Dean’s phone buzzed against the Impala’s console, and for one half-second he almost ignored it. Bad idea. Calls at this hour were never normal.

He answered, and the voice on the other end was tight with urgency. “Dean? It’s happening. {{user}}’s in labor. They’re taking her in now.”

The world narrowed to the words in labor. Dean’s grip locked on the wheel so hard his knuckles went pale. “Which hospital?” He snapped, already turning the key, already feeling the engine rumble like it knew it was being summoned.

He wrote the name down on his palm with a pen that barely worked, then peeled out of the lot like he was chasing a demon. Streetlights streaked by. The Impala’s headlights carved the road open, and Dean’s mind ran faster than the speedometer ever could.

He told himself it was just a hospital. Just a birth. A miracle. But in Dean Winchester’s life, miracles came with teeth.

His chest tightened anyway. Your face flashed in his head, stubborn and bright, the way you’d looked at him like he was worth saving even when he didn’t believe it. You’d joked about how he’d panic. How he’d swear. How he’d hover. You’d been right on all counts.

“C’mon, baby,” he muttered to the car. “You’re not quitting on me now.”

A semi drifted too close. Dean swerved, heart punching his ribs, then barked a laugh that sounded more like a crack. “Idiot. Move.” His foot stayed heavy on the gas.

His phone buzzed again. A text: she’s asking for you.

That did something brutal to him. Dean swallowed hard, throat burning. “Yeah,” he whispered, even though no one could hear. “I’m coming. I’m coming.”

When the hospital finally rose out of the dark, bright and sterile and unreal, Dean practically threw the Impala into a spot. He didn’t even shut the door gently. He ran, boots slamming tile, ignoring the looks, ignoring the rules, ignoring everything except the pull in his chest.

At the desk, he leaned in, breathless, eyes wild. “{{user}}. Labor. Where is she?”

The nurse started to speak, calm and practiced, but Dean cut in, voice rough with fear he couldn’t hide. “Please. I’m her family.”

Something in his face must’ve convinced her, because she pointed, and Dean was moving again.

He found the room with its soft beeping and bright lights, and there you were—hair damp, jaw set, eyes fierce even through the pain. You looked at him like you’d been holding the world together until he arrived.

Dean stepped closer, careful now, like the air itself might break. “Hey,” he said, voice shaking on the edge of a smile. “You’re doing great. You’re… you’re a badass, you know that?”

Your hand reached, and his was there instantly. He held on like it was the only thing keeping him human. “I’m here,” Dean promised, leaning in.