A/N: Thanks to my wonderful betas sallyloveslinus, catsluver, and skzb.

Thanks to Megan for your review. It is very much appreciated, as are ALL of you who review.

Chapter 5

Sam and Dean were powerless to stop TJ's fall, even though it seemed to Sam like it all happened in slow motion. The thud of her head hitting the coffee table made his heart slam up into his throat like he'd suddenly fallen through a trapdoor.

His wheelchair was sitting next to the sofa and he shoved it out of his way, then used his hands—one braced on the sofa and one on the coffee table—to lower himself onto the floor. His legs flopped to one side and banged the coffee table in his haste to scoot himself over to TJ, but he couldn't feel it and didn't care.

Rocket jumped off the sofa and came over to check on TJ, sniffing her face.

Sam pushed him away. "Rocket, no!"

Chastened, Rocket crawled back under the coffee table to his "safe" place and watched them with his head on his paws, pale eyes filled with sorrow, and whimpered. Sam felt a twinge of regret but had no time to worry about Rocket right now.

TJ had landed on her side, and the part of her head that hit the table rested on the hard, laminate wood floor. He couldn't see how bad her injury was, but she wasn't moving. Dean reached her at the same time as Sam and helped him carefully turn her over, revealing a gash in her temple that had been sliced open by the edge of the coffee table. It was bleeding profusely.

Icy fear washed through Sam. "TJ?" He tapped her pale cheeks.

She didn't respond.

"Come on, Teej. Wake up."

Still nothing, not even a twitch. Sam's heart raced, and his hold on his emotions became more precarious with each passing second. "Come on, TJ. Please."

She moaned softly, brows slightly furrowing.

"That's it. Wake up for me."

She winced.

He brushed away a few strands of hair that were sticking to the cut in her temple. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay." He looked up at Dean.

Dean nodded, got up, and went into the kitchen.

TJ's long lashes fluttered, and finally her lids opened, revealing dazed brown eyes.

"Teej?"

She frowned, groggy and annoyed. "What?"

He held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," she answered with a tone that said she thought it was a dumb question.

Sam was flooded with relief. She'd been out for less than a minute and seemed lucid. This injury was nothing by Winchester standards, but he wasn't taking any chances. "You're gonna be okay. We'll get you to a doctor and get you checked out."

She looked like she might protest but then thought better of it. "'Kay." Her eyes closed. "Gotta get the baby checked, too."

He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Yeah. You and the baby."

She nodded.

Dean came back with an icepack wrapped in a clean white kitchen towel and a clean damp dishrag. "How's she doin'?"

Sam took the moist cloth and dabbed at the area around the cut, careful not to touch the cut itself where it was starting to clot.

"Ow!" TJ opened her eyes and glared, freckles making her look like she was about ten years old.

Sam grimaced in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

God, was he ever. He was sorry that she'd heard his conversation with Dean, sorry he'd been such a dick, sorry that she was hurt.

After most of the blood was washed away, he could see that the gash wasn't as deep as he'd first thought. He knew that head wounds bled more in general than other parts of the body and that they often looked much worse than they actually were. He felt himself begin to uncoil from the panic he'd felt just moments before and looked at Dean. "She's gonna be all right. I don't think she'll need stitches, but we need to get her checked out."

Dean nodded. "You want me to call an ambulance?"

"No," said TJ as she started to gingerly sit up.

Dean and Sam both supported her as she got into a sitting position. She grabbed their shoulders to steady herself and swallowed thickly. "Gonna barf."

Dean shot up and ran toward the hallway bathroom, and Sam put his arm around her shoulders. "Just hang on," he soothed.

"Oh, God." She clamped her hand over her mouth, turning a subtle shade of green.

Dean made it back with a small trashcan from the bathroom just in time. When she was finished retching, he took the can, nose scrunching in disgust, and headed toward the kitchen, presumably to wash the can out. "What about that ambulance?" he said over his shoulder to Sam.

TJ answered again. "No. Take me in the Impala."

Dean looked to Sam for confirmation. Sam hesitated for a second, not sure that the paramedics wouldn't be better. He wished that Heather was there.

"I'm okay," TJ insisted.

Sam nodded reluctantly to Dean.

"All right," said Dean. "Just let me get this washed out." He indicated the can and went into the kitchen.

