Impala:

I close the door. It's not worth slamming. The tears come, I hate this, and I fucking hate this—crying all the time for no good reason; something much more easily resolved by hitting Dean—when I did that, didn't particularly work either.

I turn his key in the ignition and I drive. I list what Dean has done already, given that he gained consciousness quickly, was he completely out? Cas does know what to do if Dean isn't ok? I need to trust Cas, I can't call, I set down my phone. Given he is ok Dean has called Kevin, and Garth: and told them nothing—other than they should call him as soon as they see me. That's it, that's the people we can trust; the only people I can turn to for help. Maybe I need to do this alone. I drive. Dean has the bat-cave computer, but it doesn't show every Angel, it shows movement and concentrations—we may be able to slide under-the-radar before he figures it out. Dean will try and track my phone—I keep the GPS turned off; and I have a spare phone Dean doesn't know about, small mercies - I also have another other phone – but that's in the basement. Cas is pretty much useless without his MoJo, mostly, but he can still read ancient languages, I think. So Cas for research, and Dean for knowing me. And once Dean has done all that he will get drunk – not much different than banging patchouli – and he's right it does hurt; even if I don't want to be found by him. I should dump the Impala, but I can't do that to Dean—anyway I grew up in the Impala, I think she can, I hope she can. Crowley, Crowley is Crowley I know he won't help Dean—I think I know he won't help Dean, Crowley and I have a deal. It is going to be hard to make contact—I'll have to wait for him.

I need to eat. I need to eat donuts? What happened pickles and ice-cream, and dirt from potted plants? Donuts seem ok. If Dean were pregnant he'd probably crave cheeseburgers wrapped in bacon. If Dean were pregnant I wouldn't be trying to hurt him; if Dean were pregnant he would be home right now, wrapped in Cas' arms. Where did that thought come from? Dean has Cas' Half-Angel-Ass-Baby? I probably shouldn't be driving when I'm laughing like this; and, fuck, I need to pee.

Following morning, In Dean's Room at the Bat-Cave:

Sammy packs a mean punch—even for a pregnant guy. Ok, not funny—it would have been so much funnier if I had said it to him. Then he'd have probably hit me again, and that's definitely not funny.

"Cas?" It's not that Cas doesn't belong in my room, he does—where did that thought come from? I'm not sure he belongs behind me on the bed, laying on the pillows, me resting my back resting on his chest.

"Dean?"

"What the fuck Cas, what time is it?" I'm scrabbling up when I'm hit by a wave of nausea—fuck but Sammy really does know how to land one.

"It's morning Dean. And you could thank me for holding you while you…" he pauses, Cas is trying to be sensitive, I smile, I like that.

Then I taste the bitterness in my mouth; then I realize he was taking care of me while I was puking, not from the blow to the jaw—which had sent me sprawling, but from drinking. Who in the hell lets someone who takes a solid blow to the head drink? Probably Cas, because he doesn't know any different. And while Cas is warm, and hard, and breathing, patient, forgiving all at the same time—I miss Sam. "He left didn't he?"

"I thought you'd remember that." Not an accusation, just an observation.

And for that matter, yeah, I do remember that; I let my distraught pregnant vulnerable brother run out the door. And then? What the hell did I do? I called Garth and Kevin—because that's all that's left to call—I called Garth and Kevin and made them swear to call me, and not to tell Sam. I checked see if I could track his cell phone, but it's Sam, so no he turned the GPS off, because he never really does trust anyone; which is why he has the spare phone—luckily picked up the number—and he also turned off the GPS on that one. Damn. We have the computer to track the angles—and Sammy's little Nephilim; but I don't really know how to use the computer, that's Sam's thing. I should be able to figure out use it, or figure out how to get Charlie to drop in from Oz—that would be a 'score one' for me. Then there's Crowley, I can't trust him, but he did seem to be genuinely worried about Sam - it's a start - but I don't do business with demons that's also Sammy's thing; at least Sam has no way to contact Crowley.

Cas is still here and I lean back against him. Lisa was soft, where Lisa was soft, Cas is strong. Wait, Cas is many things, warm, and gentle, and here - here is important - and Cas is definitely, very definitely hard against me. What the fuck? Cas tries to move away subtly—subtly really isn't his thing. I can't come up with a good way to say 'Stay just where you are, I like it.' So I let him move, not far, just a little. I reach over for my flask - wash my mouth out a little – and his arm's tighten around me; he has both his arms wrapped around me, how did I not notice that before?

