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Sam kills Emma because he's Dean's only baby(until they have ones of their own together).
And that look Sam gives Dean after he kills her, like he's telling him 'you're mine, don't you dare care about anyone else' and Dean indeed realises what he's done and his face shifts and he goes back to his usual Sammy filled mind.
Also-
Dean: you're just bigger
Sam: w-what???(Flabbergasted)
It's officially canon that Sam is not bigger than Dean.
Castiel's speech in 12 x 10 , Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets // Team Free Will 2.0 parenting Jack
Woke up and got myself some pesto pasta salad and a glass of unsweet iced tea, and now I'm having a breakfast picnic in bed with the cats and loving my life, so all I have to impart to all of you is
IT'S THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING, GO TO BED.*
* anyone past GMT heading east is exempt, but I've got my eye on you.
That’s Dad to you // S.F.K
a/n~ Dad thoughts have plagued me all week and then I saw a tiktok that just screamed Sammy as a dad and well here we are. Just some short silly sweet Dad Sammy thoughts.
Giggles erupted from the little girl as she took off running, her destination the side of the couch. He padded down the hallway behind her, a smile playing on his lips as he ran his hand back through his long hair. She eyed her father from where she crouched in front of the couch, quickly popping up to her feet with her hands up - finger splayed out in jazz hand formation.
“Sammy!” She yelled, throwing her head back in laughter as he pointed at her, his eyebrow raised.
“That’s Dada to you.” He chuckled, making his way over to the little girl.
“Sammy!” She jumped, bringing her full weight down onto the floor as shaking the coffee cup that sat on the table next to her.
“Dada.” He said, taking another step closer to her.
The little girls smile met her eyes as she scrunched up her face, turning to the pit bull that lay soundly asleep on the couch. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the pups ear before pointing a finger in her direction.
“Rosie.” She cooed, eyes meeting Sam’s as he sat on the floor in front of her, long legs bunched up as he tried to fit between the couch and coffee table.
“Yes that’s Rosie.” He confirmed, giving the dog a pat on the head before turning his attention back to his daughter.
She bent at the waist, one hand on her stomach as the other landed on Sam’s nose causing him to cross his eyes at her.
“Sam-my!” She called out, more giggles erupting from her. He shook his head, reaching out to squish her face between his large hands.
“Dad-dy! It’s not funny, Sis.” He protested, chuckling as he pushed on her little cheeks gently.
“Fishy!” She giggled, observing how her lips were sticking out.
You came around the corner wondering what all the commotion was about, eyes landing on your little family as they say squished between furniture on the living room floor.
“What are you doing to Daddy, Sis?” You called, taking a step closer as he pulled the little girl into his lap.
“Sammy!” She beamed, mimicking his earlier movements by pressing on his cheeks.
“Uh oh.” You chuckled, perching yourself on the arm of the couch as you watched your daughter tug on the ends of Sam’s hair.
“You’re not allowed to call me Sammy anymore, strictly Dada.” He chuckled, blowing a raspberry in his daughters direction as strands of hair stuck to his lips.
“I called you that once! It’s not my fault she took it and ran.” You protested, laying across the couch so you were eye level with your little girl.
“Dada.” You giggled pointing towards Sam as you ruffled your little girls hair. She gathered small fists full of Sam’s hair, holding it at the sides of his head as giggles spilled from her.
“Piggies daddy!” She exclaimed, shaking her head from side to side. He chuckled, sprinkling soft pecks all over her cheeks.
“Dada doesn’t want piggies right now, Sis.” She pushed her little bottom lip out in a pout, dropping his hair as she crossed her arms over her chest.
You reached over, smoothing your hand over her hair as she pouted. She tipped her head down, glaring at Sam through her lashes - thinking it made her seem intimidating. Sam chuckled, dancing his fingers over her torso, tickling the giggles right out of her.
“Maybe later, okay?” She shook her head, resting her knees against his thighs so she was eye level with him.