Sam still had his arm around TJ. "You okay to sit up by yourself so I can get in my chair?"

She nodded but wouldn't look at him, shoulders stiffening. It was clear she hadn't forgotten what had led to all of this.

He wanted to talk to her, to explain things. "I'm sorry," he said again.

She acted as if she hadn't heard him. She reached for the icepack wrapped in the dish towel and held it to her temple with a wince. Rocket slunk out from under the coffee table and tentatively sniffed her other hand. She smiled a little and petted him on the head. "I'm okay, Rocket." He wagged his tail and moved closer to her.

Her eyes stayed glued on Rocket, not giving Sam a second glance. Sam sighed, knowing he had a long way to go to make things right.

He dragged himself over to his chair, locked the brakes on it, and did his usual gymnast-type move to get himself from the floor to his chair—one palm on the floor, elbow locked, other hand gripping the frame of his chair, dipping his head low and lifting his butt up in the air enough to get it in the seat. Once seated, he lifted his legs at the knees with his hands and positioned his feet on the footplate. He realized he was only wearing socks and was about to get some shoes from his room when Dean came back into the living room.

Dean offered a hand to TJ and carefully helped her to stand. She was almost the same height as Dean, maybe just an inch shorter. She swayed a bit and grabbed his shoulders, staring at a point somewhere on the floor, the towel and icepack still clutched in one hand.

"Whoa," said Dean, ducking his head a little to see her face better. "You good?"

She swallowed. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I think so." Her voice was weak and hardly convincing.

"Not good enough." Dean glanced at Sam and back to TJ. "Why don't you let Sam give you a ride to the car?"

She hesitated, not looking at Sam, but then nodded. Sam pushed himself over to her, and Dean helped her to sit in Sam's lap. She sat turned slightly sideways, one knee a little higher than the other, one bare foot on top of Sam's feet.

"Dean," said Sam, "we need shoes."

"On it." He headed down the hall.

TJ's head was resting on Sam's shoulder, probably because she didn't have anywhere else to put it rather than actually wanting it there, but he kissed the top of it anyway. "You okay?" he asked gently.

She pressed the icepack against her temple again and nodded. He felt her baby-fine hair brush along his jawline with the movement and could smell the fresh, clean scent of it. It made his heart ache.

Her free hand rested in her lap instead of wrapping around his neck like she usually did. He hugged her to keep her secure since she wouldn't hold onto him. Her only reaction was a shaky, annoyed exhale.

Dean came back with Sam's black Converse sneakers—a birthday gift from TJ year before last—and her flip-flops. He put the shoes on their feet without them asking him to, as if it was something he did every day.

Sam caught his eye. "Thanks."

Dean gave a short nod and grabbed the Impala keys off the dinette table that seemed to be a catchall for keys, mail, and other random stuff.

"Purse," TJ reminded in a flat tone. Her small leather purse was hanging on one of the brass-framed dinette chairs.

Dean grabbed her purse and slung it over his shoulder, raising his chin in the air in a comical gesture like he was proud to be sporting the bag.

She snorted a small laugh that made her refusal to even look at Sam all the more painful. She obviously wasn't mad at Dean, but why would she be? He'd defended her while Sam was being the douche bag of the year.

They exited the apartment, leaving a whining, protesting Rocket behind.

Sam pushed himself and TJ through the door and didn't like that he had to unwrap his arms from around her to do so. She still wouldn't hold onto him—a tacit reminder that she hadn't forgiven him by any means—and he was worried that she might fall off his lap on the way to the car. He was afraid to say anything that might damage the precarious truce he had with her. He didn't want her deciding to try to walk the distance instead of riding with him. He normally hated to be pushed in his chair, but this was an exception.

Dean was a step in front of them, and Sam called to him in a low voice. "Dean?"

Dean peered at him over his shoulder. Sam conveyed what he wanted with a look, and, as always, Dean got the message. He pushed Sam and TJ the rest of the way to the Impala.

On the way to the hospital, TJ lay curled on her side in the back seat, her head lying in Sam's lap, not saying a word. She had discarded the now warm and squishy icepack. The cut on her temple looked minor and had stopped bleeding, although the area around it was red, puffy, and starting to bruise. Still, the fact that she had been willing to lay her head on his lap, considering how angry he knew she was with him, was a good indication of how bad she felt.

