#may second

You were still bustling, more like waddling, around the bunker almost two hours later when Sam and Dean arrived.

You heard two pairs of footsteps thud down the stairs, through the war room, and down the hallway, both boys completely passing the kitchen without a second thought.

“Y/N?” Sam called out. You could hear the slight panic that found residency in his voice over the past 7 months.

“I’m in the kitchen, babe,” you called out to him.

Sam came bounding in a big goofy grin plastered to his face as wrapped his arms around you the best he could.

You stood up on your toes to kiss him in greeting, “Happy birthday.”

He smiled softly and looked to his right, noticing the half iced cake on the stove.

“Babe.”

“I know the rules, Sammy. I wasn’t putting myself under too much pressure or stress. I just wanted to do something nice for your birthday for once. Lord knows all the other ones have sucked,” you poked his chest and smiled.

He laughed. That much was true. Ever since he met you 6 years ago, something always went wrong on his birthday.

First it was the shower and toilet breaking in a motel with no other rooms available. Then Baby breaking down, resulting in the three of you being stranded on the side of the road for four hours. The ceiling caving in at a motel. You breaking your arm in the shower and having to be rushed to the hospital. You getting in a minor car accident that only resulted in a dented bumper. And last year, there was the stove incident. Sam tried to make dinner, and effectively caught the kitchen on fire.

He smiled, “Thank you.”

You smiled, “So how was the hunt?” you asked as you turned to the unfinished cake in front of you.

Sam turned his body slightly to lean up against the counter, “It was good. It turned out to be the elderly neighbor.”

You laughed at that. The case the boys had just closed was a few towns over and involved a witch getting revenge on those who had wronged her.

“Never judge a book by its cover, right?”

Sam chuckled and kissed your temple, “Right.”

You really hoped that this birthday would pass smoothly, and without any interruptions.

Sam deserved that much.

The rest of the evening was spent in the room Sam and you shared. The two of you watched reruns of The Office on Netflix.

Around 8:30, you got up from the warm cocoon that Sam’s arms had created around you, and crouched down to retrieve the wrapped box you hid under the bed.

Sam probably thought that you were just going to the bathroom yet again, and didn’t pay any attention to you.

You bit your lip as you crawled back on the bed and placed the box on his lap.

Surprised by the sudden weight, he looked at the brightly wrapped object then at you, bewildered.

“Y/N,” he said, “I told you to pretend it was just another Tuesday.”

“Well,” you tucked your legs under you, “I don’t care. You’re turning 34, old man.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his signature bitch face, “Don’t remind me, Y/N.”

He kept his eyes on you for another moment, “Go on, open it.”

Sam laughed at your excitement, but complied with your request.

Sam tore at the bright paper, revealing a plain white box, “Aww, Y/N. How did you know that I wanted a box?”

You snorted at his sad attempt at a joke, “Smart-ass.”

He chuckled and continued, opening the box to reveal the multiple pairs of jeans and flannels that you got for him.

“When did you leave the bunker?” he raised an eyebrow.

“‘Why thank you Y/N, I very much appreciate all you did for me while seven months pregnant,’” you tried to imitate Sam’s deep baritone, “Why you’re welcome, Sammy,” you said in a ridiculously high pitched voice that was no where near your own.

Sam laughed heartily, throwing his head back.

“I left this morning. I wasn’t gone long. The guard was still asleep when I came back.”

“I think we need a new guard, then,” Sam pulled you into his lap.

“Do you like them at least?” you hoped your shopping trip wasn’t for naught.

“I love them baby,” Sam reassured you, leaning over and placing a kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t until almost 10 o’clock that night that the tradition continued.

You had just gotten out of the shower, and Sam had just gotten in when it happened.

You were pulling one of Sam’s oversized shirts over your head when you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen and a gush of something wet, that definitely wasn’t water, run down your legs.

You put your hand to your inner thigh, drawing it back in front of you, it as wet with a clear fluid.

“Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself before rushing over to the bathroom.

You burst through the door, “Sam!”

“Y/N!” Sam appeared quickly from behind the curtain. “Are you okay?”

“My water just broke!”

It took a second for Sam to register what was happening, but once he did, he sprung into action.

He turned the water off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.

“You need to get some pants on before we leave,” he rushed past you and  reached into the closet to grab the hospital bag you’ve had packed for weeks.

You glanced down at your bare legs, “That might be useful.”

You went over to Sam’s dresser and pulled out a pair of plaid lounge pants. You barely had one pant leg over your left foot when another contraction hit hard enough to make you stumble.

You would have fallen if it had not been for Sam being there immediately, catching your elbow and keeping you steady.

Once you were all covered up, Sam led you down the hallway, banging on Dean’s door as you passed. “We’re going to the hospital!” Sam called out.

The door flung open to reveal a disheveled Dean. “But she still has like two months to go!”

That comment sent you spiraling.

Dean was right. You still had two more months to go in your pregnancy.

Sam kept leading you towards the garage, “Sammy?”

“Yes, baby,” he said as he carefully guided you into the car.

“What if Dean’s right. What if it’s too early?”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s too early. This baby is coming now, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

Your little girl was born at 11:57 on May 2nd. She weighed only 5 pounds and 3 ounces, and only 15 inches in length. Not only was she small, but her lungs were underdeveloped and filled with fluid.

Meaning that as soon as she came into the world, she was rushed off to the NICU for testing.

As your baby girl was rushed out of the room, Sam pulled you close and the tears you didn’t know you were holding back flowed onto his gray shirt.

The tears continued to fall as you delivered the placenta numbly. The nurses helped you clean up, then left you and Sam to your own thoughts.

Once the nurses left, Sam took a step away from you. He was shutting down.

The two of you sat in a stressed silence as the what-if’s and horrible possibilities ran circles in your minds.

It was over an hour after giving birth that Sam finally spoke up. He was sitting on a cot that a nurse had brought in, his body was practically folded in half.

“What if she doesn’t make it?”

Your eyes snapped towards Sam, “Why would you say something like that?”

Sam sniffed as he tried to hold the tears back, “She was born two months early, her lungs aren’t fully developed, and she’s currently in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. Why wouldn’t I say something like that?”

Teas formed in your eyes as you spoke, “She’s a Winchester. She’ll pull through,” you tried to reassure him even though you didn’t really believe it yourself. 

He gasped slightly. The two of you had never really discussed what name your child would bear. “You mean that?” Despite his efforts, the tears leaked through.

You nodded and scooted over on the hospital bed, silently giving Sam permission to climb into bed with you.

Sam toed off his boots before climbing in with you.

The tiny hospital bed was not made for a Sasquatch. He was laid on his right side, his arm under your waist, and your body flush against his to keep you from falling off. Once settled he spoke again, “What are we going to name her?”

You sighed. There were a few names floating around in your head, “We haven’t even seen her yet.”

You felt Sam nod, before a sudden realization hit him, “Shit, I have to call Dean.”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and quickly scrolled through to Dean’s number.

You snuggled closer to him as he put the phone up to his ear. Almost immediately you heard Dean’s loud voice, “Is she here yet?”

“Yeah. She’s here,” Sam said. “But-”

He was quickly cut off by Dean, “Oh my god. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“No, Dean-” Sam was cut off yet again, but this time by the click of the line going dead as Dean hung up.

“So...” Sam sighed, “Dean’s on his way.”

You sighed. “Well he’ll have to wait to see our daughter.”

A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over you as the day’s events caught up to you. You tried to stifle your yawn, but Sam was quick to catch on.

“Go to sleep, baby. I’ll wake you up if anything changes,” Sam said as his hand drifted towards your hair, running his fingers through it.

You tried to protest, but sleep took you hard and fast.