“Sammyyyy!” She screamed. Sam groaned, laying back on the floor all while holding his daughter up at arms length. Reaching over he plopped her belly first down on the couch.
“She is one thousand percent your daughter. She pulls the same things you pull on your brothers.” You giggled, pulling yourself into a seated position. Your little girl crawled over into your lap, curling up into a ball and she looked up at you with her big brown puppy eyes.
“I’m hungry, Mama.” Her little voice sounded strained, she knew she had both of you wrapped around her finger. You nudged Sam’s shoulder with your foot, shaking him out of his thoughts.
“It’s your turn to make lunch, Dada.” You said nodding in the direction of the kitchen.
Sam groaned as he pulled himself into a sitting position before standing to his full height. He stretched his body out after being cramped for so long before making his way to the kitchen to being preparing lunch.
Christmas for the Winchesters and the Kline :-)
The night that Dean Jr turns 6 months old, Sam stays awake all night next to his crib with the demon knife sitting on the table next to him.
Little Monster
Dad!Sam fluff and angst coming your way finally.
Words: 5.3k
Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Reader
Warnings: Language, miscarriages, mentions of considered abortions, implied pregnancy trauma
1.
“Holy shit.”
You started freaking out a little bit.
No. No - that was the understatement of the century. You were freaking out a lot. This was big, though. Huge. So enormous that you felt justified for feeling this way.
“Holy shit, holy shit, fuck damnit little – shit.” All your muttered curses were quiet, but the weight of the situation was driving your anxiety up past just dealing with it quietly and you let your head thump back against the wall, harder than you had intended.
As a shuffle from outside the bathroom door immediately sounded, and a shadow moved across the crack between the floor and the door, Sam’s words floating in, saying, “Babe? Are you okay in there? It sounded like you fell.”
“I’m good,” you called back out in response. But your voice cracked halfway through. You were not good. You were not good at all. And the sound of Sam’s voice brought you crashing back into reality where the whole ‘double-line means pregnant’ thing was pertinent to someone other than just you.
There was a small silence, and it brought a small, trembling smile to your face. He’d never been good at the whole comfort thing. But he was sure to have heard the tears in your voice and was probably debating whether he should leave you alone or ask what was wrong.
“Uhhh…can I come in?” So the latter had won out in the end.
“It’s unlocked,” you said quietly, tucking the pregnancy test under your thigh from your place on the floor.
As soon as the door opened, Sam sucked in a breath, scrambling to reach out to you. “I thought you said you didn’t fall!”
You laughed a little bit and shook your head, not moving off the ground. “I didn’t.”
“Then why are you on the bathroom floor?” Sam stopped trying to help you up and stood staring at you strangely, still warily watching your face for any sign of distress. “Is this where you go to think or something?”
His attempt at humor hit the mark, and you huffed out another shaky laugh as you shook your head, but your anxiety quickly overtook the moment and you felt a sudden rush of overwhelming emotions – both good and bad – hijack your emotional state, and the tears you’d been ignoring started up in a sudden flood.
Sam was obviously as surprised by your tears as you were, and his hands retracted into his body as if he’d been the one to hurt you. “I – uhhh, hang on,” he said quickly, darting out to the living room and then hurrying around the doorframe once again with a box of tissues in hand. “Here you go,” he offered awkwardly, taking a seat down beside you and knocking into your shoulder with his.
“I’m fine,” you sobbed. The pure rift between your words and your tears made you laugh in between tears, and a snot bubble came out with it, which made Sam laugh as you sniffled, “Oh, god. That was attractive.”
Sam’s hand on your thigh made you tense, knowing the contents of the little stick underneath your other leg, and as Sam said, “If there was ever a woman who could pull off the look, you’d be it.”
You said, “I have something to tell you.” Sam blinked and stared at you expectantly, and you blew your nose one more time before taking the test out with one trembling hand and showing Sam. “I don’t know how…I – but I’m –”
Sam stared at the little stick, face now pale and eyes wide. “Oh, shit.”