She had been nauseated all day and felt crappy even before hitting her head. She'd had a hard time finding something she could stand to eat or even drink, and Sam was concerned. She'd taken Dr. Chua's advice and gotten the prenatal vitamins, but she needed real sustenance.

She hadn't seen an obstetrician yet, hadn't been able to get an appointment until Wednesday. She was supposed to have an ultrasound at the appointment to determine how far along she was. Sam planned to stay in town at least long enough to go with her. He wanted to get a glimpse of the baby and hear its heartbeat. He hoped that everything was okay, that nothing had happened to the baby in TJ's fall.

When they reached the hospital, Dean pulled up to the emergency doors and disappeared to get a wheelchair for TJ. Once they were all inside, the receptionist at the emergency desk, a white-haired woman with small, wire-frame glasses resting on the tip of her nose, started asking TJ questions.

TJ sat slumped in the borrowed wheelchair, answering the questions in a soft monotone.

"Any idea why you might have fainted, dear?"

TJ's voice was stronger when she answered that question. "I'm pregnant, and my fiancé is a jackass."

Dean shot Sam a smirk and coughed into his fist.

Sam didn't say anything, just glanced away and let out a slow breath. He knew she was right.

The lady looked up over her glasses at Dean, her expression inquisitive. Naturally, she would assume Dean was TJ's fiancé. Sam found it annoying.

Dean pointed at Sam. "He's the jackass."

The lady didn't comment, just looked down and typed something into her computer with her lips curved upward in amusement. After all her questions had been answered, she sent them over to the waiting area. Dean pushed TJ's wheelchair toward a row of cream-colored plastic chairs, a clipboard and a stack of paperwork to fill out in her lap.

Dean sat in one of the regular chairs at the end of the row, and TJ sat in the borrowed wheelchair between him and Sam. She grabbed her insurance card from her purse and started filling out the forms. She looked pale and her brow was drawn like she might have a headache.

Sam cleared his throat. "You want me to fill them out for you?"

"No," she said flatly, not bothering to look at him.

He lowered his head, contrite, and stared at the sterile, white-tiled floor. This quiet, distant TJ scared him much worse than TJ with a temper. In the past, on the rare occasions she'd ever really gotten mad at him, she'd been angry and let him know what she was feeling in no uncertain terms. Her ire would burn hot and then, just as quickly, die away. She wasn't one to let things simmer. She liked to get things out in the open and be done with it. She was usually a very forgiving person and never held a grudge.

This was new territory for both of them. She'd never acted this way before because he'd never hurt her like this before. He would give anything to take back what he'd said to Dean, to go back in time and keep all this from happening. But he couldn't. He'd hurt her, and he had to find a way to make it right.

Once she was finished with the forms, Sam turned them in, and he, TJ, and Dean all sat in a heavy, oppressive silence. One of TJ's elbows was on the armrest of the wheelchair she sat in, her head resting in her hand. Her injured temple shone like a beacon, a constant reminder of what a complete asshole Sam had been. He wanted so badly to comfort her but knew by her body language that she didn't want anything from him.

Dean stared at the obligatory waiting room TV mounted high in one corner of the room. 60 Minutes was on, and he appeared to be engrossed in it. He chuckled. "You know, that Andy Rooney's a pretty funny dude."

TJ had no reaction, and Sam just looked at him.

Dean looked mildly uncomfortable. "What?"

Sam shook his head a little and let out a long sigh, wanting this to be over. He wanted a doctor to tell him TJ and the baby were okay, and then he wanted to get TJ somewhere private where he could talk to her. The whole silent treatment thing was making him edgier by the minute. He worked his wheels with his hands in tiny movements, back and forth, back and forth.

He was about to look for a magazine, not so much to read but to have something else to do with his hands, when he noticed his upper abdominal muscles flex for a fraction of a second. It was subtle and he didn't always feel it, but it happened sometimes when his bladder was full. It would probably happen again in a minute or so and was a reminder that he was overdue for a trip to the restroom.

His schedule was off because of everything that had happened, and he'd been so worried about TJ it hadn't crossed his mind. At least he wasn't too late and hadn't looked down to find his jeans were wet. He was lucky, especially since he'd drunk the beer earlier. His bladder and bowel issues were by far the worst thing about his disability, but he dealt with it. He didn't have a choice.