"No Dean." There is no reproach – there are definitely some things I like better about human Cas - in it, I'm quite sure that if I reached over for my flask again he wouldn't stop me; it's a reminder of something. He pulls me back closer to him again, his arms are strong, Cas is strong, I could break loose if I wanted; but I don't – just let me rest, just dear god if there is one – let me rest for a moment. He may even push himself against me, I'm not sure, he rests his chin against my collar bone. Instead of reminding me of what I've done, of Sammy out there, alone and hunted, he touches my neck with his lips, "We will save them Dean."

I rest my head back, exposing my neck to him; Cas bites carefully for a moment, gently kisses the joint of my jaw for a second, and then touches my lips with his so softly—I open my mouth for him.

I must taste fucking awful.

Garth's houseboat (because it is nearly as cool as the bat-cave in an uber-nerdy way):

Garth blinks at me. He shakes his head slightly, more like a twitch, endearing in it's own way, sort of, I think. "He called already." Garth announces as though I wouldn't know that had happened. I know I frown, I know I look puzzled, which is stupid, because I knew Dean would call him, what I don't understand is why Garth is telling me. "Sam? Sam?" A hand is on my shoulder, and it's not Dean's and it's not strong, but I'm sitting down because I have no choice. "Sam?" I put my head between my knees—now is not the time to faint. "Sam what's going on?"

So, like the idjit I am, I announce it: I'm pregnant.

Garth crouches next to me, his hand on my shoulder squeezes, then he rubs my back, I look over to see his face beaming, "Congratulations! Congrats! That's great Sam!" Then he looks worried, he never looks concerned enough for any situation – so this is genuinely worrying – "This is what you want, right Sam?"

In a flurry he is offering me something to eat, sending a puzzled Kevin off to get donuts, offering me water, refusing me coffee (bitch, Garth can be a fucking bitch) on the grounds that his sister didn't drink it when she was 'preggers' – preggers? What was I thinking when I came here? Garth has a sister? He sends me to bed for a nap—and I listen to him. He will either call Dean or not, there is nothing I can do to control him.

I wake up to a flurry of conversation outside the door. "He's what?" "A fucking Nephilim?" Thanks Kevin, I would rather you didn't curse about my daughter before she's even born. At least he learned to curse—that should help him fit in. "Shouldn't we call Dean?"

"Why?" That's Garth. "Doing what a Winchester tells you isn't always the smartest thing my little man." I smile, I can see Kevin being unsure as Garth, inadvertently, with Garth its always blessedly inadvertent, patronizes him.

I stagger out of the room. Kevin shoves donuts in front of me looking awkward and guilty. I wish I was more awake before I ask: Please don't call him.

Garth gives Kevin a look that reads 'You call and you are already dead, and I used to be a dentist, so I know how to make you suffer, and I'm a hunter, so I know how to kill things.' There is interesting look on Garth's face, sort of hilarious and alarming. Kevin backs out of the room, hallway – away from Garth – I think Kev might be frightened, that's actually quite funny. Garth turns his attention to me, "Dean actually knows where you are, you realize that? Right Sam?"

"I'm pregnant, not stupid."

Garth ignores that, he lets his back slide down against the wall, ending up sitting—how did he make that look so inelegant? Not that one slides down a wall elegantly, unless you're Dean. I join him. "I want you to really tell me what's really going on."

It's a reasonable question, so I answer him. When I get to the part about what Dean wanted to do to her, to me, I have to look away—I can't believe I have to say these things about Dean. He lets me talk it out, in circles and clusters of thoughts, and he hands me donuts occasionally. I let my hand rest on my stomach, not that you can tell yet; what the fuck will that look like anyhow? Then he rests his hand over mine, "Can you feel her?" I nod, and I smile, I know I look what Dean would call 'goofy', and then I smile properly—she's in there where she belongs.

Then I notice Garth's hand, it is definitely where it doesn't belong. I struggle to get up. "Please don't call him." I cover my mouth, I will never get used to this up-chucking.

On the dock outside the houseboat:

"Dean you did not seriously threaten to do that to him?" "Yes, with a tranquilizer you might have got away with it Dean." "You didn't even think that he had a right to know?" "You are aware he that he thinks you want to torture him?" "You can't do this to him." "Don't call anyone, hunters already want a part of him." "And don't you dare come here." "No, he called, I told him to stay away." "I don't want any part of this Dean." "Or your Angel friend."

I probably shouldn't have been listening in to Garth, but, of course, he did call Dean. And, wow, I didn't know Garth had that in him. He looks over at me, and smiles, a sad smile that I will always associate with him, "Sorry."

