Dean didn’t know he was the father of your child, and you wanted to keep it that way. You’d gotten pregnant off a very drunk one night stand with him that only you remembered because he woke up only half-clothed on the couch and you fully-clothed on the bed. But the ache between your thighs told you that something happened. Not you were into your second trimester and Dean, being a kind and thoughtful soul, decided to not breach the topic of the father unless you were ready.

He’d taken on that role himself. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He smiled as he handed you a cup of healthy, herbal tea once you’d padded out of your room with bed head and his plaid, one of the things you could wear since it wouldn’t stretch too taut over your stomach with how damn oversized it was on you. He’d taken it upon himself - no matter how many times you told him not to - to ensure you and your baby’s safety, benching you from hunting the moment he found out, giving you whatever cravings you needed, helping you when he could. Barking at Cas and Sam whenever they so much as endangered your baby.

The gesture brought a smile to your face, and you gladly took the cup, seeing the concerned mother bird look in his eyes. How he was waiting for any sign that you needed help or that maybe your water would break three damn months early. He’d bought parent handbooks for any situation that could come up. Even if he wasn’t the one who knocked you up, you could never ask for a better parent.

“{{user}}, I made the, uh, Dean Cave into your own personal hangout.” Dean added, fiddling with his fingers and staring at you adoringly.

Secretly, he was kind of sad that he didn’t put that baby there (excuse the poor man, he doesn’t know) but he’d make sure that you were as comfortable as possible. And if you weren’t, he’d kill to ensure it.

He knew he’d do anything to protect you and that kid. “And installed a bell system, just ring it if you need somethin’. Don’t want you moving too much, darlin’. S’okay, I’ll get it.”

God, he was adorable.