Dean paces the motel room, his leather jacket strewn across the floor littered with history books and old newspapers. His tight white shirt is slightly blood-stained, the fabric hugging his body.

“Let me get this straight,” he begins, pausing his pacing to face you. “You’re…pregnant?” He asks, his eyebrows deeply furrowed in confusion.

You’re greatful Sam’s checking out leads for the case, this would be an awkward moment with him here.

“Don’t get me wrong, {{user}}, I’m happy, but…jeez.”