The house was fully engulfed in flames by the time they arrived, gravel churning under the rear wheels of the Impala as Sam slid it into park. He was out of the car and in a dead run before Irene or Agent Prentiss could even get their seatbelts off. The house sat in the middle of an overgrown lot of over an acre, so there was little chance the fire would spread to the nearby houses. That was the least of Sam's worries.
He could see as he approached that the front door was completely impassible, the heat tightening the skin on his face as he circled the conflagration, desperately searching for a point of entry. He heard the shouts before he caught sight of the cellar door; a weak, coughing cry for help. The wood was already brittle and dry, the chain securing the handles long since rusted stiff. Sam leaned over the doors and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Get away from the doors!" He waited a five count and brought his booted foot down on the aged wood as hard as he could. He kicked at it three more times before the wood finally splintered and gave, falling inward to reveal a ragged, dark opening that poured smoke. He reached down and felt hands grab his own.
It was Becky Rosen, shaking and gasping for air, her skin and clothing smeared with soot. "Where's Mal?" Sam demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her roughly. Beck coughed and pointed back toward the cellar door, managing to croak out the word "unconscious."
Sam didn't hesitate. He kicked the opening slightly wider and jumped into the smoky darkness. The heat enveloped him, evaporating the sweat instantly from his skin. He couldn't breathe and his eyes burned, obscuring his vision. He tried to take a breath to yell Mal's name, but only managed to get a double lungful of smoke. He bent double; great, tearing coughs wracking his body. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Then, through the smoke, he saw a familiar green-gold glimmer of light.
It was only a few steps away and when he reached it he found Mal curled up on the dirt floor, her shirt pulled up over her nose. Sam scooped her up in his arms and staggered back towards the cellar door. Agent Prentiss was there when he made it, reaching in to haul Mal to safety before helping him pull himself into the fresh air. With Irene's help, they dragged the two young women away from the house before collapsing into the grass.
"Mallory, baby, can you hear me?" Irene called, patting Mal sharply on the cheek. "Mallory, wake up, please! Come on, baby. Wake up!"
Mal's breaths came in labored gasps, her skin reddened under the layer of grime and soot. Sam knelt beside her, taking her hand in his, and pressed it against his breastbone where the Mark binding them together rested, invisible to the naked eye.
"Mal," he whispered. "Come on. I know you're stronger than this. Don't give up on me now."
Mal cracked one swollen eye open to a silvery-gray slit, turning her head just enough that she could see Sam in her periphery. "Took you long enough," she said hoarsely, her voice barely more than a dry rasp. Sam's shoulders slumped in relief, and he leaned down to press his forehead against hers.
"Don't you ever pull a stunt like this again," he told her, struggling to keep back the threat of tears. She wrinkled her nose and coughed. Irene pulled Mal up and into her arms, rocking back and forth as she wept into her daughter's hair. Sam sat back heavily, propping his elbows on his knees, and tilted his head to take deep, even breaths. He could still feel the adrenaline pounding through his veins. His only thought once he'd seen the house on fire was that he was too late. That he'd sacrificed everything to keep Mal safe only to lose her anyway, and after everything he'd been through and everything he'd lost, he could not handle the idea of losing her, too.
"We should call for an ambulance," Agent Prentiss said after a few moments. He looked over at her and found her kneeling beside Becky, her hand on the younger woman's back. "Even if they don't have burns, the amount of smoke they've inhaled could be dangerous."
"Becky will need to go to the hospital," Sam said. "Mal will probably be okay in a few hours. She heals really fast these days."
Agent Prentiss frowned. "I'd feel better if she was checked out. Especially with the pregnancy."
Becky choked and gasped in a breath. "She really is pregnant?" she asked hoarsely, turning her simpering gaze to Sam.
"Yes," Sam snapped, harsher than the situation perhaps demanded. "She is. And yes, it's mine."