…
2.
It had been rough waters at first – this whole baby thing. Hard to accept for both you and Sam, and even harder to decide what to do – adoption, abortion, the responsibility of raising a kid as a couple who, in the scheme of things, hadn’t really been together all that long. Not to mention the fact that Sam was gone 9 months out of the year.
Neither of you were prepared to be a parent, but then again, who really was? And in the end, it came down to you. It was your body, and therefore your choice, and Sam respected that, having told you that although the choice was yours, it was his responsibility, too, whatever you decided.
And the pressure from that almost had you buckling.
You loved that Sam was taking as much responsibility as he could, but still letting you know that you could do whatever you wanted. But it wasn’t fair. He didn’t have to make the decision, he didn’t have to be the one carrying that decision. It was awful, having this kind of power. Nix it now, or let it grow.
And your research proved to be helpful in informing you of each decision, but nothing helped you with the actual decision. Nothing could. In the end, after all was said and done, you found yourself sitting in the parking lot of a Planned Parenthood with Sam in the driver’s seat, watching you cry.
It wasn’t about religion, or politics, or your family or his – it was about the fact that even in the few days you’d known about it, you’d become attached to the burgeoning life inside of you. Flashes of chubby little arms and legs and cheeks, toddles across carpets, happy grins from lips that flashed different people each time it zipped across your thoughts put stutters in your steps and an ache in your heart.
You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t go through with it. So, you decided to keep it.
Was Sam just a tiny bit resentful of that decision at first? You thought so, even if he never said it to your face. Or perhaps it was just your own insecurities that you were projecting on your boyfriend. A free spirit, unwilling to be tied down in any way that counted with the world at his feet – a father, now. Laden with responsibilities he both chose and didn’t choose.
It hadn’t helped when he’d been his usual charming self at your first doctor’s appointment, because you knew him, and then you knew his stage persona. And he’d been putting on the façade throughout each question, the ultrasound, and the car ride home until you’d snapped, “Dammit, Sam! I don’t want fucking Sam Kiszka from Greta Van Fleet!” The car door slammed as you stalked inside, hissing, “Come talk when you’re ready to stop being a bitch about everything,” over your shoulder as Sam stared after you.
It wasn’t long after that he came to find you in his bed, curled up underneath a soft blanket. “I’m sorry,” he’d said to you, cuddling against your back as you laid listlessly, wondering if you’d made the wrong decision. “I’m sorry. I do that when I get nervous.”
After a sigh, you took his hand, resting gently against your stomach in a gesture that held so much more weight now. “I know,” you said dully, “But I can’t do this alone, and when you act like that, like you can’t be vulnerable, it makes me think that I made a mistake, and that you think I’ve made a mistake.” Sam tried to protest, but you only tightened your hold on his hand. “Is that – do you think I’ve--?”
“No,” he stated immediately. “This whole thing was a happy little accident, as Bob Ross would say. But it’ll be okay.”
Despite his answer, you were still uncertain.
It was this insecurity that made each little gesture the next few weeks just a little sweeter. It started with him staring at babies just a little bit longer in public – which made you a little anxious at first, unknowing if it was in dread or interest, but when one waved at him and he grew a grin you hadn’t seen on him for a few weeks, your frayed nerves had been soothed for just a moment. He couldn’t have been that against the baby with a smile so big.
(If you were reaching, you weren’t going to blame yourself.)
And then, when showing you a photo of Rosie, he swiped one too many times and you saw a screenshot of a website for new dads for just a split second before he swiped back. And he’d shared a funny parenthood meme with you. And taken the measurements of the guest room, “Just for later.” His enthusiasm took a weight off your shoulders, and you finally began to truly enjoy the thought of your little family.
