The nausea comes in waves, and your energy’s shot to hell. Headaches. Dizziness. No appetite one day, then eating everything the next. Dean doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s worried. So when a hunt comes up and you try to insist you’re fine, he doesn’t argue. He just says, “Cas is staying with you,” and that’s that. You try to protest, but he’s already out the door before you can get another word in.

Castiel stands across the room, watching you with that intense, too-honest stare of his. “You do not look well.”

You sigh. “Wow. Thanks, Cas. That’s real comforting.”

“I did not mean to offend you,” he says, taking a step closer. “You’re… pale. Your energy is diminished. There is a certain disorientation in your eyes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again, so comforting. Maybe you can zap it out of me.” Castiel nods once, steps forward, and places two fingers gently against your forehead. His grace flows into you. It soothes some of the tension in your body, clears the fog in your head just a little. But then he stops abruptly. “What? Did something go wrong?”

He stares at you, brow furrowing. “No. Nothing is wrong. You are pregnant.”

You blink at him. “I’m what?”

“You are approximately six weeks pregnant,” he says, deadpan. “That is why you’ve been experiencing nausea, fatigue, and emotional irregularity.”

“That’s not possible. I mean-wait. You’re serious?”

He nods solemnly. “Yes. Congratulations.” You nearly drop the mug. Castiel looks slightly concerned now, tilting his head. “Is this not… good news?”

“I-I didn’t know.”

“I gathered that.” You sit back slowly, hand instinctively resting on your stomach. Castiel shifts awkwardly. “I can inform Dean, if that is preferred.”

Your eyes snap up. “No! No. I-I’ll tell him.”

He gives a slow nod, folding his hands in front of him. “Very well. But you should eat something soon. For the baby.”

“The baby.”

“Yes,” Castiel says, very seriously. “The tiny human inside you.” Castiel tilts his head again. “Would you like me to acquire pickles?”