"O-oh," Becky said unevenly while Agent Prentiss gave Sam a questioning look. Sam ignored her for the moment.
"Mal and I are having a kid together, Becky," he all but growled. "And I will do anything to keep them safe. So if I find out you told anyone about the baby…" he trailed off threateningly. Becky recoiled away from him.
"I won't tell anyone," she said quickly.
"Is this really necessary?" Agent Prentiss demanded, glaring at Sam.
"Yes," Sam replied grimly. "Becky has compromised our safety before. I'm not taking any chances with my kid."
"Sam…"
His head whipped around at the sound of his name. Mal leaned against her mother weakly, but reached out towards him with one arm. He leaned forward to take her hand and pull her against his chest, cradling her slender frame as she buried her face against the side of his neck. "Hey, I'm here," he murmured, rubbing her back gently. "I've got you."
She grabbed his shirt with both fists and pressed closer against him. "Please don't leave me again," she whispered, her breath hot against his skin. "Please. I-I don't want to be alone again."
He knew he shouldn't make promises he couldn't keep, but the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I'm not leaving you."
She sniffled and nodded, her grip on him relaxing slightly. Sam pressed a kiss to her sweaty hair and looked up in time to catch the heart-broken expression on Irene Grave's face before she tucked it away behind a neutral mask. "We should probably leave," she said flatly. "Before the authorities arrive."
xXx
Agent Prentiss ended up calling for an ambulance to take Becky to the hospital, choosing to ride along with the young woman while Sam drove Irene and Mal back to Irene's penthouse apartment. Mal was in no shape to travel for any length of time, and the first thing she'd asked for once she'd started to feel stronger was a shower. Irene had her slowly drink a bottle of water during the drive, and another glass once they arrived. Only then did she allow Sam to help Mal to her ensuite bathroom. Irene had initially wanted to help her get cleaned up, but Mal had demanded Sam's assistance.
When they got to the bathroom, Sam discovered why. He carefully pulled Mal's shirt over her head, tossing it in a corner of the bathroom for later disposal. His eyes widened at the sight of her bare torso. "What the fuck, Mal?" He demanded. She was covered from neck to waist in warding spells, painted on with blood and ink and oil. Most of them he didn't even recognize, though they looked ancient.
Mal picked at a ward on her chest, blood flaking under her fingernails. "Needed to make sure Cas wouldn't find me and drag me back here," she explained wearily. She dropped her hand and looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "I'm seeing now that it was a bad idea."
"Yeah, no shit," Sam muttered under his breath. "Do you-uh- do you want me to help with the rest of your clothes?"
Mal nodded wordlessly, and he undressed her as gently as he could. He started the shower, setting the temperature to lukewarm, but when she tried to stand from her seat on the toilet, he had to catch her before she collapsed. He ended up in the shower with her, scrubbing at the wards with a washcloth until her skin was once more clear. She leaned against him while he shampooed her hair and he kept a tight rein on his thoughts. While their relationship had become more intimate before Mal had returned to DC with her mother, they hadn't parted on the best of terms. Sam wasn't about to make assumptions on where that left them just because Mal hadn't torn into him for leaving her behind yet.
"Your hair looks nice," he said, curling a short strand around his fingers. It was growing in more silvery than it had been before the King of Hell had shaved it down.
Mal huffed a soundless chuckle. "Thanks. I like not looking like Ripley in Alien 3."
"I dunno," Sam teased gently. "Sigourney Weaver was still pretty hot."
"Didn't think you liked tall women."
"I don't."
Sam turned off the water and grabbed a couple of clean towels before helping Mal to sit back on the toilet. He knelt in front of her to help her dry her hair and froze, his gaze fixed on her midsection.
"Uh, Sam?" Mal asked, glancing down to see what had caught his attention. The scars that raked across her stomach were old and familiar, so it couldn't be those. "What-what's wrong?"
