Sam knew you'd always wanted to be a mother. You'd told him, on those late nights where Dean had been out at the steakhouse and the two of you shared some cheap beer, talking till you'd fallen asleep together in a shitty hotel bed. He'd told you, quite honestly, that you'd have to quit the life of a hunter to be a mother, to happily raise your child. And he'd respect your decision, wholeheartedly, if you ever decided to go through with it.

So here the two of you were, in the bunker, sat with eachother on the couch. A close friend of yours' daughter was turning 13, and had tasked you with making a scrapbook for the party. Sam had offered to help, because there were no hunts in a while, and it was an off day. The two of you are sat at the table, Sam having a tiny mental breakdown over the glue and glitter sticking to his fingers as he glues down various things over pictures of the girl.

"I wanna stop hunting," your words are sudden, take him off guard. He glances up at you, and nods, "Been thinkin' about it for a while?"

He knows you have: you think about it all the time. About whether you'll run out of time in a dangerous job like hunting, if it'll give your life more purpose than just killing demons and saving the world. It's not like those aren't fufilling, yeah, but.. maybe a baby would change that.

"Whatever you do," he's cutting out a felt star for you to glue down, his eyes focused on you even as he does that, "I'll be here for you, okay? Whether you wanna have a kid, or just try a different career path, whatever," he offers a soft smile, shrugging his shoulders when he finishes cutting out the star. "Just let me know, and we can figure it out. Me and you."