Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Supernatural. Sadly that's the cold hard truth.

John Winchester stood in the hospital's white corridor.

He had spent the past seven hours pacing the bleach smelling hall, too nervous to even pause and take a seat in the waiting room. His feet were so sore the pain throbbed in rhythm with the annoying ticktock of the large black clock tacked to the otherwise empty wall. He's mind was wrapped up so tight he didn't hear the even steps approaching behind him.


John turned hard on his heels to face the pasty-faced man decked out in green scrubs that had called his name. He's hazel eyes took in the blood stains on the other man's clothes. Every possible scenario raced through John's mind. Something had gone wrong. "How is she Doc?"

"Mary's resting comfortably. Everything went just fine. She wants to see you."

After the sensation of shock drained from his mind John repeated the doctor word speedily. John nearly passed out when the words processed through the worried frenzy that clouded all sensible thought. Mary was okay. No words could describe the elation that washed over him as he rushed down the corridor behind the doctor to see his wife. When he rounded the corner he could hear shrilling shrieks coming from her hospital room. Quickening his pace John passed the doctor and raced into Mary's room.

Mary was sitting upright on her bed, her satiny blonde curls in a beautiful disarray that framed her face as she hummed softly. Her skin was flushed but the lines in her face were calm and her movements were relaxed as she readjusted the small bundle of fabric in her arms. John's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Something he told her frequently despite the rouge that would overtake her creamy skin when he did. Mary Winchester. His life. His love. His wife. He was the luckiest bastard on earth and he knew it every time he looked at her. He knew it every time he fell asleep with the scent of her perfume on his mind and every time he woke up with her in his arms. And there she was. Alive and well holding her arms around a tiny bunch of fabric so delicately she was the picture of an angel wrapping its arms around a cloud.

The sweet lines of her lips curved up into a smile when she spotted him in the door frame. Her blue eyes sparkling as she watched him watching her. "John."

Moving easily John edged towards the metal framed bed holding his Mary. His callused palms framed her silky cheeks and he brushed his lips against hers, savouring the taste of her on his lips before he released her slowly. Mary let out a soft sigh as she looked up at the man she loved with every bit of affection and adoration held in her heart colouring her voice as she whispered, "John, I'd like you to meet your son."

"We have a son." John's voice was barely a whisper as he looked into the small bundle of cloth.

"We do." Mary smiled at her husband. Enjoying the wonder held in his expression as he watched their son sleep in her arms. "Do you want to hold him?"

John didn't answer. He simply reached out and accepted the small warm fabric bundle from her arms. The soft pinky folds covering the tiny creature's eyes rustled but stayed closed as he stretched within his cloth confines and let his small breath out in a sigh before sucking his lips in and out as he slumbered. The sweet smell of milk and powder clung to blue blanket enwrapping his son. His son. He had a son. The soft look held in John's eyes became blurry as crystallized tears formed around the hazel rims. "He's perfect."

"I know. He looks just like an angel." Mary laughed lightly, the lyrical sound filling the room like a pleasant breeze. She leaned back against the white cotton pillows stacked on her bed watching her husband hold their son. "I was thinking we should name him Dean. What do you think?"

"Dean Winchester?" John smiled brightly as he tested the sound of the name. Miniature blonde lashes parted revealing soft green eyes as his son stared up at him. "Hey Dean."


John Winchester stood in the hospital's white corridor.

Dean's green gaze stayed with him as he moved away and walked towards another hospital room slowly. Reluctantly. John closed his eyes remembering the day he first held his Dean in his arms twenty-seven years before. Dean his firstborn. His companion. His son.

Everything John had ever wanted for Dean and everything John had never been raced around his mind in a dizzying cloud of regret that cracked his already broken heart until the pain was so overwhelming his heart just gave out. Swallowing hard John's eyes shot open as eerie yellow oculuses fixed on him. He didn't look back as he entered the darkened hospital room. John knew he would never see his son again.