From refusing to even look at the baby section in stores those few agonizing days you’d been making your decision and then still even a few weeks after, him coming home and shakily pulling out a little gender-neutral onesie with a guitar printed across the material had tears springing to your eyes.
“I like that,” you croaked. “I think Jake will be thrilled, too.”
Sam chuckled, nervously running his hand through his hair. “I was thinking about asking the fandom if someone knew how to make a bass one. Guitarists already have a big enough ego, and everyone knows bass players are better.”
He accepted your embrace as you wrapped your arms around him, but you were more enamored with the show of surpassed acceptance, into what you thought might have been the beginnings of excitement. “What are you talking about?” you asked, face still buried in his shirt. “This baby has you as a dad, it’s gonna have a big ego regardless.”
“I’ll show you ‘big ego’…” he said, gently poking your sides as you giggled. After a moment, he stopped and you heard him gulp. “Fuck…Dad.” You felt his heart kick up a notch from your position. “We’re doing this and I’m gonna be someone’s dad.”
You smiled at the awe, apprehension aside because you had your own doubts, in his voice. But it was awe. The good kind.
…
3.
There was an added excitement around the ultrasound of the first trimester – you were finally going to tell Sam’s family about the pregnancy. He’d been chomping at the bit to tell someone, anyone, and it had been torture going through band practices without blurting out the news. But you were stubbornly refusing to let the cat out of the bag until time passed that 12 weeks mark and you were at less of a risk for miscarriage. It would have been horrifyingly awful for you to shock people with an accidental pregnancy and then rip it away because you’d jumped the gun, and you were still coming to terms with the whole situation yourself.
But of course, everything had to contain shock value, apparently. Because Sam’s fingers and yours were turning white around each other as the technician pointed to your little baby blob. Well, blobs.
“There’s your first baby, and right here,” he said, pointing to another little white form behind the first, “is your second. Twins!”
The room fell awkwardly silent for a moment before Sam cracked, “Hey, babe, feel like going to buy a lottery ticket after this? We might just get the luck of the draw.”
You chuckled, the sound a little forced. “Your brothers are twins, Samuel. We’d probably end up with a ticket that won, like, three years ago or something. It happened before, it’s happening again.”
The tech printed off the ultrasounds and tucked them into a manilla folder for you, along with your next suggested appointment date. “A surprise?” he asked, soft smile on his face. You were certain you weren’t the only couple he’d given this exact news to, even today.
“Well, with this pregnancy, everything is a surprise,” you said dryly, and, not wanting to give the wrong impression, then, “but not loved any less.”
Definitely not loved any less, as the Kiszkas proved just a few hours later.
Sam’s family was ecstatic with even one baby – Jake and Josh fighting over who was going to be the favorite uncle already, until Sam stopped them with a, “Hey, dickwads,” much to his parents’ stink eye, “you don’t have to fight.” He opened up the manilla envelope and laid out the two photos, each twin circled in different colors. “I guess the twin genes in our family didn’t stop with you.”
“Fuck yes!” The twins crowed, pumping their fists in the air. “We’re gonna be twin uncles to fucking twins!”
Karen clapped her hands together in excitement through the phone screen you’d facetimed them with and looked to Kelly, who was grinning like he had the day Sam said they’d told their parents they got signed.
“Twins?” Ronnie asked through another phone, grin seeping into her tone. “I thought Jake and Josh were enough. Now we get two mini Sams running around?”
You laughed, flipping your friend off through the screen. “Hey, what about two of me?”
“Is that supposed to be better?”
Sam chuckled at your expense, and the anarchy was interrupted by the door opening. “Sorry I’m late, guys. What was this emergency meeting about?” Danny stepped into Sam’s apartment – soon to be both of yours with Sam having asked you to move in the past week – and caught sight of the ultrasounds on the table. “Is that – wait…what?”
You and Sam shared a glance. “Surprise! We’re pregnant. And, uh…surprise! We’re also having twins. Wanna be their godfather?”
And the chaos started all over again.
