and slammed the door shut behind him. That's when Dean noticed my unsteady position against the doorframe. His gaze softened and he trotted over to me.
He gently pulled my chin up and asked, "How you holding up, kiddo?"
I wrapped my arms around my midsection defensively. "I… I'm keeping it," I managed to get out. I braced myself for the older Winchester's ire, but it never came. I looked up into his earthy green eyes. They studied me carefully for a long moment and I shifted uneasily. When his strong arms drew me in, I let go of the tears that until that moment had only been shared with Sam.
There were no tears of joy. I cried out of fear, for both my and my daughter's safety. I cried out of grief for the family that I never had, and now the family I would never have. I cried because the arms that comforted me didn't belong to the man I loved, and because those arms seemed to be the only thing holding my entire world together.
I refused to go back to our bedroom, so he led me over to the couch and put a blanket around my shoulders. He sat on the floor by my head, holding my hand and stroking my hair like you would a child until I fell into a fitful sleep.
A crash rang through the bunker as someone stumbled through the kitchen. I didn't open my eyes, but I heard a low growl as Dean left his place by my side.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he hissed angrily.
"What? Just drinking my problems away. Learned that one from my big brother," Sam replied venomously.
"Look, whatever's going on with you… pack it away for now, alright? That girl in there is hanging by a thread. You need –"
"Oh, I need?" Sam interrupted. "I don't need to do shit. You think you always know what's best for everyone. Well for once, just butt out!"
"You got something to say, say it. Bring it on." Now they were both yelling.
"Let me see, Dean. First, my brother tricks me into being an angel's bitch. Then, to correct his mistake, forces the king of Hell into me. But not before killing half a dozen people – including a friend, a kid who entrusted us with his life – and endangering my girlfriend's life by putting some angel hybrid freak in her which, by the way, she now wants to sacrifice herself for!" His words were slurred, but the bitterness behind them was crystal clear.
I could hear Dean's jaw clench from here. "You need to go sleep it off before you do anything can't be undone." There was a short scuffle, but Dean easily overpowered his inebriated brother, and then a loud thud as Sam's hulking form landed on the mattress. Dean waited until his breathing had slowed and came to crouch next to me. "I don't suppose there's any way you didn't hear… well, any of that?" he asked miserably. I shook my head and he sighed. "Listen, he's drunk… talkin' out his ass."
"He meant every word of it," I said quietly.
He thought for a moment. "He does this, when he's scared. Shuts down. Shuts people out." I shrugged, uncomforted by his words. He leaned in close, again studying me intently. "Are you sure that this is what you want?"
I thought about it. Thought about what it was already costing me. I closed my eyes and rested a hand on my stomach. If you didn't look closely you would miss it, but the tiny swell was there, resting in my palm. Her heartbeat whooshed in my memory and I smiled. "I've never wanted anything more," I said honestly.
He nodded to himself, accepting my answer, and tucked the blanket back in around me. This time, I fell into a peaceful sleep filled with musical laughter.