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Supernatural Crack Fanfiction and Fanart

Sam's Baby Daddy, [NC-17] Gabriel/Sam; Dean/Cas



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Sam's Baby Daddy, [NC-17] Gabriel/Sam; Dean/Cas

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Participant Name: paper_legends
Title: Sam’s Baby Daddy
Type of Fanwork: Slash Fanfic
Pairings (if any): Gabriel/Sam; Dean/Cas
Rating: NC-17
Length: 5,500 words
Summary of Prompt: morganoconner sponsored me at pledge_a_thon and asked for "Some sort of pagan ritual effects Gabriel because of how long he’s been playing the Trickster; it involves some sort of ritual impregnation of Sam; no sad endings; sap wanted."
Additional notes: I’m afraid I couldn’t write straight-up, serious m-preg (my first time ever writing m-preg, ya see), so, it turned into crack-fic, but, I’m hoping there’s enough sap and a great happy ending to make my sponsor smile!
Many thanks to englilshmajor and lizajaneok for the beta!



So, it was totally not Sam’s fault. Mostly.

See, it happened like this: the Apocalypse ended up being pretty anticlimactic, what with neither brother agreeing to become a meat-suit for Michael or Lucifer—who pretty much met up on the battlefield in their true forms, stared longingly into each other’s eyes (or what passed for eyes in their true forms), and decided to hug it out.

They declared a truce for a good thousand years or so, with promises that after they’d had a time-out to think stuff over, Michael and Lucifer would look for vessels out of Winchester descendants and slug it out then.


And then everyone went back to their respective corners to cool off.

So it was pretty much a lot of drama over nothing, but that was totally okay with the Winchester boys, who were, frankly, really tired.

Sam and Dean continued to hunt the few stray demons and ghosts that were still running around, because, c’mon, this isn’t a fairytale. But for the most part, life was a bit more laid back. Everyone was greatly relieved Sam wasn’t gonna go all Dark Side. Castiel’s powers continued to fade, but Dean was teaching him to hunt, and he seemed eager to adjust to becoming human, especially if it meant spending more time with Dean.

Gabriel continued to pop in from time to time and play pranks on Dean or flirt with Sam. Eventually, his flirting got a little bit more serious, and the two of them started “going steady,” as Dean liked to put it.

Actually, Dean didn’t like to talk about it at all. Whenever Gabriel appeared and started making “sexy eyes” at Sam, Dean would grab Castiel by the arm and haul him off to a bar or target practice or for pie or whatever lame excuse Dean could find to not be in the same room with his little brother and the Archangel who was schtupping him.

Which was fine with Sam, who was surprised to find how much he enjoyed Gabriel’s… attention. Okay, fine, it was schtupping. And he liked it.

Plus, Sam wanted to be a good boyfriend. Or lover. Or fuck-buddy. Schtuppee. Whatever he was to the Archangel, he wanted to be good at it. Sam had always been an over-achiever.

Which is why it wasn’t really his fault. Mostly.

Okay, so, it was early April, right? The skies were blue and the clouds were white and the sun was shining during the day, so, things were good. Spring had sprung. Easter was coming up. And that’s when Sam got The Idea.

He’d decided to make Gabriel an Easter basket. No big whoop, just a nice wicker basket, some fake grass, a few dyed eggs, and a shit-ton of candy—jelly beans and chocolate bunnies and Peeps (can’t forget the Peeps)—ya know, just… something that normal people had every year, a classic tradition, a little gift basket full of goodies he knew Gabriel would like, that was all.

He did not expect the Easter basket to get him knocked up.

Sure, Gabriel appeared in the hotel room and took one look at the basket and then his eyes got all dark and smolder-y and his voice did that deep, gravely thing that made Sam’s cock sit up and take notice… and he’d wasted no time stalking over to Sam, throwing him on the bed, and pouncing (didn’t even stop to sample the chocolate, so, you know this was serious).

“Oh, God! My eyes!” Dean cried, covering his face with one hand and grabbing for Castiel with the other.

The angel looked curiously at his brother and Sam, who were making out on the motel bed like making out was about to go out of style—but he let Dean drag him out of the room to go anywhere that wasn’t another Den of Iniquity, because that never ended well.

So Sam and Gabriel had plenty of time for a good roll in the hay. Or seven. Actually, Sam was really sore afterward, because—wow. Who knew Gabriel had an Easter kink? But he did, apparently.