He had a wheelchair backpack where he always kept cath supplies and an extra pair of jeans and boxers, just in case. He scanned the waiting area and spotted the bathrooms just beyond the reception desk.

He leaned closer to TJ, trying to catch her eye, but she kept staring at the floor. "I'm going to the restroom," he said, "but I'll be back."

She closed her eyes, shutting him out.

He sighed and pushed himself toward the men's room. When he got back to the waiting area several minutes later, she was gone. He looked at Dean. "Should I—did she say—did she want me to go back there with her?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. She didn't say anything when the nurse came and got her. I think you should wait."

Sam glanced up at the ceiling and then hung his head. "Fuck." He'd said it to himself, but it seemed to hover in the air.

"She won't stay mad at you."

Sam exhaled, defeated, and turned his chair to where he could back it into the spot next to Dean. Once he was settled, he rested his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. "I've never seen her like this."

"There's no doubt you fucked up, dude, but she won't stay mad."

"I have to tell her."

"Yeah. You do."

Sam leaned back and swallowed.

"It's TJ. She'll understand."

"I don't know."

Dean scowled. "Jesus, Sam. Why don't you try having a little faith in her? Don't you think you owe her that?"

Sam briefly met Dean's gaze and then stared at the TV, not really seeing it. "Yeah. I guess I do."

He wanted to believe Dean was right, that TJ would understand. He wanted to believe in her love for him, but he was so damn afraid. "She grew up going to church every Sunday, Dean. How is she gonna feel about a husband who has demon blood? She and her parents aren't Bible thumpers, but they are definitely religious. How are Fern and Vern gonna feel about a son-in-law with demon blood joining their family?"

"It won't matter to TJ." Dean said it like it was a given. "Fern and Vern? Who knows? Has she told them about any of the other stuff?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, why do they have to know about the blood? I'd leave it up to TJ. Let her decide if she wants them to know."

Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs, and nodded.

Forty-five minutes later, he was allowed to go back and see her. She was in an exam room lying on a small, padded exam table. The back of it was inclined so that she was sort of sitting up. The small room was a tight space for Sam to maneuver his chair in, but he managed and wheeled up to her, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

She was still in her clothes, and there was now a giant Band-Aid on her temple. The cut wasn't visible, but the bruising around the area made Sam cringe. She was holding a plastic cup of what he assumed was water, and she was still pale.

He cleared his throat. "Hey."

She didn't answer, just stared at him.

"So, what did they say? Did you have to have stitches?"

She blinked and then closed her eyes tiredly. "No."

Sam was heartened that she had at least answered him. "Do they think you have a concussion?"

She winced almost imperceptibly, eyes still closed. "A mild one."

"Your head is hurting?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

There was a pause, and then she looked at him, her expression carefully concealing any emotion. "The doctor thinks I'm probably dehydrated and have low blood sugar because I haven't eaten much today. That could be causing the headache as much as the bump on my head."

"What about your blood pressure?"

"Still low." She shifted her legs a little. "Everything's out of whack. They think I might be anemic because of the nausea. That can cause dizziness, and so can low blood pressure and dehydration."

He didn't like the sound of that. "What about the baby?"

She jutted her chin forward, showing her first real spark of anger. "What about it?"

He ignored the sharp pang of guilt the question caused. "Do they think—can they tell if, you know, everything's okay?"

"They're waiting for the obstetrician on call to come in. They said the baby is probably okay, but the obstetrician will most likely do an ultrasound when she gets here just to make sure. We'll know more then." She took a sip of her water, eyeing him over her cup, gaze hard. She was being civil, but there was no doubt he was in the doghouse with her. "They want me to drink a lot of water if I can keep it down before the ultrasound. I guess it makes everything show up better."

He couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement, although the circumstances were far from what he'd pictured. He wanted to see the baby, but this wasn't how the first glimpse of it was supposed to be—in an ER with TJ pissed off at him. There was too much tension, too much bad karma.

"But then, what do you care?" she went on. Her tone was biting. "It's not your baby, right?"

He gripped his wheels. "TJ, I didn't mean that."

She sat up and turned so that her back was to him, causing the protective paper on the exam table to crinkle. She faced the counter across from her where a pitcher sat, and then she stood and poured herself more water.

He was relieved that she seemed steadier on her feet. "TJ, please, let me explain."

She took a swig of water but wouldn't turn around, still giving him the cold shoulder.