…
4.
Without close family of your own, Karen and Kelly had quickly taken you under their wing early in your relationship, but now that you knew you were having twins, Karen was a bright, golden beacon for you, having gone through that experience herself. It seemed like she had an answer for everything – sickness, cravings, pain in weird places, emotions, preparations, boxes of double baby stuff that kept arriving at your door, and how to deal with her son when it all felt like too much over the next month or so.
But you weren’t sure if she’d have an answer for how to deal with this.
The sad, apologetic look on the ultrasound tech and doctor’s faces. The stony deadpan on Sam’s. Your own agony ripping through you and a very strange feeling of numbness while tears threatened at your eyes twisting your face into something that couldn’t possibly even begin to reflect what you were feeling.
“We can’t be sure when this happened,” the doctor explained gently, “but the important thing to remember is that based on your answers, it was not your fault. Nothing you did put your babies at risk, and the sad reality of the matter is that while it’s not incredibly common for vanishing twin syndrome to occur during the second trimester, it’s not unheard of. I’m sorry, guys.” The doctor’s words were a little bit lost on you - you heard them, but it was hard for you to listen when you’d just been informed you lost one of your babies. A twin.
Like your fucking keys that dropped behind the couch - lost, is what they’d told you.
“And I know it’s hard to see a bright side to this, but your other little one seems to be healthy – no complications at all.”
“That’s good,” you heard Sam murmur. “At least we have that.”
“At least we have that,” you said, your words echoing into darkness.
It was explained that they’d monitor you more closely now to make sure the loss didn’t place you as a high-risk pregnancy, and you were given a few papers with information and a directory to complimentary grief counselors. Again, you tried to process everything, but there was a block in your mind in the form of a repeating, ‘only one, only one, only one.’
You cried when you got back into the car. And you cried on the phone with Karen. And you cried in the shower, and in the nursery that had two un-assembled crib boxes staring straight at you that acted like twin knives shot straight to your heart.
Sam didn’t.
He hugged you when he caught the tears on your face, and did his best explaining what had happened to the rest of his family when you couldn’t (you were going to pretend that Josh shifting towards Jake when the news broke and the tiniest brush of his hand against his twin’s didn’t make you cry, and that you left the room because your damn pregnancy bladder), but he didn’t cry.
Which was why when you caught him wiping his eyes, staring down at a Thing 1 and Thing 2 pajama set he was supposed to be repackaging for return, you didn’t say anything. His pain was there – you felt it in his breaths at night and saw it in his lingering glances to the nursery, and in the way he’d hugged his brothers so tightly after leaving Josh’s apartment one night when Jake and Josh had pulled you both in to talk over dinner.
Climbing onto the bed and making sure he knew you were there, you hugged him from behind, planting a kiss on his shoulder but not saying anything, and waited for him to speak on his own; he had to gather himself before he spoke.
“I know we weren’t expecting two. Hell, we weren’t even expecting one,” he said finally, sniffling and swiping at his tears again. “But I feel like shit.”
You sat your chin on his shoulder, looking down at the clothes in his hand. They were so fucking tiny. So empty. “Tell me about it,” you said softly. The guilt hadn’t set in until Sam first started showing his agony. It had gone away, eventually, after a few secret phone calls with the provided mental health care lines, but seeing him like this – it wasn’t something you would have wished on the devil himself.
“I…I just – growing up, seeing the bond that Jake and Josh had…I thought that they would have that, too,” he whispered, a waver still present in his voice. “And I was so damn happy for them because I didn’t. Even if I didn’t – don’t – feel left out, and I had Danny when I got a little older. It wasn’t the same.”
“It’s not going to be,” you responded. “But that’s…everything will be okay. Eventually.”
The sentiment wasn’t particularly comforting, but you thought, with the nature of the situation, nothing really would be. It was all you could do to get through it – taking everything at face value and accepting that nothing was really okay, and that you felt like falling apart when thinking about the babies, and that it was reasonable to grieve and hurt and exist in the pain without false positivity.