“Fertility ritual,” Gabriel explained, panting into Sam’s ear while he fucked Sam over the motel dresser.

“Merg…uh,” Sam replied, his cheek smooshed up against the mirror while Gabriel pounded into him.

All in all, Sam just figured Gabriel really appreciated The Idea and was making a joke about the gesture getting him all hot and bothered.

Sam should have known better.

But it still wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.



No, Sam remained clueless for a few weeks, which wasn’t like him—he was usually pretty quick on the uptake—but things were going really well, there’d been all that sunshine and stuff, and plus he’d been getting schtupped regularly (Gabriel said he had a “glow” about him that made him irresistible), so, his head was other places. Mostly in his pants.

His first tingling of misgivings came when he got up one morning and rushed into the bathroom to puke his guts out.

Sam had never been a fan of vomiting—it was typically more of Dean’s thing, the results of one too many drinks the night before. But there he was, dry-heaving, again.

This was, like, the fourth day in a row of waking up feeling like he’d been riding a Tilt-a-Whirl in his sleep. It sucked. And Dean was far from helpful. Because Sam wasn’t exhibiting any other signs of illness, his brother hadn’t been particularly worried, instead making it a point to talk about greasy foods and gag reflexes whenever he caught Sam coming out of the bathroom, looking a little green.

On the fifth day, Dean joked, “Dude, what the hell? You got morning sickness?”

And that’s when it clicked.

All the color drained from Sam’s face and he very slowly sank down into the motel chair and didn’t say anything.

Dean’s smile morphed into a blank stare, then a frown, then something like pure horror and disgust, followed by sheer panic. “No fucking way.”

“I… I…” Sam stuttered. “I…”

That was pretty much all Sam could say for a while. Dean called Cas, who apparated into the room and gave Sam a quick once-over, confirming with his heavenly x-ray vision that Sam was indeed In The Family Way.

“How the fuck could this happen?” Dean demanded. “Is it some sort of spell? Are witches fucking with us? Man, I hate witches!”

“You haven’t met any witches in a very long time, Dean,” Cas reminded him.

“I…” Sam said in a totally not helpful way.

Dean turned on him. “It’s your Trickster boyfriend, that’s what it is. I’ll bet you anything this is some sick joke. He’s always trying to prank us. Well, this time it is not funny!”

“Yes, a joke,” Sam said, finally finding coherency after a good twenty minutes. “It’s just a joke.” He laughed—a little hysterically, but no one was gonna judge him at the moment.

“Call your baby daddy, Sammy—get his angelic ass down here to fix this!”


“Oh, don’t start that again.” Dean huffed. “What, didn’t he give you his number?”

Sam flailed. “He usually just shows up pretty regularly, Dean!”

“This is unbelievable. He knocks you up, and you can’t even get in touch with him? Son of a bitch!”

“Dean,” Cas said gently, “perhaps I can be of assistance. I will attempt to locate him and bring him upon my return.”

Dean pointed at him. “Yes, see? Yes. That. Do that. That’s a responsible angel for you. Not a dick. If you’re going to go around having babies with anyone, it should be with someone like that.”

Castiel beamed. Well, not really. He sorta smiled a bit. But, for Castiel, that was beaming. “Thank you, Dean.”

“You want me to make babies with Castiel?” Sam asked sarcastically, sporting his best bitch-face to date.

“No! I don’t want you making babies with anyone! But especially not that Trickster dick!”

“You don’t really know anything about him, Dean! You barely even talk to him when he shows up!”

And then Sam and Dean had… a conversation… at the top of their voices, while Castiel located Gabriel.

When Cas returned, it was with a very shell-shocked Archangel. “Um… Sam?”

“Gabriel,” Sam breathed out. “Thank God. Er, well… Anyway… Um, look—I’m sort of pregnant. And… well… that’s really upsetting, because I don’t have a uterus. So, can you please tell me this is all a joke?”

But Gabriel wasn’t really paying attention. He was staring at Sam’s belly. Well, his pelvic region. Something a bit like awe made his mouth hang slack.

“Sam. You’re pregnant!”

“Oh for the love of Christ!” Dean swore.

“Dean,” Castiel murmured, then turned to Gabriel. “I did try to tell you this, brother.”