Sam cleared his throat, his eyes darting back up to meet hers. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Nothing," he said again when he could see she wasn't convinced. "It's just… you're showing."
Mal looked down again, brow furrowing. She'd always been on the slender side and, at only five foot two, definitely classified as "petite." She was also slumped forward, but it did nothing to hide the distinctive and unmistakable swell of her belly.
"Oh," she said weakly. "I guess I am."
"Can I-" Sam cut himself off before he could finish the question, unsure how she would have received it. But she still nodded with a tiny smile.
"Yeah. Go ahead."
He carefully pressed his palm to her stomach, fingers spread. He could feel the taut roundness under his hand, but no movement. It was far too early for that. Warmth seemed to fill his chest nonetheless, his eyes wide with wonder when he met Mal's gaze again.
"Fourteen weeks," she told him. "She's about the size of an orange. If I remember correctly, she'll be able to start making facial expressions around now."
He couldn't find words for a long moment. "We're really having a baby, aren't we?"
"Yeah, we are."
"It just… didn't feel real before," Sam went on. "I knew you were pregnant, but I… I couldn't believe it was happening."
She leaned forward to press her forehead against his. "It's happening," she assured him. "We're having a little girl. You and me. We're gonna be parents."
And that was a whole 50-gallon drum of worms that Sam really did not want to get into at the moment. He'd been raised by a single father and his older brother with no real home, structure, or stability. He'd been trained to hunt monsters from the moment he could walk and he hadn't known a moment's peace since. He'd been used as a pawn by both Heaven and Hell, and their work to save the world was far from over. He had no idea what kind of father he was going to turn out to be, and he wasn't really looking forward to finding out.
"It's going to be okay," Mal whispered. The Mark allowed her to read his emotions and she no doubt sensed his turmoil. "We're gonna figure it out."
"I know," he whispered back. "But you should probably get some sleep. Healing always takes a lot out of you."
She let him help her dry off and dress in pajamas before she crawled into bed. He'd left his own duffel bag in the Impala, so he was just in his boxer briefs and a tshirt Mal had pulled from the back of her dresser that fit him surprisingly well. "Should I ask?" he said, staring down at the college logo on the front of the shirt.
Mal shrugged. "I like tall guys," she said evasively. He crawled into the bed next to her, letting her snuggle into his side.
"Should I be worried?" he asked. She gave him a narrow-eyed look.
"About other guys? Definitely not."
Sam snorted and shook his head. "No, I mean you haven't tried to bite my head off yet. Are you just gathering strength?"
She frowned and heaved a deep sigh. "I don't really see the point."
"The point?" he echoed.
"Yeah. We both fucked up. But we're alive, you're here, and we're going to go back home together. Why bother getting mad?"
"Home?" Sam questioned, his voice wistful despite himself. The warm feeling in his chest twinged.
She pressed her face against his shoulder and nodded. "Home. Singer Salvage. Sioux Falls. Home, Sam."
He blinked back the threat of tears. "Yeah," he agreed. "Home."
xXx
The raucous sound of an electric guitar riff tore through the pre-dawn silence, dragging Mal unwillingly back into consciousness. She recognized the ringtone. "I'm gonna fucking kill him," she growled, trying to bury her face deeper into Sam's shoulder.
"Kill who?" he asked blearily, lifting his head slightly.
"Your brother," Mal snarled, extending a hand out from under the blanket and gesturing sharply. Sam's cell phone thumped into her palm from whenever he'd forgotten it. She thumbed the answer button. "What?"
There was a moment of silence on the other line. "Nice to hear from you, too, Mal," Dean said dryly. "I'm guessing Sammie is somewhere in the vicinity?"
"Speak quickly and your death will be painless," Mal groaned into the phone.
"Oooo-kay. Guessing it was a rough night. Where are you two lovebirds?"