Bat-cave, Dean's room:

"Sorry,"

Cas' arms are still around me. I don't care if he never lets go. "I know you had to talk to them."

"Sam is there." Of course Sam went to Garth—there is no-where else for Sam to go. Now I just need to go out and fetch him.

Cas' nods, "I know." And he sighs – I kinda like it when he sighs, I know he's almost annoyed with me, but it sounds sweet – and he leads us to lay down together. I should get up, I should go fetch Sam now, right now. "Think about it for a while, he may be safe for there."

Outside Garth's houseboat:

"It's fine Garth." I try to organize my thoughts, "Thank you." I take a breath; this is all so fucked up. "You didn't seem surprised?"

"Kevin knew it could happen."

That's news: Kevin and Garth have been discussing the spell, and creating Nephilim. I nod, if Kevin knows, and Dean, and Ezekiel – so some other Angels probably then – and Cas, and Garth, and Crowley (I don't think Crowley has a way to contact other demons—at least without Dean's help, not anyone without a cell phone, and I put that phone just out of the reach of Crowley), but the list is getting long. I will need to leave here soon. I just need to have one more private conversation with Garth, the reason I really came.

"Did Kevin get to the part in the texts where…" this is gross, just gross, were-wolf guts I can stand, half dead zombies, beheaded vampires, but this is sickening, "Where the Nephilim carried by men," - Garth could really try to help me out with this sentence. – "are delivered." My aversion must show on my face.

Garth shakes his head, "Unpleasant?"

"Garth, I really don't want to ask you," - he has no idea of how much I really don't – "but could you help me?"

Garth clasps both my hands in his. "Sam, I'm a dentist not a…" What I need is some sort of surgical obstratician; but that's not what is in the cards, not in my cards. What I have a dentist and an ancient text that suggest that I have my insides torn out; when for the first time I have a real reason for living—if I don't count Dean, and I can't count Dean.

Garth looks so eager to help—if I didn't so desperately need help it would be embarrassing. I still have to ask, "You wouldn't hurt her?"

His face lights up, and he shakes his head in complete puzzlement: "She's a baby."

I should go, Dean did call, he obviously knows where I am. Garth's threats won't keep him at bay. I don't know where Cas stands on anything—whether he can mitigate Dean. Actually, I do know where Cas stands on Dean. I laugh at my stupidity a little, I still want to Dean to be happy; what sort of idiot, idjit, am I? What wants to do to her, what he wants I can't think about; but I've spent so long wanting him to be feel loved that I feel like I fucked up his chance at it. If Dean comes, he comes, I need to rest, just for a day, I need to rest. But I must be wicked: when Dean comes I need to be gone.

Alone in the kitchen in the bat-cave:

"Kevin fucking Solo?" He must mean Kevin Tran. "I know I'm not Dean." Angels don't have a corner on stating the obvious. "Yes, I have his phone." Stating the obvious. "He's not here." He's in the basement. "Sam is leaving." Good boy Sam. "Yes, I'll tell him."

In the basement with Crowley, and depressingly, Sam's donuts:-

I don't have any enthusiasm for slamming my hands on Crowley's little table; I had him a donut. "My offer of freedom still stands. You need to help me convince Sam." I can go after Sam, I can fetch him and he'll just run again, this is Sam. And for all Sammy wants this baby – how in the fuck did he decide to want this baby – keeping her could kill him 'butchered out of him'. I know what he wants, I want to accept what he wants, but dammit Sam.

"You expect me to kiss you Dean?"

"Whatever works for you Crowley, just help us keep Sam." Here we go again, the closest person to Sam, the only one he trusts is a demon.

"You know I have a deal with him?" Crowley puts on his 'aren't you just the dumbest son of an ass-hat look, "Right, Dean?"

"You're a demon Crowley, the damn King of Hell; find a loophole: 'best efforts' or something."

"Ok." He said, 'Ok.' as though it were simple. "I just need one little thing." That's more like the Crowley we've grown not to love, "Lengthen my chain."

"That's all?" I raised my voice this just doesn't seem like a real, his real, demand, there is something he's holding out on. What do I expect, he's Crowley.

"That's all. Keep me cuffed, put down extra salt, make sure I can't reach your bugger of a Devil's Trap – but this neck chain, as it is, really isn't my thing."

"That's really all? Crowley?" Now I'm suspicious; more suspicious, you should always be with a demon, just ask Sam; actually, don't ask Sam.

I nod my head, I don't get it, I know there's a trick, but I'm desperate, I guess I'll do anything. "A deal it is then."