“There’s a baby in there, Sam,” Gabriel said, finally looking into Sam’s eyes.

Sam nodded. “Uh huh. Yeah. And, um, there really shouldn’t be. Are you saying you didn’t have anything to do with this?”

Gabriel crossed the room. “I most certainly did! That is my bun in your oven, nobody else’s!”

“Seriously?” Dean said, turning bright red. “Seriously, are we seriously doing this? I mean for Chri… for goodness sake, Sam!”

Sam shrugged. “What do you want me to do? I don’t even know how this happened.”

“The Easter basket…” Gabriel said, kneeling down to lovingly rub his hand over Sam’s belly. “I guess it… triggered some feelings… maybe some powers… from back when I was a Trickster.”

“You think?” Dean started pacing. “Okay, so, this isn’t a joke. That’s just great. Awesome. But what are we gonna do about it?”

“I…” Sam just shook his head. “I…”

“Maybe you should stop yelling at Sam,” Cas suggested. “He seems a little overwhelmed.”

“Maybe Gabriel should take some responsibility,” Dean fired back.

“Me? What do you expect me to do?” Gabriel blinked up at Dean.

“Um,” Dean waved his hand at Sam’s belly, “fix it? Make it… go away?”

Castiel stiffened.

Sam’s hands came up around his belly.

Gabriel looked murderous. “You want me to make my baby ‘go away’?”

“What the hell else can you do, dude? Sam’s a boy. He doesn’t have a vagina! He can’t give birth to your little love-child! Hell, what’s he supposed to do, hole up somewhere for nine months, hoping folks don’t notice his baby bump, and then, what… poop your brat out his butt, or something? Yes! Yes, I want you to make it go away!”

That’s when the windows started rattling and dark clouds blotted out the sun. “I will do no such thing,” Gabriel whispered. “This is nothing short of a miracle. You can’t possibly ask me to kill my own fledgling—”

“‘Fledgling’?!” Dean was well and truly worked up by now. “Like Sam isn’t enough of a big freak, now he’s gonna be incubator to your ‘fledgling’! And this is you we’re talking about! For all we know, the baby could have wings, or horns, or tentacles, or something! It could have freaky deaky powers! It could rip a tear in the space-time continuum; we just don’t know! It isn’t safe! You have to undo it!”

“If you think—” Gabriel started.

“I think,” Castiel interrupted, “that it is Sam’s decision.”

Everyone looked at Sam.

Sam ran into the bathroom to throw up again.



So, after a lot of talking (very loud, very rapid talking) between Sam and Gabriel, followed by some quiet alone-time, Sam decided to keep the baby. It wasn’t like he had it in him to destroy an innocent child, especially when it was something that made Gabriel look so happy and hopeful. Plus, he was a little curious to see what the hell a human-angel hybrid fledgling was like, anyway. And, frankly, given how fucked up their lives had been up until that point, the notion of a man being pregnant with an angel’s baby wasn’t any stranger than killer clowns or body swapping or wishing wells turning teddy bears into porn-watching alcoholics.

So Sam was keeping the baby. And Dean was dealing with it. By not actually dealing with it.

Dean spent a lot of time cleaning his knives and guns (especially if Gabriel was ever in the room) and steadfastly not talking about it. It was getting harder and harder to pretend everything was normal, however, because Sam was the victim of severe mood swings.

One minute, he’d be his normal Sam-self, and the next he’d be screaming at Dean to drive more carefully, or to turn the music down and play the classical station because that was better for the baby’s development, or to stop snoring so much because he needed sleep because being a pregnant man was tiring.

Dean solved this problem by insisting they get their own rooms. Sam found that acceptable, since it meant that he and Gabriel could be alone to make sexy eyes at one another. Which happened a lot, nowadays.

For as much as Sam was moody, he was also horny. Very horny.

Gabriel didn’t seem to mind.

Gabriel didn’t mind when Sam blew him in the shower.

Gabriel didn’t mind when Sam threw him on the floor and rode him like he was a prize bull.

Gabriel didn’t mind when Sam bent him over and fucked him on the warm hood of the Impala. (Dean minded when he found out later, but saying so would mean talking about it, and that was something Dean just did not do these days. So instead he just took his baby in for a nice, expensive hand-wash and resolutely did not look at Sam for almost a week, after.)

No, Gabriel didn’t mind Sam’s newfound libido.

