sam's girl 🪽

the pregnancy test is positive at 3:17am in the tiny off-campus bathroom and she just sits on the edge of the tub staring at it while Sam waits outside the door whispering “hey… you okay in there?” like he already knows but he’s terrified to say it out loud

when she finally opens the door he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, knees up, looking like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes, the second he sees her face he’s on his feet pulling her into his chest going “we’re okay. we’re gonna be okay” even though his voice cracks on the word “okay"

he tells Dean over the phone at like 4am west coast time and Dean’s first response is dead silence for a solid eight seconds followed by “……you’re shitting me” and then immediately “I’m on my way”

Sam reads approximately 47 baby books in the first month. Highlights them. Takes color-coded notes. Tries to explain the difference between swaddling techniques to her at 2am while she’s half-asleep on his lap going “sam. baby. please. just hold me”

he’s weirdly good at soothing her morning sickness?? like he just instinctively knows to keep ginger ale by the bed and cold washcloths for her forehead and he never once makes her feel gross about it

the first ultrasound. oh god. he’s sitting beside her gripping her hand so hard she has to tap his knuckles to loosen up. when the tech points out the heartbeat he just… stops breathing for a second. eyes huge. shiny. whispers “that’s—that’s ours” like he can’t believe it’s real

he starts talking to the bump when he thinks she’s asleep. low murmurs about how “your mom is the bravest person i know” and “i’m gonna make sure nothing ever hurts you” and sometimes he slips into latin protections without even realizing

nesting sam is next level. he reorganizes the entire apartment by like week 20. buys the safest crib on the market. triple-checks the smoke detectors. learns how to install a car seat with military precision (practices on a stuffed animal first)

he cries the first time the baby kicks hard enough for him to feel it. just full-on tears while his giant hand is splayed over her stomach going “hi… hi baby”

when she’s exhausted and hormonal and snaps at him, he never snaps back. just nods, kisses her temple, says “i know. i’m sorry it hurts” and goes to make her tea or run a bath

dean shows up with a tiny leather jacket “for the kid” and sam rolls his eyes but secretly keeps it folded in the top drawer like a talisman

labor hits at the worst possible time (of course). sam drives one-handed the whole way because she’s crushing his other hand into bone dust and he’s murmuring “you’re doing so good, i’m so proud of you” on repeat like a prayer

the first time he holds his kid he just… stares. doesn’t move. barely breathes. this giant man with blood and tear tracks on his face cradling this tiny squirming thing like it’s made of glass. whispers “hey little one… i’m your dad” and his voice breaks so badly he has to stop talking

he’s terrified he’ll turn out like John. spends nights researching how to break cycles while the baby sleeps on his chest. swears to himself (and to her, quietly) that this kid will never know what it’s like to feel like a burden

he still hunts occasionally but only small easy salt-and-burns. always home by morning. always kisses both of them before he leaves. always comes back

late nights when the baby won’t stop crying, sam walks endless circles around the living room singing old classic rock songs under his breath until his voice is hoarse. it’s the only thing that works sometimes

he keeps a photo of the three of them in his wallet right next to the one of him and Jess. looks at it when things get dark. reminder that he built something good. something his