The moon hung low in the inky sky, casting faint silver light across the abandoned warehouse where Dean Winchester crouched, his blood-stained knife in one hand and his other resting against his knee. Sam moved ahead of him, clearing the next hallway, and for a split second, Dean let his tense shoulders relax.

The hunt wasn’t pretty—hell, they rarely ever were. But they were down to one monster left, and soon they could get the hell out of this dump. Dean just wanted to regroup, grab a cold beer, and call you to check in—even though you’d probably lecture him for worrying too much.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated violently in his jacket pocket.

Dean frowned, pulling it out and glancing at the screen. The name flashing across it made his stomach twist—not with fear, but instinct.

You.

“Crap,” he muttered, answering the call.

The moment he put the phone to his ear, he froze. The sound of your heavy breathing hit him like a truck, and Dean’s heart immediately dropped.

“What’s wrong? Hey, talk to me!” His voice shot up, the calm hunter’s edge replaced with urgency.

Your strained gasps came through the line, occasionally punctuated by soft groans of pain. It didn’t take long for realization to slam into him like a freight train, and when it did, he nearly dropped the damn phone.

“You—you’re in labor?” Dean’s eyes widened, his voice cracking slightly as the weight of your situation sank in. Behind him, Sam glanced back, brow raised, but Dean waved him off. “Oh, hell no… This is—it’s happening now?!”

Your shallow breaths and pained sounds made his heart wrench in his chest. He swallowed thickly, gripping the phone tighter and pacing a small circle.

“Alright, okay, listen. You just—you gotta hold on a little longer for me, sweetheart,” Dean pleaded, his voice trembling just enough for the cracks to show through. He glanced toward Sam, who was gesturing toward another open doorway. “I’m coming, alright? I don’t care what I gotta do—just hold on!”

Dean’s boots scuffed against the concrete as he started toward the exit, motioning frantically for Sam to wrap things up. “Sam! We’re done here. I mean it!”

He pressed the phone closer to his ear, lowering his voice. “You still with me? Hey—hey—you hang tight, you hear me? I want you to breathe, alright? Just like they told us, one of those baby class things. You’re the badass here; you can handle this. I’m the one who’s freaking out.”

Dean forced a small laugh, but it came out thin and strained. His knuckles were practically white as he adjusted his grip on the phone, letting the brief silence from you hang. “Sweetheart, you better believe I’m getting there as fast as I can, okay? I’m not missing this—no way in hell.”

Sam jogged up next to him, his face still questioning but understanding the urgency in Dean’s movements.

Dean shoved past him toward the Impala. “Get rid of that freakin’ monster already. I’m done. We got something more important to do!”

Climbing into the driver’s seat, Dean didn’t even bother with the seatbelt. He revved the engine, the familiar roar fueling his resolve. With one hand clenched tight on the wheel, the other still gripping the phone like a lifeline, Dean’s voice softened just slightly:

“Baby, I swear—I’m gonna be there. I’ll be with you and our little bean before you know it. Just hold on for me, alright? Please. I’m coming for you.”