He sighed and looked around the room, as if he might find the right words to say written on a wall somewhere. "God, TJ. I'm so sorry. I know the baby is mine. I was an ass for ever doubting it, even for a second. I know you would never cheat on me."

She still kept her back to him.

"It's just...well, it's such a shock. I never—I thought that possibility was lost to me. I didn't think I'd ever be able to father a child naturally. I mean, the odds are, like, one in a billion. You know that."

She didn't move at first, but then she slammed the cup down on the counter and returned to the exam table, reclining on it again. Her mouth was tightly sealed, and when she looked at him, her eyes smoldered. "So you find it easier to believe that I'd cheat on you with Ralph, that I'm a slut?"

"No. I guess I was just analyzing things, going through every possible scenario."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. It's just—I know I was wrong. It's—it's been so hard for me, though, being away from you at Berkeley. And you..."

"And I what?"

"I don't know. It seems so much easier for you."

Her face scrunched up in an expression of indignant denial. "That's so not true."

"Maybe not, but for me—God, TJ. I miss you all day, every day," he explained. "I never get any relief from it. I miss you so much sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating, like I need you to be able to breathe. But you...you've always been so okay with me leaving, like it wasn't that big of a deal. And then you started hanging out with Gretchen and Ralph. I guess I was jealous."

Tears welled in her eyes and her voice came out thick, her drawl pronounced. "Lord, Sam. There were times when I thought I would die without you here. I didn't want you to know how much I missed you, how much I needed you, because I didn't want to make things harder on you."

She took a second to regain her composure, and then her eyes landed on him again. "Gretchen and Ralph kept me sane, gave me somethin' else to focus on besides how much it hurt that you were gone. They are totally into each other, Sam, but they were like a couple of twelve-year-olds. In the beginning, I was their excuse to get together, but now they're over that. They've been spendin' a lot of time together on their own, just the two of them. There's nothing between Ralph and me and there never will be."

He laid his hand next to her, palm open, silently asking for her forgiveness. She eyed him warily for a moment but then gave in and put her hand in his, scooting closer to the edge of the exam table where he could reach her easier. The softness of her skin soothed him and he kissed the back of her hand, relieved to be connected to her again. "I love you so much. It wasn't so much that I doubted you. It's—there's something—" He stopped abruptly and looked up at her. "I'm scared, TJ."

She rolled her eyes. "You think I'm not? I mean, holy shit. We're having a baby." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Lord, I was stupid. So careless. But, like you, I thought it couldn't happen. I probably should have been on the pill, but a part of me didn't care. I figured if I got pregnant, it would be a miracle, like fate or something, and we'd deal. But I never in a million years thought it would happen this soon. I don't know why I thought that. It only takes once, right?"

Her brow furrowed and she looked him in the eye. "What are we gonna do, Sam? I mean, we were supposed to be established in our careers and financially secure before we had kids, like, when we were in our thirties. How will this affect my grad school, my job? What will we do about childcare? Where will we live? We can't do the long-distance thing with a baby. Somethin' has to give, either your law school or my grad school. And what are my parents gonna think?" Her voice broke a little. "I don't want to disappoint them, and I never wanted a shotgun wedding."

He felt selfish for not talking about this with her. He'd been so wrapped up in his fears that it hadn't occurred to him that she might have her own. She'd seemed so happy about the pregnancy. He rubbed the tips of his fingers gently along the inside of her wrist. "TJ, we were already engaged. It's not a shotgun wedding, and it's not like we're teenagers. We can handle it. We'll figure everything out. And your parents love you. They won't be disappointed in you. They'll understand." He paused and looked down. "It's not the normal stuff that I'm worried about. That's not what scares me."

"Then what does?"

He swallowed hard and couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Sam?"

He drew in a breath to steel himself and took her hand again, gripping it tightly. "How much of my conversation with Dean did you hear?"

She huffed. "More than I wanted to. That's for damn sure."

He suddenly felt hot, stifled.

"Sam, what's wrong with you?"

"There's something I haven't told you, something I should have told you a long time ago after everything with the Yellow-Eyed Demon went down."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know we promised each other we'd always be honest, but I thought—I hoped it didn't matter anymore. That bastard is in hell, and I..." He paused and met her gaze with apology. "I thought I couldn't pass it on. I thought we were safe, that you'd want to adopt and—"

"Sam Winchester, what on earth are you talkin' about?"