"Still in DC," Sam replied, raising his voice slightly. Mal shoved the phone at him without opening her eyes. He took it from her hand. "Hey, sorry. Our return trip got a little derailed. Mal needed a full night's sleep to recover from getting trapped in a burning building."
Unfortunately for Mal, her senses had been greatly heightened when she'd inherited the Grace of her erstwhile angel, and she could still quite easily hear Dean's voice.
"What burning building?" the older Winchester demanded sharply. "Goddammit, Sam. I leave you guys alone for one day and you're already trying to get yourselves killed. Again!"
"In my defense, I was not trapped in the burning building. I pulled Mal out of the burning building," Sam replied, sounding more awake than he had any right to be.
There was a faint groan from Dean. "Dare I ask why she was trapped in a burning building in the first place?"
"All you need to know is that Becky Rosen was involved," Sam said.
"Fuck me. Yeah, that explains a lot. Are you hitting the road today, or does Mal need more time to recover?"
Sam poked Mal in the ribs with the arm hand she was laying on. "No, we can leave today," she mumbled. Sam relayed her answer to his brother.
"We're back at Bobby's," Dean told them. "Cas was kind enough to give us a lift since you commandeered the Impala."
"What was I supposed to do?" Sam retorted. "Let Mal walk?"
"Whatever. Let me know when you leave so we can keep an eye out for you."
"Yeah, will do." Sam stretched past Mal to set the phone on her nightstand. "You going back to sleep?"
"Yes," Mal said defiantly. She felt Sam shift underneath her, and then he pressed a gentle, almost hesitant kiss to her temple. She opened her eyes. Very little light from the street outside filtered through her blackout curtains, but she didn't need any help to make out his features in the dark. She studied the long, straight slope of his nose, the broad line of his forehead, his high cheekbones and strong jaw. She knew it almost better than she knew her own.
It hadn't been a conscious decision to start a relationship with him. She couldn't even pinpoint the moment she'd found herself falling in love with him. They had yet to define the level of commitment they were asking each other for. All she was really sure of was that they'd been a we since the moment they'd found out she was pregnant, even if the baby wasn't technically his.
"I can feel you staring," Sam said, breaking into her thoughts. Unlike her, he did not have the benefit of being able to see in full darkness, but his instincts had been honed razor sharp by years of dangerous living. "What is it?"
The question popped out into the open without her control. "We're together, aren't we?"
He tightened his hold around her waist, drawing her closer against him. "Yes?" he replied, sounding uncertain. "I mean… I assumed we were?"
"So did I," she assured him hurriedly. "I just… I don't think we ever talked about being in a relationship?"
Sam laughed softly. "I don't think we did. Everything since we got out of Hell has been…"
"A lot," she finished for him. She reached up and brushed her fingers against his jaw. He turned toward her hand and kissed her fingertips. "I just didn't want to ask more from you than you were willing to give."
"Mal. I owe you everything. You could never ask for too much."
"You don't owe me a relationship," she countered. "You don't owe me co-parenting my child."
He was quiet for a long time, his blue-hazel eyes trying to make out her expression in the dark. "Where is this coming from? Is it…is it because we made you come back to DC?"
"No…" Mal replied slowly. "I mean, maybe a little?"
Sam sighed and rolled toward her, his hand skating up her back until he could thread his fingers through her hair. "It wasn't right," he said at length. "Forcing you to leave. I shouldn't have agreed to it. I just wanted to keep you safe… keep both of you safe. But I don't think safe really exists anymore."
"I don't think so, either," Mal agreed.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I want-I need you close. I need to be able to see you, to make sure you're okay. When I saw the fire… I thought… I can't lose you, Mal."
The tangled knot of emotion she'd been carrying around in the Mark finally began to ease. "I can't lose you," she told him.
"Then I guess that settles it. We're stuck with each other."
Mal smiled. "I can live with that." She leaned up and kissed him, brief and chaste, but it was enough that she felt warmth bloom from his side of the Mark.
"I think I can, too," he said.