“We should keep them,” Sam said, turning his nose into your cheek and clutching the pajamas in his hands. “I want to keep them.”
The irony of the statement now in comparison to when you found out you were pregnant wasn’t lost on you, and sometimes you wondered if the pain was worth it. But looking at the baby clothes in Sam’s hand, the bump that kept you from pressing fully against him –
You knew it would be.
…
5.
“I swear I’ll give you the best orgasm of your life if you just get her this time,” Sam mumbled, rolling around in the sheets when you were once again awoken by your daughter’s cry from across the room.
The proposition was tempting, but you weren’t convinced, even in your bleary, sleep-deprived state. For good reason, too. “And who’s gonna watch the baby while you give me this impossibly better-than-sleep orgasm, hmm?” Silence from Sam’s end. “I pumped before bed; there’s milk in the fridge,” you finished smugly, settling back into the sheets. Normally, you’d be happy to take her, Sam, too, but it had been a rough week, and she’d woken up every hour for the past three nights – all you wanted was sleep.
“Shit,” Sam cursed defeatedly, throwing the sheets off. “Fuck, dammit, shit, hell…bologna,” he muttered, and you giggled at his choice of swear words sleepily. “You hush,” he said, but you could hear the small smile in his tone as he approached his screaming infant. “Come here, beautiful,” he groaned lovingly, and you heard the moment Sam shifted her to his shoulder, her cries muffled by his skin. “Don’t cry, you little monster, daddy’s here,” he consoled, “Let’s go get you all sorted out. Drink some milk, change some diapers, maybe look at the stars. The moon’s bright tonight.”
His murmurings faded down the hall, but you knew he’d still be talking to the infant on his shoulder as he always did. And laying there in the silence, exhausted as you were, you couldn’t fall back to sleep. There was still a lingering pain down below from giving birth, but not bad enough that you felt the need to take a painkiller. And your breasts were swollen, but not so much you wanted to go through the steps of pumping at this hour. No matter how badly you wanted to close your eyes and go back to sleep, your mind kept active and awake. So, with a big sigh and the preparation to get shit for it, you threw the covers back and padded out to where you thought the rest of your little family would be.
Sure enough, rocking on the back porch to the sounds of the city, Sam was feeding your daughter a bottle. Or trying to, at least.
“I’m sorry I don’t have boobs, little monster, but you have a perfectly good nipple right here. Please take it,” he begged, trying to keep the bottle at her mouth.
The little baby twisted and squirmed and started whining out more little upset sounds, though, and you said, “Want me to try? I have the boobs and the nipples.”
Sam looked back at you, trying to look unimpressed but failing to hide his relieved pleasure at your joining him. “Fine. If my nipple wasn’t enough, try hers, see if I care,” he sniffed, handing her over to your arms but lingering close by to see if she would latch.
And thankfully, she did.
Sam sighed in relief, stroking a piece of the growing hair your daughter had been born with out of her face. “Thanks for having the right boobs, I guess,” he joked softly.
You hummed in acknowledgement. “You’re welcome. Now about that orgasm tomorrow…”
He chuckled, “Oh, so now we’ll have time, huh?” He kissed you softly over the baby and you wrinkled your nose.
“Eventually. But I’ll hold you to it like a grudge, so don’t forget,” you warned playfully.
Looking down at your baby, Sam smiled. “Oh, I won’t. You deserve it.”
…
6.
“And then the big daddy monster ate allll the little monsters, rararararararar!”
Your daughter giggled maniacally from her bed as Sam pretended to eat her belly and hands, shrieking, “Mommy, mommy, help! Help!”
From your spot beside Sam, you pulled him back, grabbing him by his cheeks and sternly saying, “Hey, big daddy, you think she’s gonna get to sleep with this sorry excuse of a bedtime story?”