"You know—remember that I told you my mom was killed trying to stop Yellow Eyes from doing something to me in my nursery?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, she didn't."

"Didn't stop him?"

He shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach at what Azazel had done to him.

TJ's voice was cautious and urgent at the same time. "What did he do to you, Sam?"

He stared at their hands and almost choked on the bitter taste of self-loathing. "He bled into my mouth. He...infected me with demon blood."

She didn't say anything, and Sam was afraid to look up and see what was on her face. He didn't think he could stand it if he saw fear or repulsion. He already tormented himself enough with those feelings and didn't want to see them echoed in her eyes.

The air was so heavy with the words he'd spoken that he felt like he was drowning, but he plowed on, wanting it all out, wanting it over with. "He slit his own wrist and let the blood drip into my mouth. No one knew. I didn't find out until after my injury, when he offered to cure me if I would lead Lucifer's army."

She didn't say anything, so he rambled. "It—the blood, it did things to me, made me have visions of the future. I saw people dying. Dean and I tried to save them, but," he clenched his eyes shut, the anguish of it all suddenly fresh in his mind, "there were times we were too late."

She was still silent and it was killing him. He couldn't stop talking, and the words kept pouring from him. "There were even a couple of times when I—I could move things...with my mind. After my SCI, it all stopped and I thought it was gone. But then Azazel—well, you know the rest. He started fucking with my head, showed me in a dream what he'd done to me and tortured me with the promise of a cure. He said leading the army was my destiny, that there was nothing I could do about it, that evil was inside me and there was no use fighting it."

He felt her fingers twitch and opened his eyes to see that he had a death grip on her hand. He let go as if he'd been burned, hoping he hadn't hurt her, and grabbed his wheels instead, still not meeting her gaze.

"Sam?" She said his name so softly he thought he'd imagined it until she said it again. "Sam?"

He didn't want to face her. The shame was overwhelming, twisting his insides.

He could see her shift on the exam table out of the corner of his eye, her body causing the padded vinyl of it to squeak and the paper to rustle. She maneuvered herself into a sitting position, her long legs hanging over the side in front of him, brushing his own legs. He couldn't feel them, of course, but he could see them. He closed his eyes, wishing he was able to feel her, wanting her to touch him on his body where he could. He didn't dare reach out to her, was afraid she might reject him.

As if she had read his mind, he felt her hands comb through his hair, felt her pull him toward her. He leaned forward and she guided his head onto her lap, his cheek resting on her thigh. She continued to brush his hair away from his temple, and he reached up and placed his hands on her hips. He was afraid to open his eyes, afraid he was imagining the gentleness of her touch.

"Is that it?" she asked softly.

He raised his head, finally looking at her. "What do you mean, 'Is that it?' I just told you I have demon blood in me."

She poked her cheek with her tongue, quirking her mouth, humor in her eyes.

He frowned. "You think it's funny?"

She pressed her lips together. "No."

He studied her for a moment and watched her mouth grow tighter as she tried to hold in a smile. "You do," he accused. "You think it's funny."

"I don't think it's funny." A laugh escaped her, contradicting what she'd just said, and she shook her head, trying to keep her amusement under control. "I swear."

"TJ, do you understand what I'm telling you? I could have passed this on to our kid."

"You think?" Her laughter was suppressed, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Hey, if it's a boy, we can name him Damien."

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, angry and incredulous. "I can't believe you're making light of this."

She leaned toward him and took his face in her hands, her smile indulgent. "Sam, first of all, you're about as evil as my left pinky toe. Second, you weren't born with demon blood. It's somethin' that demon did to you when you were six months old. It's not in your DNA. It's not in your genes. You can't pass it on."

"You don't know that."

Her brows went up. "Uh, yeah, I do know that," she said wryly. "I'm a molecular biologist, remember? I study DNA on a daily basis."

He pulled away and exhaled sharply through his nose, frustrated that she wasn't taking this seriously. "Okay. Fine. Do you study how demon blood affects DNA on a daily basis?"

She rolled her eyes.

"What if Azazel somehow altered my DNA? We're not talking about the normal laws of science here, TJ."

She brushed an errant strand of his hair away with her thumb. "Okay. On the off chance that Azazel did alter you somehow, have you had any visions since you killed him? Have you gone all Bewitched and made objects fly through the air?"