It was twenty minutes later when Dean walked through the door, just like he promised.

Sam quickly brought a finger up to his lips, telling him to be quiet.

Dean nodded in understanding as he stepped into the room fully. He took a look around, quickly noticing the absence of his niece. His eyes swiveled Sam, followed by a confused look.

Sam nodded once and slipped out from under you the best he could without jostling you around. You shifted slightly, which made Sam pause at the side of the bed. Luckily, you only rolled over and went back to sleep.

Sam let out a relieved breath and pulled on his boots. Laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, the two boys walked into the hallway.

Once in the properly lit hallway, Dean could see Sam’s red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks staining his face.

“Sammy,” Dean could feel the familiar sense of fear twisting his gut, “Where’s my niece?”

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. “She’s in the NICU.”

Even though Dean didn’t have his high school diploma, he knew exactly what a NICU was.

“And why the hell is she in there?”

Sam’s shoulders slouched forward and Dean watched as his younger brother completely fell apart, “There was excess fluid in her lungs, which aren’t even fully developed among the other things that are underdeveloped because she was two months premature.”

Rambling was one of Sam’s “things”. He rambled when he was excited, nervous, and apparently when he was scared shitless.

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he simply took a step towards his brother and wrapped his arms around him.

“Everything is going to be okay, Sammy,” Dean said.

Sam gave a half hearted nod as he tried really hard to believe the words his big brother was saying.

When you awoke, sunlight was streaming through the curtain covered windows.

You slept through the night.

You looked around the room. Dean was curled up on the cot, and Sam was no where to be found.

You were reaching for your phone when the door opened, and your boyfriend walked through.

“Hey,” he said softly. “When did you wake up?”

“Just now,” you sat up as Sam walked towards you.

“I got you coffee” he held a Styrofoam cup out to you.

“Praise Chuck,” you said as you took the cup from Sam and greedily gulped it down. “I’m gonna need a lot more than this to make it through today,” you said once you came up for air.

“Me too, babe. Me too.”

From the corner of the room, Dean let out a loud groan, “You guys are very loud. I’m trying to get my sleep here!”

You threw one of your many pillows at him, hitting him right in the face, “No one wants to hear you complain.”

Dean sat up an looked around, looking mildly confused to find himself at a hospital.

Realization, however, seemed to strike him once he laid eyes on your significantly smaller stomach.

“Any word yet?” Dean asked.

You were about to shake your head no when Sam spoke up, “Yeah,” your head spun around so fast you were sure you gave yourself whiplash. “Y/N and I can go see her when Y/N feels up to it.”

“What the hell Sam? When did they tell you this?”

“It was like 3 in the morning. I wasn’t going to wake you up.”

“Well why are you just standing there? I want to see my baby!” Sam chuckled and helped you into a wheelchair in the corner of the room. He buzzed to the nurse’s station and asked if one of them could lead you to the NICU.

You were practically bouncing with excitement at the prospect of seeing your daughter for the first time. You were finally going to see her live and in person instead of through an image that an ultrasound created.

However, your happy mood and excitement quickly diminished upon actually seeing your daughter.

She looked so fragile. There was an endless amount of tubes sticking out of her in every place. She was so tiny, the tubes seemed to swallow her whole.

You looked up at the nurse, tears in your eyes as you asked, “Can I hold her?”

The nurse gave you a hesitant look, “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” she said.

“Why the hell can I not hold my baby?”

“She’s too small. Too much jostling of the tubes could lead to something potentially dangerous,” she said.

You sighed heavily, “Then what can I do?”

The nurse quickly showed you the latched holes on the bassinet your daughter was being kept in. She instructed you to be gentle and not to touch the tubes too much. She brought over a chair for Sam so he wouldn’t have to bend over awkwardly.

You carefully reached into the bassinet and took your daughter’s hand. Sam’s giant hands were on her other side, her tiny palm barely able to wrap around her daddy’s finger.