Sam scoffed as well as he could. “I’m just making sure our little monster stays in-line. If she doesn’t love me, she’ll fear me, right?”
“But I do love you, daddy!” the little girl sassed, too smart for her own good. Sam always said it was because he talked to her so much as a baby, and that’s why she had such a big vocabulary now at her young age. You always shot back that that’s why she had attitude as well.
A smile threatened to break your façade as Sam placed a gentle kiss to his baby’s hand, so small in his. “I know, beautiful. And daddy monster loves you, too.”
“And mommy monster,” you chimed in, nudging her chin with your finger, “so, so, so, so much.”
“One big, happy monster family,” Sam smiled, kissing the little girl’s forehead, and then yours.
It was hard to imagine your life if you’d made a different choice in the beginning, those years ago. Where you’d be. You liked to think you and Sam would still be together, but thoughts of ‘what if’ always brought about thoughts of the second little monster that left a hole in you and Sam’s hearts, so you tried not to think about it all too often, for self-preservation’s sake.
“Now, time for all the monsters to go to bed,” you sighed. “Good-night, little monster.”
“Nigh-night, mommy. Night-night, daddy,” she said in her little voice. “Riley said her mommy has her baby brother in her tummy at school,” she said, and you hid a smile at her inability to actually let you guys go to bed with just one good-night. These daycare stories happened more often than not, with your child’s inquisitive nature and propensity for story-telling.
“Oh yeah? Very cool,” you praised, glancing over at Sam, whose eyes were soft as he gazed at his daughter.
“Is there a baby brother in everybody’s belly?”
You laughed as Sam wiggled his brows at you, and you slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “No, sweetie. Only some mommies and daddies decide to put baby brothers or sisters there. But not everyone.”
Sam patted her on the leg over the blankets. “Why? Getting tired of being the only little monster around here?”
Your daughter shrugged. “I dunno.”
Shorter answers meant a child who was more tired than she wanted to let on, so you tugged Sam up. “Okay, well, we can talk about this more in the morning. I think you’re a little sleepy right now, baby.” She hummed, for once in agreement. “Nighty-night.”
Once good-nights had been traded once more, you and Sam shut her door quietly and retreated to your own room, thankfully already made up for bed so that you could just slide underneath the sheets.
“So…” Sam whispered once you got settled. “Are you tired of only having one little monster running around?”
His hesitation in the question was palpable, and your heart nearly stopped when his words registered and you realized what he was asking. “I – uhh…are you?”
“No fair, I asked first.”
The fear had you gripped by the throat, and you managed to croak out, “I – I don’t know.” Sam recoiled, obviously perceiving that as a rejection, but you hurried to say, “I just don’t know if I could go through with what we did when we – when we lost our other one,” you tried to explain, and Sam took your hand under the blankets. “And I know it’s not related, or it’s not particularly a huge concern, but – but it’s happened once and I don’t—”
“Shhhh,” Sam soothed, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s not like I have to have another kid right now…I just – I thought I’d introduce the idea.” But you could tell he was disappointed, and that made you feel guilty. He wouldn’t want you to be, you knew, but it wasn’t something you could control. The two of you laid there in the dark for a while longer, tangled together, as the gears turned in your head.
You loved your little monster so much. And as unprepared for parenthood as you were the first time around, your life now was something that you loved - having a family and being with Sam. “I wouldn’t mind having another baby, Sam,” you said quietly, “but maybe we could also look into non-biological kids, too? Or surrogacy? Not that bio is off the table, but…options would be nice this time around. Decisions we can make together.”
Sam’s arms tightened around you and he kissed you tenderly. “Yes. God, yes. Any way you want to do it, sweetheart. We can–” an elated huff of laughter escaped his lips, “we can do that. Another one. Another one.”
He was practically vibrating with excitement now, having gone from 0-100 at your amended answer, and you laughed softly. “Don’t have to have another kid right now, huh?”