"No, but—"

"Uh-uh," she interrupted, cutting him off. "You told me that day you shot Azazel that his power died with him. Why do you think whatever he did to you as a baby wouldn't have gone away, too?"

He wanted so badly to believe she was right, but he couldn't. "Things are never that cut and dried, especially for me. What if it's just lying dormant? What if something else comes along someday to take Yellow Eyes' place, picks up where he left off, tries to hurt our baby or turn it into some kind of agent for Lucifer?"

"Then you and Dean will kill whatever it is and we'll live happily ever after."

He snorted. "It's not that easy. My dad spent half his life battling to kill Azazel and lost."

"Yeah. But you won. You destroyed the evil son of a bitch." She braced her hands on the table, making the paper rustle, and looked at him with a critical eye. "Did you ever think that I might be the wild card here? I mean, what do we know about my DNA? You know more about your family history than I do about mine. I know absolutely nothing."

He frowned. "Don't they have a medical history of your family in your adoption file?"

She shook her head. "Nope. My biological mother left me on my parents' doorstep. She didn't leave a forwarding address," she said dryly. "She was sort of a drifter, a sixteen-year-old student that my mom taught in her high school chemistry class with no family to speak of, just her grandmother that no one ever saw. She only lived in Moss Fork for six months and was already pregnant when she got there. She only went to Tucker County High School for half a year. My mother tried to help her, kind of took her under her wing, but Trisha—that was her name—never let my mother get that close.

"No one knew who my father was or where Trisha came from. The summer after she was in my mom's class, my parents found me on their doorstep. The police tried to find her, but she had falsified her records. Trisha Wexler just disappeared off the face of the earth. When they went to her place to question her grandmother, she was gone, too."

"Does it bother you that she left you?"

"It did at times, like when I was a teenager. I wondered who she was, why she was so mysterious. Sometimes it was all I could think about, and I wanted to try and find her."

"What did Fern and Vern say?"

She shrugged. "I never told them how I felt."

"Why?"

"They were so...good—the best parents ever, you know? I thought it might hurt them, that they might think I wasn't happy with them or something. Now that I look back on it, they probably would have been supportive of me searching for Trisha if they'd known."

"So why didn't you pursue it when you got older?"

"I got over it. It's probably impossible to find her anyway. I mean, the police already tried back when she left me. It's against the law to abandon a baby, you know? They never found anything."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? I probably had a much better life than I would have with an unwed teenage mother who was barely sixteen and no real family to help her—not to mention the fact that she obviously didn't want me."

"Maybe she gave you up because she loved you and she knew Fern and Vern would give you a better home than she could."

"Yeah. I used to tell myself that. Now I don't really give a fuck." Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oops. I'm gonna have to watch what I say." She pointed down at her abdomen.

Sam smiled for what felt like the first time in days. "Yeah. I think we all are."

She leaned toward him and he met her half way. She took his face in her hands again. "I love you, demon boy." She kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Got any other secrets you wanna tell me?"

"No," he said, kissing her back. "I think that's about it."

"Good."

He wasn't convinced that the demon blood was out of the picture, but the shame that he carried, the shame that had been overwhelming before, was less painful because TJ still loved him.

She was still leaning close to him and they kissed again, this time much deeper and more demanding, a confirmation that nothing could come between them.

There was a soft knock at the slightly open door and the sound of a throat clearing. They sprang apart like guilty teenagers as a tall woman in light-blue scrubs and a white coat walked into the room. She smiled and held out her hand first to Sam, then TJ. "Hi. Cindy Williams—no relation to Shirley."

Sam smiled in acknowledgment. TJ frowned, obviously not understanding what the doctor was referring to.

The doctor saw the look on TJ's face and waved a hand in dismissal. "Kids these days." She raised a brow at TJ. "You never watched Laverne & Shirley, spinoff of Happy Days? Cindy Williams is the actress that played Shirley."

"Oh," said TJ. "Yeah. I've seen the reruns on the TV Land channel."

Dr. Williams rolled her eyes. "I'm getting old." She didn't seem that old, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She had a slightly frazzled appearance, her thick, unruly blond hair falling out of a barrette that pulled it back from her face. She blew out a breath that caused her bangs to stir. "It's been a busy afternoon and evening."