The mood swings, however…

One time, Gabriel tried to steal a fry off of Sam’s plate, and Sam stabbed his hand with a fork. Hard. There was absolutely no remorse in Sam’s eyes when he lifted the fork up and ate the fry from Gabriel’s limp hand.

After that, Sam dragged Gabriel to the men’s room, pushed him to his knees, and made him suck Sam’s cock.

Gabriel forgave him, because the fork hadn’t really hurt, and as for blow jobs… he didn’t really mind.

Dean minded, but his solution to this involved taking stiff drinks from the perpetually full flask of whiskey he kept hidden in his coat pocket.



After a long conversation with Sam in which Castiel had many questions about human pregnancy and child-rearing techniques, the angel bought a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. He read it cover to cover. Three times.

Dean walked into their room one day to find Castiel lying on the bed with the book in one hand and his other hand resting on his belly.

He’d tucked a pillow under his shirt, and he was rubbing soothing circles over it, like he’d often seen Sam do.

Dean took one look at this, held up a hand, turned right around, and went back out.



Five months in, Sam started eating everything in sight. It reminded them all a little bit of when Famine had come to town, but no one said anything, because Sam still had impeccable aim with a fork.

Gone were the days of salads and lattes; Sam now craved the most bizarre shit imaginable. He put mustard on pudding. He sprinkled paprika on his spaghetti. He ate ice cream almost every day.

“Dude, seriously? More ice cream? You had some, like, an hour ago.” Secretly, Dean was just glad Sam wasn’t craving demon blood.

“The baby wants Haagen Dazs.” Sam shrugged, like, “Kids, what are ya gonna do?”

Dean was going to drop it, because, for once, Sam wasn’t threatening to unsex them all with dining utensils, but then Castiel had to go and say, “Is that the very best nutrition you could give your baby?”

Glowering, Sam muttered, “It’s the very best ice cream I can give my baby.”

And Dean unthinkingly chimed in with, “Are you sure the baby isn’t really a tapeworm?”

Then everyone held their breath, waiting for the impending explosion.

But it was so much worse than they’d ever imagined.

Sam’s eyes got huge. Huge and wet. They were almost wobbling, like in those strange anime cartoons from Japan. Sam just looked at Dean like Dean had mutilated his favorite puppy. In a small voice, he asked, “Are you calling me fat?”

Dean blinked.

Castiel cocked his head to the side.

Gabriel swallowed. “No, sweetheart. He wasn’t calling you—”

“He called our baby a tapeworm!” Sam wailed. “A parasite!”

“I was just kidding, Sam,” Dean said. “You’re the prettiest girl at the dance, okay? You are not fat. You’ll get fat if you keep eating that much ice cream, though. That can’t be good for the baby…”

Clutching his belly, Sam waddled away from everyone and moaned. “Are you saying I’ll make a horrible mother? Are you calling me a bad mom?!”

Dean felt like a deer in headlights. He reacted on instinct, which, when confronted, always made him go on the offensive. “No. Do you have to be such a drama queen, Samantha? Besides, you’re still a dude, right? You’re not anything’s mom!”

“Oh my God, Dean, do you ever think before you speak?!” Sam started flapping his arms, which made him look like a great big bird. A great big pregnant bird. “I am not getting into a debate with you about gender norms! I just want some damned ice cream!”

Then Sam burst into tears.

With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel produced eleven cartons of Haagen Dazs—one of each of Sam’s favorite flavors.

Somewhat pacified, Sam sniffled a little and dug into the tub of chocolate. But a few bites later, he stopped and hurled the spoon at Gabriel’s head. “I can’t even wear normal jeans anymore! You did this! You made me fat!’

Sam locked himself in the bathroom and started sobbing again. They could tell because his wails echoed off the tiles.



By the end of the sixth month, Sam had mellowed out a little bit. He was too big to hunt (and besides, Gabriel and Dean had both freaked out at the idea of Sam or the baby getting hurt on a mission), so he mostly stayed behind at the hotel and did research. Dean had taken to calling him the Watchtower. He put up with it mostly because he didn’t like going out in public much anymore, but he felt restless.

In all honesty, Sam was getting pretty big. Granted, Sam was already a Sasquatch, but now he was definitely showing. No one liked to bring it up (because Sam would almost definitely burst into tears about it, then cry about how he couldn’t stop crying), but it was becoming an issue.

