Cas's Logical Sequel, Chapter 07

By CastielLovesDean

A/N: Lol, I'm taking so long to update this story we're almost catching up to the setting. Maybe I should kick this into gear. I mean, I probably won't, but at least I can admit that I should.

I'm considering writing some companion one-shots including Cas's Logical Fairy Tale, Cas's Logical Wedding, and Cas's Logical Honeymoon. Thoughts?

April 27, 2012

The violent stomping and angry shouts must have carried to the next county. "And just what the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.

"It doesn't mean anything!" Sam defended himself just as loudly.

"Well, it must mean something, or you wouldn't have said it!"

"'I'm sorry?'" Sam shouted. "There's no hidden meaning behind, 'I'm sorry!'"

"Then why'd you say it?"

"Because I accept responsibility for my actions! Because I feel bad about what happened, and because I'll never forgive myself for eating the last damn pudding cup!"

"That was MY PUDDING CUP!" Dean bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"I SAID I WAS SORRY!"

"What is all the hollerin' about?" Bobby demanded, walking into the kitchen.

"I ate Dean's last pudding cup," Sam admitted wide-eyed.

"Well, what the Hell'd you do that for, ya idjit?" he admonished, stalking to the fridge.

"It was an accident!"

Bobby opened the fridge and rifled through it. "Neither o' y'all saw this pack o' puddin' in the back o' the fridge?"

"What pudding?"

"Here," Bobby offered, shoving the six-pack of chocolate pudding into Dean's arms. "Crisis averted."

Dean shot one last glare at Sam before scurrying off to the panic room to gorge on his pudding in private.

Bobby glared at Sam, as well. "This is goin' on my list of the stupidest crap you've ever pulled," Bobby berated Sam. "Don't you know we have ta live with 'im? I swear, you make him any more difficult, and yer gonna spend the next four months in a hotel. And why are ya wearin' my shirt?"

Sam looked down at his (Bobby's) clothes. "I hoped you wouldn't mind. I only have, like, three shirts, and I can't find any of them. I don't suppose you've seen them."

"No, but two pairs o' my pants an' a few plaid shirts o' mine have gone missin'."

Sam and Bobby exchanged a look. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Bobby frowned. "I gnome-proofed my house long ago."

Sam shrugged. "Perfectly?"

"I think I know how ta gnome-proof a house!" Bobby groused.

"I'm not saying you don't! But, you know, it was a while ago, so maybe something got nudged or something. I mean, unless you have a better idea."

Bobby didn't have a better idea, so they went to work scouring the house for signs of gnomes and redoing all the anti-gnome spells and traps.

Although Sam and Bobby painstakingly re-gnome-proofed the entire property and never did find evidence of gnomes, they were still losing clothes two weeks later. Even Castiel was sitting with them in the living room, not wearing his trademark trench coat – he'd lost it a week earlier. They were starting to think something really weird was going on.

Dean was leaning against Castiel, and everyone was mesmerized by his belly. Samantha was being particularly hyperactive, and her somersaults were highly visible through Dean's tight abdominal skin. There was even a noticeable difference between her little fists and feet.

Even Gabriel was enthralled by the miracle of life. Granted, it was his miracle, but it was still pretty awesome. Gabriel may have been a world-class asshat, but never let it be said he wasn't fond of children. He was still an Angel, after all. Feeling generous, he reached behind his back and pulled a box of chocolates out of thin air. He gave them to Dean, pulling the human out of his reverie. "I know it's early, but Happy Mother's Day!"

Dean ignored or didn't hear the salutation. He opened the box and popped an exquisite chocolate in his mouth. "Oh my God, these are delicious."

"Get it? Mother's Day? Cause you're pregnant? That makes you a woman."

"No, I get it. These chocolates really are amazing. Got any more?"

Gabriel squinted at Dean, wondering what was going on. Dean was easy to piss off on a normal day. Swimming in hormones, he should have had a hair trigger.

Sam took pity on him and suggested, "Gabe, I'm pretty sure Dean's determined not to let you get his goat."

Gabriel huffed. "That doesn't sound like him!"

"Now, now, Gabriel," Dean cooed, "you do have a point."

"I do?"

"Yeah. I'm pregnant. Technically speaking, I'm Samantha's mother."