She reached outside the door and grabbed a chart from the holder there. "All right." She glanced at the name label on the chart. "You must be TJ." She raised her eyes to Sam. "And you are?"

"Sam Winchester. I'm TJ's fiancé."

"Oh. Congratulations." She focused back on the chart. "Let's see what's going on here," she muttered to herself.

TJ and Sam waited as she flipped through the chart. "Says here you just found out about your pregnancy a couple of days ago?"

"Yes," said TJ.

She asked TJ more questions about what happened when TJ fainted, whether TJ had been to an obstetrician yet, and so on. TJ patiently answered them all, explaining about her severe nausea and everything else, although she'd already been through it all with the ER doc.

"All right. I'm going to need to do a pelvic exam so I can examine your cervix and feel your uterus." She bent down, opened a cabinet door to grab a paper drape for TJ, and handed it to her. "I need you to strip down to your birthday suit." She looked at Sam. "Let's give her some privacy."

Sam pushed himself into the hallway. The doctor followed him out and caught the attention of a passing nurse. "Chandler, do we have an ultrasound machine down here?"

Chandler, who had a bright, dimply smile and long, curly brown hair, nodded. "I think Dr. Hervey had it last. I'll find it."

Dr. Williams nodded with satisfaction and looked at Sam. "If not, we'll have to get TJ to the imaging department."

"Right."

She rapped a few quick knocks on the door. "How you doing in there, sweetie?"

"I'm ready," TJ called from inside.

The doctor entered the room and shut the door, leaving Sam to wait in the hallway. A few minutes later, Chandler came up to the door rolling a portable ultrasound machine on a cart. It looked like a high-tech computer system with a monitor. "Is this the first glimpse of your baby?" she said, looking down at Sam.

"Yeah."

"Awesome. You probably won't be able to make out much, but you'll be able to detect a heartbeat if your wife's far enough along."

"Really?" He didn't correct her that TJ wasn't his wife. She would be soon enough. The thought was exciting and sobering at the same time. Everything was happening so fast, like a runaway train. TJ was right. There were so many things they needed to figure out, things that he hadn't even allowed himself to consider because he'd been so freaked about the demon blood.

"If you haven't found an obstetrician yet, Dr. Williams has a great reputation. She's known for her cool head in emergency delivery situations."

Sam nodded. "Thanks for the info. We'll keep that in mind."

A second later, Dr. Williams opened the door. "Oh, there you are," she said to Chandler. She looked down at Sam. "You want to come in first so you won't have to maneuver around the machine?"

He nodded and pushed himself into the room. He swiveled his chair around and backed up to the wall near the head of the exam table so that he was almost even with TJ's head. She was back in her hoodie and jeans but looked cold. He grabbed her hand and squeezed, trying to infuse some warmth into her. She smiled at him, freckles stark against her too-pale skin. She was better, but she wasn't a hundred percent by any means, and Sam was worried about her.

Chandler wheeled the ultrasound cart over to where Dr. Williams could access it and handed the doctor the supplies she would need. As Dr. Williams put on latex gloves, she said to TJ, "You'll want to unbutton your jeans and lift up your shirt."

TJ did as she was instructed while Chandler dimmed the lights in the room. The doctor squirted a small amount of a gel-like substance onto TJ's lower abdomen. Then she took a small, hand-held device about the size of a bar of soap that was attached to the ultrasound machine by a cord and rubbed it in the gel, gliding it over TJ's abdomen. A grainy, indecipherable image appeared on the monitor component of the machine.

Dr. Williams made a few adjustments, typing things into the ultrasound's computer, occasionally switching the view with a dial on the keyboard until she saw what she wanted. She scrutinized the screen for a long while. "Hm. That's interesting."

TJ and Sam shared a concerned look. "What?" said TJ.

Dr. Williams' gaze traveled from Sam to TJ. "Forgive my bluntness, but this pregnancy wasn't planned, was it?"

TJ's ears turned a little pink. "Um, no."

"I mean, you haven't gone through any fertility treatments?"

TJ frowned. "No."

The doctor focused her attention back on the screen and studied it for another minute.

Sam cleared his throat, his pulse quickening. "Is—is something wrong?"

Dr. Williams turned to him, a crooked smile on her face. "Oh, no. Nothing's wrong." Her smile broadened. "Congratulations. You're having twins."

TBC