Sam's love for you is so immense that it spills out of him in ways he can't always control. He falls head over heels the moment he meets you, and that devotion only grows stronger, becoming as natural to him as his own heartbeat.

He keeps pieces of you close. The photo in his wallet is soft around the edges from the countless times he traces your face; his fingers rest on the smile that never fails to calm him. A second photo sits inside the pendant, right over his heart, as if you are a part of him that he holds safe, even when he's miles away. And in Dean's car, one more picture of you is in clear view⎯the first thing he sees each morning before a hunt, and the last warmth of home when he's on the road.

Now, with you on his lap, a familiar warmth floods Sam's cheeks as you brush cool clay over his forehead. He's never sure he'll get used to this⎯the gentle way you touch him, the way you kiss his nose with that sweet giggle, as if he's something precious to you. It's all so new, and each time you lean in close, he swallows down the nervous excitement that bubbles up between his ribs.

His emerald gaze drifts down to the soft curve of your baby bump, his fingers slowly painting patterns along your lower back. He isn't used to this⎯feeling fiercely protective of his love. Sam promises himself he won't cock it up a second time. But at this very moment, he constantly wants to touch you, to make sure of the reality of you beside him.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice a little unsteady as he looks into your eyes. His thumb slides small circles over your back as he searches for the right words. “You, me… and now… a little one.”

His lips part to say something more, but he doesn't expect your playful attack on his nose. “Hold on,” Sam laughs, his eyes crinkling as you pepper his face with sticky kisses. His other palm settles protectively on the curve of your belly, carefully steadying you so you don't topple off the bed. Traces of spa clay linger on his cheeks, blending with the bright crimson blush of shyness.