“Hey, at least I’m excited this time, right?” he reasoned with another kiss.
You snorted. At least there was that.
…
7.
“We might as well give her a rose for as much as these two have been fighting over her,” you said tiredly to Jita, who was watching the scene in front of her with poorly-contained, disappointed amusement. “It’s been a very dramatic episode of ‘The Uncle-orette’ over here.”
“You got to take her to the zoo for Jita’s birthday,” Josh said, trying to hug his niece tighter to himself. “So I get to be her date this time!”
Jake gently tried to pry Josh’s hands off – harsh on Josh, gentle on his niece. “Yeah, like, a year and a half ago! And you were her ‘Very Important Person’,” Jake mocked, “literally last month, so it’s my turn. Sweetheart, you want Uncle Jake to be your date, right?” he asked the little girl, whose smile was entirely too self-satisfied to exist on a six year old’s face.
“You don’t want mean Uncle Jake,” Josh whispered to her, and yelped softly when Jake kicked him in the shin. “See? Mean. Hurting Uncle Josh like that – but it would make me feel better if I was your date.”
The two men had been arguing on and off for the entire day. Once it had come to light that Sam wouldn’t make it back until two hours after the father-daughter dance the school was hosting ended due to a flight delay, to his absolute disappointment, alternate plans had to be concocted. Her twin uncles, however, were a different story altogether, jumping at the chance to spend more time with her.
You laughed at their shenanigans and took your daughter from the spat, not wanting her to get caught in this game of tug-of-war. “Stop trying to manipulate my daughter, you two,” you teased. “I don’t want her picking up any bad habits. Why don’t you just both go?”
All three of them shook their heads.
“I only have one ticket!” your daughter giggled with a shit-eating grin she inherited from her dad.
“I’m not sharing with him!” Josh pouted.
“And I’m not sharing with him, either!” Jake shot back.
You rolled your eyes so far up, you almost got dizzy. “Oh lord. And who here is the one in Kindergarten, again?”
“I am!” your little monster replied happily.
From out the window, you saw a familiar car drive up, and grinned sweetly at the twins. “But anyways, I don’t think either of you are going to be her chosen date.”
Jake and Josh stopped glaring at each other long enough to both complain to you, “What? Why not?” in a very whiny, very childish manner.
“Because she loves both of you,” you giggled, putting your daughter down in preemptive action, “but neither of you are ever going to beat out—”
“UNCLE DANNY!”
“Little Monster!”
You nodded and gestured to the dramatic reunion between the small girl and the big man, who swept her off her feet and hugged her just as tightly as she was hugging him.
“Dammit, I didn’t know he was gonna be here,” Josh said glumly.
And again, you laughed, slapping them both on the shoulders. “You thought that my daughter, president of the Danny Wagner fan club, wouldn’t take an opportunity to show her godfather off to all her little friends? Come on guys,” you said, trying to shake them out of their despair, “maybe with this next baby one of you will have a chance to be knighted ‘Favorite Uncle’.”
Jake sighed sadly. “Maybe. Cause we all know that it’s not happening with her.”
Danny loped over to where you were congregated. “So I hear I’m the little monster’s date to the dance? I’m flattered.”
Jake and Josh stuck out their tongues. Danny and the monster stuck theirs out right back.
...
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Jack can easily heal himself whenever he gets hurt. But instead, he goes to Cas and says “Dad, I hurt my head.” Cas will inspect the cut, and then softly heal it with his Grace before kissing the top of Jack’s head because “kisses make everything better.” Sometimes, Jack goes to Dean and says, “Dean, I hurt my hand,” and Dean will gently stitch up the wound and give Jack a little scooby-doo bandaid just because it makes Jack smile. And sometimes, Jack goes to Sam and says, “Sam, I hurt my shoulder,” and Sam will get an ice pack and wrap Jack in a blanket on the couch and he’ll give him a lollipop just like Dean used to do for him when he was younger.