It was decided that he’d have to enter into something like confinement until the baby was born.

Initially, they’d thought to take Sam to Bobby’s, but when they’d called Bobby with the news, the older hunter had said they were all idjits and hung up.

Sam said he didn’t want the baby growing up in a junkyard or living a hunter’s life anyway, but it was obvious he’d been hurt. And now he was scared, because they didn’t know where to go to keep him and the baby safely out of sight.

That’s when Gabriel did something awesome. With a snap of his fingers, he took Sam, Dean, and Castiel to a little cottage on top of a high hill in a wooded glen that overlooked a lake. No, seriously—it was all very picturesque, even if it was in the middle-of-nowhere, Kentucky.

The two-story home was whitewashed and had antique shutters that had been painted the same blue that matched the morning glories planted in flowerbeds outside. The wrap-around porch had a two-seater swing and lots of potted ferns on it. Green ivy grew up the westward wall.

Inside, the cottage was decorated with traditional country furnishings. There was a fireplace. And a breakfast nook. The kitchen had copper pots and pans hanging over the island. The fridge was fully stocked. The bedroom had a gorgeous (and sturdy—thankfully sturdy) four-poster bed with a hand-sewn quilt on it. There was even a den that served as a study for Sam; the walls were actually shelves that had been lined with enough books on enough geeky subjects to keep Sam occupied during his confinement.

“What is all this?” Dean asked.

“It’s perfect,” Sam said. He turned to Gabriel and melted—this time, with happy tears.

Gabriel put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and kissed his forehead. “It’s warded, too. For everything. Nowhere on Earth is safer.”

“You must have been working on this place for a long time,” Castiel said.

The Archangel nodded, gently resting a hand over Sam’s belly. “Ever since I got the news.” He looked up at Sam. “But if you want any changes, that shouldn’t be any trouble. The hard part was consecrating the ground and finding the right mojo to shield it from the outside world… Repainting the walls or changing up the carpet shouldn’t be a bother.”

“It’s perfect,” Sam repeated. He kissed Gabriel softly.

Dean cleared his throat. He looked… relaxed, actually. The thought of keeping Sam and the baby safe had been making him extra bitchy, but now, he actually slapped Gabriel on the back and said, “Well, knowing you two, you’ll want to christen the house, and me and Cas have got some training to do…”

Castiel frowned. “I thought you said we’d be going to see Clash of the Titans at the drive-in tonight?”

“Ahem, yeah. That’s part of your training. Ya know, research. So… come on, Cas.” Dean made his way toward the door. “Oh, but how do we get back here, if it’s shielded?”

Gabriel pointed at the back door. “You just say 'bal-ziz-ras'* and whatever door you walk through next will lead to this one.”

Dean blinked. “Dude, that’s frickin’ sweet.”

“I know, right?” Gabriel agreed enthusiastically.

Sam nodded, but his eyes never left Gabriel; he was already unbuttoning Gabriel’s shirt, having clearly forgotten about Dean and Castiel, simply eager to thank Gabriel for their new home.



Now that Sam was taken care of and Gabriel was apparently on board with his role as an attentive father-to-be, Dean and Cas went on hunts by themselves. Dean would call Sam every few days to check in, because he hadn’t given up on being the older brother even if he had freaked out for a few months back there.

But Sam was always fine; he sounded pretty happy, giving Dean an update on the baby kicking, or the latest book he’d read, or how the garden that Gabriel had decided to grow the old-fashioned way was coming along.

Life was good. Dean and Cas saved people, hunted things. Wherever the cases took them, they ate bacon cheeseburgers and went to the drive-in a lot. It became their ritual after a successful mission.

It, of course, had nothing to do with the way the angel would schooch close to him during the good parts of the movies, and then end up resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.

It also had nothing to do with the way Dean would rub his cheek against Cas’ soft hair.

It may have had something to do with the way Dean finally got up the nerve to kiss Castiel.

And kiss him.

And kiss him.

It definitely had something to do with the way they’d make out all hot and heavy in the backseat, movie forgotten, Dean getting drunk on Castiel’s breathy moans.

Eventually, they gave up on movies altogether, and just had really awesome, sweaty sex in their motel room.