“She’s so tiny,” Sam said softly.

“Everything is tiny to you, Sammy,” you replied.

“Then she’s minuscule.”

You smiled softly. She was minuscule all right.

The two of you stayed for a good two hours before deciding it was time to get back to Dean and give him an update.

Sam wheeled you out of the NICU. You thanked the nurse that helped you earlier.

It was a matter of minutes for Sam to navigate the hallways of the hospital and have you back in your room.

Dean sprung up from his spot on the cot as the two of you entered, “How is she?”

You were silent as you climbed back in bed, “Well, they wouldn’t even let me hold her.”

“So that’s bad,” Dean’s statement wasn’t phrased as a question.

A soft knock on the door caused all three of your head to snap in that direction.

It was only your OB/GYN, “So how’s everything in here?” she asked.

Your doctor was an older woman, probably in her late sixties, and very calm and soft spoken, which definitely helped you during labor.

“Fine,” you said resignedly.

Your doctor walked over to you, checking your vitals, “I suppose we can have you out of here as early as tomorrow morning,” she said with a soft smile, “How does that sound?”

You scoffed loudly, “You mean that I’m gonna get out of here, but my baby is still stuck here?”

“She’s gonna be here for a while, Mrs. Winchester.”

You looked over her shoulder at Sam, who was smirking from the mention of his last name.

“Can it, Samuel,” you pointed in his direction.

You took a deep breath, “How long is ‘a while’?”

Your doctor looked at you, she seemed to be sizing you up, seeing if you could take the news she was about to lay on you, “Well, honey, she is extremely premature, and she needs to be on a ventilator. Right now, it’s at about two months.”

You felt the wind being knocked out of you at her words, it was as if she literally punched you in the gut.

You ran a hand through your hair, “Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“I suggest you eat something, sweetie, you gave birth less than twenty-four hours ago. Your body needs some energy,” with those final words, your doctor walked silently from the room.

You wiped a hand down your face as you willed yourself not to cry.

Without saying a word, you rolled over onto your side and brought the scratchy hospital blanket up to your chin, and closed your eyes.

You didn’t even say a word once the doctor left. You simply rolled over and went to sleep.

That exact moment was when Sam knew you were blaming yourself.

It was something that happened often, hell, you sometimes beat out Dean with the self deprecation.

Sam didn’t blame you, but he knew why you were blaming yourself.

“You should go home, Dean. There’s no point in staying here if you can’t even see her yet,” Sam said.

Dean understood, so he stood, and gathered his jacket, “Call me if anything changes,” he said before leaving.

 Sam new you weren’t asleep, so he kicked off his boots and laid down with you.

After a moment, you rolled over and pressed yourself further into his side.

“You know that this isn’t your fault right?”

The theoretical dams broke, and everything you were holding back flooded out. “I just feel like it’s my fault. I’m the one who couldn’t carry her for a full nine months. I can’t protect her like I’m supposed to.”

Sam rubbed circles on your back, “It’s all going to be okay.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Winchester.”

The next morning, after visiting your daughter more than once, you were released from the hospital.

You, Sam, and occasionally Dean would go to the hospital everyday to check up on your daughter.

It wasn’t until almost a month after giving birth, that a name was decided on.

It was just you and Sam this time, Dean was out in Missouri to help another hunter with a case.

The pair of you took up your usual places besides your daughter, you holding her right hand, and Sam holding her left.

You gasped softly as your daughter opened her eyes. She hadn’t done it much, but when she did you were amazed. Her eyes looked exactly like Sam’s.

Eyes that you knew originally belonged to Mary.

“Mary,” you said, looking at Sam.

He looked up at you slowly; he didn’t want to take his eyes off of your daughter. “What about her?”

You looked back at your daughter, “Her name,” you stated, “I think it should be Mary.”

Sam gasped, “Are you sure?”

You nodded, “I think it fits.”

Sam leaned over the bassinet currently hold Mary, and kissed you softly.