Gabriel's eyes narrowed mischievously. "You know, some boobs would allow you to nurse naturally."

Everyone in the room tensed, waiting to Dean to explode. He did not. "Great! You know how long it's been since I've played with some boobs? Forever. Finally, I'll be able to play with some without having to cheat on my awesome fiance. Hey, can you make them big enough so I can motorboat myself?"

Gabriel growled in frustration at his inability to anger Dean, and left in a hurry.

Dean giggled and poked Samantha's protruding foot.

Sam had to ask, "Dean, you don't really want breasts, do you?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, I just knew not getting irritated would irritate the irritant."

Sam sighed in relief. "Thank God. I was seriously worried there for a minute."

"Besides," Dean added nonchalantly, "if I did get breasts, Cas could just poof them away when I was done with them, right, Cas?"

Castiel cocked his head. "When did we get a goat?"**

Ten days later marked the beginning of the end. Despite his very large 6-month belly, Dean was feeling particularly energetic. So was Samantha. He was hilariously attempting to play a little one-on-one basketball with his brother – gently, of course – and not doing all that horribly. Of course, Sam was taking it easy on Dean to keep it friendly, but still, Dean was moving around more nimbly than one would expect a pregnant man to be.

The basketball was forgotten momentarily when Dean stopped suddenly, grabbed Sam's hand, and put it on his wildly writhing belly. Neither one of them were even close to getting sick of feeling the baby dance and tumble. A few seconds later, though, Dean felt a sudden squeezing, cramping unpleasantness near the baby. "Ooh," he whined uncomfortably."

Sam noticed the distress. "What?"

Dean shook his head; the cramp had passed. "Uh, nothing," he brushed it off. "Just a stitch in my side. Ah!" He squeezed Sam's arm and fell to his knees as the cramp suddenly returned with a vengeance.

"Dean! Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean hissed in pain as the cramp took its time subsiding. "I don't know." He panted for breath.

"Cas!" Sam shouted in a panic. "Gabe!"

The Angels popped up on either side of Dean. "What's wrong?" Castiel demanded, his gravelly voice filled with concern.

"I-" Dean stuttered, shaking. "I'm not sure. I- ahhhh!" He held on to Sam for dear life, even as the Angels inspected him. His body shook as he rode out the pain. "Oh, it hurts!" he insisted.

Castiel and Gabriel exchanged a look. "There is nothing wrong with you," Castiel reported.

"What the Hell are you talking about?" Dean cried out in frustration.

"It's just your uterus contracting. This is normal."

"Normal?"

"Oh, I read about this! Those, um, Braxton-Hicks things! They're mild contractions thought to be the uterus practicing for labor."

"What?" Dean gasped. He screamed again as another excruciating cramp overwhelmed him.

When Dean's painful groaning died down again, Sam explained, "In the third trimester, it's pretty common for pregnant women to occasionally experience mild contractions."

"Sammy..."

Sam got close to Dean so he could hear him better. "Yeah, Dean?"

Dean reached out and roughly grabbed the front of his shirt. "If you say 'mild' one more time, so help me, I will kick your ass!"

"Whoa! It's not a criticism, it's just what the books say! They say Braxton-Hicks contractions can be pretty uncomfortable."

"'Uncomfortable?' Pregnancy is uncomfortable. Contractions hurt!"

"Hey, why don't we get you into bed; I'll look up how to deal with these Braxton-Hicks things, kay?"

Dean grunted his assent, still reeling from the pain, and flailed ignobly when Castiel scooped him up in his arms. He nearly protested this unmanly treatment, but then another 'mild' contraction hit him, and all he could do was bury his face in Castiel's black suit lapel (he still hadn't found his trench coat) and moan in agony. Once he was in bed, the contractions did get easier and easier until they disappeared altogether about twenty minutes later. Sam did the research he'd said he would and made several suggestions, but bed rest seemed to work just fine. Dean made the mistake of running around some more as soon as the contractions were gone, and they returned.

They came and went for a few weeks. Finally, in early June, Sam pointed out that activity could trigger the contractions and insisted that Dean go on bed rest for the duration of his pregnancy. To Dean's chagrin, the contractions went away completely once he was on bed rest and was therefore logically obligated to stay in bed until the baby was born – in almost three months.