Sam was restless by winter. His body ached all the time. He couldn’t find a comfy position to sleep in anymore, since sleeping on his tummy wasn’t an option. He was as big as a house, but Gabriel didn’t seem to mind—said he’d found it sexy, even—so Sam stopped obsessing about it, for the most part.

Gabriel did what he could—he massaged Sam’s lower back and drew him hot bubble baths and made sure soothing music filled the house whenever possible.

But mostly Sam was just ready for this baby to come out, already.

“Can you see it? Is it a boy or a girl?”

Gabriel shook his head and kissed Sam softly, drawing their covers more snuggly around them. “I thought we agreed it should be a surprise?”

Sam sighed. “I know. I just want it to come out so I can meet it already.”

Gently, Gabriel ran the back of his knuckles across Sam’s extended belly. “I dunno. I kinda like it. It’s safe in there. All tucked away from the world…”

Smiling, Sam fought back a yawn. “Can’t hide forever. Plus, you made us a safe place to raise it, for a while at least. I’m not worried about that.”

Gabriel nodded. “I am. I’ve never had anything so precious before…”

Sam kissed him and tucked his head under Gabriel’s chin. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.



Christmas wasn’t at Bobby’s that year, but at the cottage instead. Gabriel did some weird magical thing that created two guest bedrooms—one for Bobby, and one for Dean and Cas.

“You guys do realize you’re really obvious about it, right?” Gabriel had said when Dean noted there was only one bed in his and Cas' room.

Castiel blushed and Dean gaped. Sam just snickered, and Bobby decided that was a good time to get into the eggnog.

Since no one made a big deal of it beyond that, however, Dean loosened up enough to wrap his arm around Castiel’s waist by the time they’d sat down in front of the tree to unwrap gifts.

Sam gave Dean a giftcard to Pep Boys for the Impala’s next tune up; Dean gave Sam a giftcard to Babies R Us, which was supposed to be from him and Castiel.

“So, Gabe… You’re not gonna go all crazy over the Yule log and decide Sam should be having twins, right?” Dean joked.

“Bite your tongue, boy,” Bobby muttered, but Sam just laughed and shook his head.

Gabriel ignored them all in favor of tearing through his wrapping paper to get at his gifts. Before Sam, all the gifts he’d ever received were offerings that had come with strings attached—a prayer for vengeance or a request of some sort. But now, he had a family, and they knew exactly what he liked—candy.

Mountains of candy.

Gabriel opened package after package of Godiva, Lindt, Cadbury, and Hershey goodness. “Aw, you guys! You know me so well!”

Gabriel had given Castiel an online subscription to Encyclopedia Britannica and Dean a year’s subscription to Busty Asian Beauties—which Castiel insisted he magically change into Hunters Monthly, and Dean was so whipped, he didn’t even mind.

Cas gave Dean a portable DVD player, so they could watch movies while they were on the road. For some reason, this made Dean blush.

Dean surprised everyone by giving Castiel a silver ring that matched his own. Castiel didn’t say anything other than a quiet “thank you,” but he seemed really moved by it.

Bobby got a bunch of rare, obscure books and very fine liquor.

The best gift came from Bobby, though—he’d hand-carved a crib and painted it white. When Sam saw it, his eyes watered, but he manfully fought back his tears and declared it the best Christmas ever.

Bobby did a poor job of hiding the pride in his work. “I know Dean already got you one from the store, but… now you have a back up, too, so…”

“The one Dean got us doubles as a playpen. This one will be the upstairs bed,” Sam hurried to reassure him.

After cleaning up the wrapping paper, they all went upstairs to place the crib in the nursery… Sam was pointing to where he wanted Gabriel to put the crib when he doubled over with a groan and went into labor.

Labor, it turned out, involved neither magically growing a vagina nor pooping the baby out of his butt.

Instead, a bright light whited-out the entire room for several minutes, so intense that Bobby and Dean had to shield their eyes and Castiel and Gabriel blinked a few times.

Sam called once for Gabriel, then everything went silent.

By the time the light had faded, Sam was on the floor, holding a very wet and disgruntled-looking newborn, who promptly threw her head back and wailed.

They all laughed at that.

“Kid’s got your lungs, Sammy,” Dean said, ridiculously relieved to see that his brother and the baby were okay, if slightly slimy.

Gabriel snapped his fingers and took care of that in an instant, then knelt down and peered at his little girl from over-top Sam’s shoulder. “Hello, beautiful,” he murmured.