Once he sat down, he said, “But since you chose her first name, I get to choose her middle name.”

You nodded your head, excited to see what Sam could come up with.

It didn’t take him long. He just placed his finger back in Mary’s tiny hand, “Celeste.”

Tears sprang to your eyes, you were more than shocked. Charlie had been your best friend. The best friend you could’ve asked for.

You smiled, “Mary Celeste,” you tried the name out on your tongue, “I love it.”

Sam smiled, “Looks like we finally have a name.”

After two exhausting months, you were finally able to take your daughter home.

It was two full months of sleepless nights, tireless worrying, and countless trips to the hospital and back.

Neither you nor Sam got much sleep the night before the big day.

You were tossing and turning the entire night, keeping Sam awake, “Babe, sleep,” he said and wrapped his arms around you to keep you still.

You were up and out of bed by 5:30, and making breakfast by 6.

By the time that you had made a plentiful amount of pancakes, Sam still wasn’t up yet.

You practically ran to the bedroom you shared and jumped on the bed, smacking Sam repeatedly with a pillow, “Ow. Ow, Jesus, Y/N,” Sam woke quickly and snatched the pillow from your grasp.

He rolled over to his side to look at the clock, “Y/N, why are you waking me up at 6:30 in the morning?”

“Because visiting hours start at 8, and we still need to eat and shower so we can bring Mary home.”

That seemed to bring Sam to life as he bolted up from bed and towards the bathroom, “C’mon, we’ll save time.”

You followed Sam into the bathroom. You both took a shower, only a shower together before quickly getting changed and eating cold pancakes.

It was nearing 7:30 when the two of you gathered the hospital bag for Mary, and climbed into the car.

You were practically bouncing the entire ride to the hospital. More than once, Sam would look over at you and chuckle, your excitement was contagious. By the time that Sam pulled up to the hospital, he was also jittery with excitement.

The two of you were finally going to take your baby girl home.

Mary was a quiet baby. She didn’t cry as much as you thought she would.

She mostly just looked around with her big doe eyes that looked exactly like her daddy’s.

All she had to do was look in their eyes, and she had both Sam and Dean wrapped around her tiny finger.

The first night home was a little rough.

Mary was awake every three hours or so to eat, which meant carrying the crying child through the halls of the bunker in order to get formula, and hoping that you didn’t wake either of the boys.

It was 3 a.m. when you were finally able to get Mary to fall back asleep. You gently laid her back in her crib and rushed back to your bed room in the hopes of getting just a little bit more of shut eye.

Even with Sam snoring in your ear, and the static hum from the baby monitor, you fell asleep quickly.

The next time you woke up, it wasn’t from a baby crying, surprisingly. It was from your own internal clock.

You stretched your hand out, looking for Sam, but only coming up with cold sheets.

You got out of bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor.

You walked out of Sam’s room and down the hallway, to the nursery.

You were only a few paces away from the open door, when you heard Sam’s soft voice.

“You had me scared for a long time there, kid,” he said. “Don’t do that ever again, okay?” you heard him chuckle as Mary squealed.

Little did he know that you were watching from the door way, smiling.

Sam was sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of the room, gently rocking back and forth with Mary in his arms.

“I love you and your mother more than you could ever imagine. You don’t know what I do for a living just yet, and I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m going to take care of you. I promise,” Sam said to your daughter.

You were astounded by the fact that in only in four  short years, your entire world could change and is now sitting in one room.

“Hey, baby,” you said, making Sam aware of your presence.

He looked up at you, small smile playing on his face, “Hey, how did you sleep?”

You kicked off of the door frame walking over to him, “Just fine. When did you get up?”

He kissed you softly in greeting, “Around six. She needed to eat again and you were up almost all last night. I figured you needed your sleep.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek, “I love you.”

He transferred Mary to one arm, and pulled you into his lap with the other.

“I love you more. The both of you,” he said.