During that time, Sam, Bobby, Cas, and Gabe all had the misfortune of having to see to Dean's every craving and need. Dean's cravings were all over the map (though Gabriel was on that like flies on manure), he got hemorrhoids like nothing he'd ever experienced in hell, everything took turn aching and itching, and sometimes he could barely breathe.

One hot July morning, Sam was sitting next to Dean on his bed, absently scratching Dean's back, when he noticed something strange: his mattress was lumpier than it should have been. "What the Hell?" Sam murmured.

"Huh?" Dean asked dozily.

"There's... I think there's something under your mattress." Sam lifted the edge of the mattress and pulled on a piece of errant fabric. It was one of his shirts that had been missing upwards of two months. "What the Hell?" he repeated more forcefully. He dug under the mattress, and long-missing clothing just started piling on the floor: three plaid button-up shirts, four pairs of jeans, seven tee-shirts (Sam had eventually bought more, which subsequently went missing as well), and finally, an all-too-familiar tan trench coat. "You little thief!" he accused Dean.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about all our clothes that have gone missing over the last few months! Bobby's been trying to uncover a gnome burrow, and you're the one who's been stealing them!"

"I have not!"

"Oh, really?" Sam held up Castiel's coat. "Then what's Cas's coat doing stuffed in your mattress?"

Dean blushed and looked genuinely confused. "I dunno..."

Sam stopped himself. He suddenly realized what was going on here. "Ohhhh... oh, I get it now! You're nesting! That's so cute!"

"That's ridiculous!" Dean exclaimed, turning away and pulling his blanket up over his head.

"It's okay, Dean. You can have my shirts if you want them."

"Pfft. Take them. I don't want your fart-ridden, oversized clothing."

"The fact that you stole them suggests otherwise."

"Get out!"

"Fine, fine," Sam acquiesced, scooping up the wrinkled pile of clothes. He left Dean to sulk in private and went upstairs.

"What the Hell is this?" Bobby called from the living room, where he'd been studying occult texts.

Sam smiled sheepishly. "It's our missing clothes."

"I can see that! What're you doin' with 'em?"

"Dean had them stuffed in his bed."

Understanding flickered across Bobby's face. "Oh, he's nesting!"

"He's nesting!" Sam confirmed with a giggle. They laughed merrily at Dean's expense.

"This is just too precious. You're not gonna let him forget this, are you?" Neither of them would.

Sarah called Bonnie from her cell phone as she drove home.

"Hello?"

"Bonnie! Great news!"

Bonnie sighed in annoyance. "Tell me you're not still on this Nephal thing.

"Oh ye of little faith, Bonneroo!" Sarah could practically hear Bonnie roll her eyes at the nickname. "I met some people open to helping us with our problem. They even showed me this shiny stake they swear up and down will kill an Angel."

"You met some people? Are you bringing another coven in on this? You know eternal youth means less the more people that have it."

"Oh, they're not witches. And they don't need eternal youth. Maybe I spoke wrong. I met some ex-people open to helping us."

"Ex-people?" Bonnie repeated. Then her voice dropped ominously. "Vampires? Tell me you're not getting mixed up with vamps."

"No, no! Here's the plan – we kidnap Dean Winchester just before he's due – early, mid August – remove the baby, take a sample of her blood, and leave the Hunter and his baby with the vampires. We go our own separate ways, the vamps take credit for the deaths, and no one even knows what we did."

Bonnie was silent on the other end.

"Bon?"

"I'm thinking."

"And?"

"Let's do it."

I have no intention of giving Dean breasts. No worries. I mean, I think if Gabers gave him some without warning, he'd be pissed at first, then like them for about half an hour in the shower, then be pissed again.

**I don't mean to spam anybody, but for those of you who give to charity from time to time, there's this fantastic type of charity I recently heard about. It's not really new, though. Instead of food, you can buy livestock for a poor family in a third-world country. The family can milk, eat, or breed and sell their livestock. Your donation not only lasts a long time but gives the family the opportunity to become self-sufficient, which I think is much better than any amount of perishable food. Considering the holiday season, this is just something to think about; those interested can google "goat charity." I particularly like oxfamamericaunwrapped dot com. Thank you for your time.