“Gabriel…” Sam breathed, leaning back to rest against the Archangel’s chest.

“How you feeling, Sam?” Bobby asked.

“Good. Tired…” Sam’s eyes were drooping, but he wouldn’t stop looking at his daughter. “I can’t believe she’s really here. I can’t believe we made this…”

Gabriel helped Sam up and frog-walked them to their bedroom; everyone followed, because, let’s face it—there was a newborn fledgling in the house that had come out of a human male hunter. Privacy be damned.

After tucking a blanket over Sam, Gabriel swooped up his kid and held her close. “Who’s my baby? Who’s my baby girl? Who’s the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world? You are! Yes, you are!”

Castiel smiled at this and took Dean’s hand.

“Be careful now; don’t drop her!” Bobby said gruffly, stubbornly not tearing up in any way, shape, or form.

“Give her back, now,” Sam said.

But Gabriel wasn’t really listening. The baby was making chortling, cooing noises, and Gabriel was staring at her like she was a genius who had just discovered the cure for cancer or something.

“Are you singing? Are you singing for me, baby girl? You’re so beautiful! Yes, you are! Damn, Sammy—we make beautiful kids.”

“Yes, we do,” Sam agreed. “You can carry the next one. Now bring her here.”

“Next one?” Dean squeaked.

“I just can’t put her down yet,” Gabriel said, ignoring Dean. “She’s too pretty to put down, isn’t she? Isn’t she? Oh, yes she is! She just wants her poppa to hold her all the time, doesn’t she?”

The baby gurgled some more, and Gabriel was in ecstasies.

“Cas,” Sam whined, “make your brother give me back my baby.”

“Gabriel…” Castiel said, coming over to peer at the newborn. He held up a finger to the child’s forehead and whispered a prayer, then said, “I believe Samuel would like to hold her again…”

Blinking at this news, Gabriel walked the baby back over to the bed and gave her to Sam. “She’s gonna need stuff,” he said, like Dean and Cas hadn’t been “nesting” the last few months by bringing them every baby supply they could find from every Wal-Mart they’d passed while hunting.

Sam peered at Gabriel. “You aren’t going to put up more wards, are you?” He looked at Dean and Castiel. “He’s been reinforcing wards all this week.”

“No, I wasn’t talking about that… but that is a good idea. Can’t be too careful.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam said, “I think we have everything…”

“I think she needs more toys. And a mobile to match her new crib—one that plays music. And a pony… Maybe I’ll make her a unicorn,” Gabriel said excitedly.

“Oh dear.” Castiel and Dean exchanged a knowing glance. They’d suspected for a while that Gabriel was going to be one of those fathers.

“Well, I’m not knocking unicorns, but… she could maybe use a name?” Dean gently urged.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, pulling a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. “I’ve been reading baby name books. I made a list…”

Sam smiled fondly at him but shook his head, then looked down at his daughter, who was staring up at Sam with big blue eyes. “I already picked one out... Jo Ellen is her name.”

Everyone fell quiet for a while.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, Sammy… Good choice.”

“That’s a great name,” Bobby said.

“Hey there, Jo,” Gabriel murmured, snuggling close and kissing Jo’s nose, then Sam’s.

Sam couldn’t keep his eyes open; he carefully placed the baby between himself and Gabriel and said, “Don’t you be letting me smother her in my sleep now.”

“Fledglings are very resilient babies,” Castiel assured, already gently prodding Dean toward the door so they could give the couple their rest.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep watch, Sam,” Gabriel whispered.

“I’ll go make up some formula,” Bobby said.

“What, won’t Sammy be breast feeding?” Dean joked.

“I heard that, jerk!” Sam mumbled.


As they tiptoed downstairs, Castiel started to lecture Dean about using appropriate language around the baby.

Gabriel smiled at Sam, who was fast asleep, then just stared at his daughter in awe.

She couldn’t yet make out real shapes, but she kept peeking over in his general direction. To let her know he was there, he placed his finger in her tiny hand and chuckled when she grasped him tightly.

“Already got Poppa wrapped around your little finger, don’t you, Jo? Yes, you do. Oh yes, you do…”

Jo seemed to sense that her family was all warm and safe, and in no time, she was out like a light, nestled protectively between her two fathers.


The End.

*Balzizras: "Judgment." The Complete Enochian Dictionary.

March, 2010
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