"Do you mind if I stop in?" Sam asked. Dean gave him a faintly surprised look.

"For dinner?" he asked, taking a quick glance at the clock. Sam nodded.

"I want to talk to Bridget," he explained. Dean rolled his eyes. He already knew what his brother wanted to talk to his daughter about. Sam was probably determined to find out how Bridget was feeling about the whole pregnancy situation and just how well she was handling it.

"All right," he agreed. "Hope you're in the mood for burgers." Sam gave a faint grimace at the thought and Dean's lips quirked up in a tiny smile. Same old Sam.

Less than an hour later, Dean turned onto the small suburban street that he and Bridget lived on. The semi-retired hunter looked around the neighborhood. Something seemed wrong to him. The neighborhood seemed too quiet.

An ungodly loud and shrill screech cut through the air and Dean nearly slammed on the brakes at the suddenness of the sound. Sam looked around, still alert from the hunt they just finished.

"What do you think that was?" he asked. Dean shrugged and his eyes narrowed.

"I don't know," he admitted and started to speed up. He was nearly home and he wanted to make sure Bridget was all right.

As Dean pulled into the driveway, his eyes immediately landed on a woman who was waving her hands wildly and shouting. Bridget stood on the front porch, wide-eyed and her lower lip quivering. Dean was out of the Impala as soon as he put it in park, not bothering to turn off the vehicle.

"What's going on?" he demanded. The shouting woman turned at the sound of his voice and Dean noted with some amusement that the entire front of her shirt was wet. His eyes traveled toward the side of the house, where the hose was dripping. He wouldn't be surprised if this woman had been the source of the ungodly scream when she had been sprayed with the house.

"Is this your daughter?" the woman demanded. Dean gave her a wary look but nodded, crossing his arms.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked. The woman scowled at him.

"She's ruining my son's prospects for the future with her absurd claims that she's pregnant with his child." Dean's eyebrows rose at the malice in her tone.

"Not that absurd, if you ask me," he said. The woman's face twisted in anger.

"My son is a good boy. He would never sleep with the neighborhood harlot." Dean's jaw tightened. "She probably just picked a nice boy to try to ruin his life and get some money."

Sam quickly placed a hand on Dean's shoulder to prevent his older brother from physically lashing out at the woman.

"Don't call my daughter a whore!" Dean snapped.

"Well, what else could she be? Only whores get pregnant at sixteen." Sam's grip tightened on Dean's shoulder.

"Leave," he said coolly. "Otherwise I'll report you from trespassing." It was a weak threat but it did the trick. Within minutes, the woman was getting in her car that she had parked across the street, muttering foul names under her breath. Dean turned to Bridget, only to find that his daughter had fled the porch. From inside the house he could hear a door slam. Dean winced at the sound.

Sam gave his brother a cautious look. He didn't want to leave Dean alone in case his brother decided to go after the woman who had dared to verbally assault Bridget but he felt that he should give the father and daughter some privacy.

"I think I saw a place down the road. I'll pick up some burgers and pie," Sam said though he wasn't sure if Dean had heard him or not. The father had begun making his way toward the house as soon as Sam had released his grip on Dean's shoulder.

Dean fidgeted outside Bridget's room awkwardly, unsure of how to handle the situation. He wasn't father material and he knew that. It had never stopped him from trying his best but Dean knew that there was something lacking in his and Bridget's relationship. He wasn't a sensitive person by nature and it made things difficult when it came to connecting on an emotional level. The only people he had ever connected to before Bridget were Sam, Bobby, and Castiel.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Dean knocked on the plain wooden door.

"Bridget?" he called. There were a few seconds of silence before Bridget replied.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?" The words sounded strange coming out of Dean's mouth. The father attempted to open the door but found it locked. He wasn't really surprised.

"I just got called a whore," Bridget's voice sounded watery but slightly irritated. "That woman came to our house and called me a whore because her son accidently knocked me up. Of course I'm not okay."

"Open the door," Dean softly demanded. There was no sound of movement but once again, Dean wasn't surprised. It usually took three or four requests before Bridget would open the door.

"I'm the one that's pregnant," he heard Bridget say behind the door. "But I'm ruining his future. I'm a whore because he suggested that we have sex." As Bridget continued to talk, her voice became more and more bitter. "He didn't do anything wrong because he's a nice boy. I'm the one that screwed up."

Something crashed to the floor. From the sound of it, Dean guessed that Bridget had kicked her desk chair, which had tipped over. He stayed silent, waiting for Bridget to go on. When she did, she did so with a loud, frustrated scream.

"I hate this world! It's so fucking sexist!"

"Open the door," Dean requested again. "It'll be okay. We'll get through this. We've been through a lot worse."

"No, you've been through a lot worse. I just stayed home while you were out saving people from monsters. This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"It could have been worse," Dean said, trying to make the situation a bit lighter. "At least you've never started the apocalypse."

"Not funny," Bridget muttered and something soft hit the wooden door. Probably a pillow, Dean assumed as he sighed.

"I'm just saying there's a lot that could be worse than not being careful," he said. "Besides, there's plenty of people who have been successful despite having children at a young age."

The door swung open to reveal Bridget's frustrated face.

"I was careful," she spat. "It's not my fault the condom broke. We used protection!"

Her face disappeared and the door promptly slammed shut again. At the sound of a throat clearing, Dean turned to find Sam, who held up a bag of burgers and a container of pie.

"Bridget," Sam called, thrusting the food into Dean's hands. "There's dinner. And don't be mad at your father. He's trying." Dean scowled. Yeah, he was trying. All he ever did was try.

It never really worked.