Title: Bobby's Daughter

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize…

Warnings: Nope.

Notes: I know I said I was done, but I just couldn't help it! Sorry!

Enjoy!


I was in deep trouble. Very deep trouble.

We had gone to visit my dad and managed to tell him we were married without a showdown. That was good.

So Dad had let us share a room and act like we were married because, frankly, we were.

That was all last night.

This morning – around six – I woke up and tossed my cookies. Again, at seven thirty and once more at nine.

Now, I was lucky. Dad liked to sleep in as did Sammy. So no one would know, right? Wrong. I knew Dean was awake when I returned to the bed the first time because I snuggled up next to him and he stiffened. He was scared.

"Dean," I had whispered.

"Go back to sleep," he replied and rubbed my back gently.

And now it was nine-ten. I had been sick three times and Dean hadn't even got out of bed.

Okay, I was a little mad about that, but whatever. What I really wanted to know was why he was scared.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was still under the covers, facing the opposite side.

"Dean," I asked.

"Yeah?"

"What's going on?"

He shifted to face me. "What do you mean?"

"You're scared."

"No I'm not." And he turned to face the wall again.

Well, screw him then. If I had the flu and he wasn't going to take care of me, then we were going to have a problem.


It was six later that night and Dean was kind of avoiding me, only proving my father right: he wasn't husband material. Not that Dad didn't love Dean, trust me he did. It's just that he wasn't ready for Dean to marry his only daughter. Hell, I don't think he was ready for Dean to marry either way.

"Dean," I said, coming into the living room. Sam had gone off to do something that he wasn't talking about and Dad was in the kitchen cooking dinner. Dean, however, was sitting in the living room watching TV, "dinner's almost ready."

"Okay." He didn't even move his eyes from the TV.

That was it. I wasn't going to take this any more. I fell onto the couch and let my legs overlap his. He wasn't going anywhere. "What's up," I asked, scooting toward his body while keeping my legs on top of his.

"Nothing." Didn't look at me again.

"Dean," I sighed.

"Syd," he said a little harshly, "stop. I'm fine. You're just sick and I'm fine. I just don't want to catch whatever you have."

"Sure," I rolled my eyes, "because last time I was sick, you were by my bed the whole time. Hell, you put me on bed rest. And I only had an ear infection. What's up with you?"

"Nothing." He shut down.

When Dean shuts down, it's hard to get him open again. Normally, he won't talk to anyone other than one word sentences and he won't look anyone in the eye. I hate it.

He pushed me off of him and got up, heading down the hall.

No. He was not doing this to me. Not today, not ever.

"Dean Winchester," I practically yelled, running down the hallway after him. I grabbed his arm and shoved him against the wall so he faced me.

"What, Sydney," he asked, fire in his eyes. "What the hell do you want from me now?"

"What I want is to know why you're avoiding me. I'm only sick. I've got the flu. And last time I checked, I don't have AIDS or anything else that will keep me from getting better. So I'm not dying. Give it up. What's wrong?"

"Good," Dean bit out. "Glad you'll be better in nine months."

"Nine months?" Okay, that confused me. Nine months… nine months… Pregnancy? Oh my god. Dean thought I was pregnant and wasn't telling him. "I'm not pregnant, Dean."

"Really? Last time I checked you were," he answered, calmer than before but still upset. He counted off with his fingers. "Morning sickness, that stupid craving for blueberries – you hate blueberries, you haven't had your period in weeks, you're always tired or moody, and your breasts are tender, not to mention your nipples are darker."

Did I miss this much? Dean knew a hell of a lot about medicine – more than I gave him credit for. And all these symptoms that Dean noticed and I didn't? Jesus, he should be the doctor, not me.

I was kind of speechless right now, so I just backed up. Was it possible I was pregnant? "How long," I managed. "How long have you…"

"Six weeks."

"And you're mad?"

He shook his head. "You weren't telling me."

"I didn't know."

"I can see that," he said with a slight smile. He stepped forward, placing a hand on either side of my still-in-shock figure. He pulled me into his chest and I just collapsed.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I really didn't know."

He kind of shrugged as I started to return the hug. "I thought you did."

I shook my head into his chest. "No clue."

"Jeez," he teased, "You aren't as smart as I thought."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Yeah; well, you know…"

"Yeah," he said with a small smile.

I paused for effect. "Dean?"

"Hmm?" He still wasn't letting me go; instead, he was holding me tight.

"You can tell Dad."

"Fuck no. You."

"You."

"You."

"You."

"Tell me what," my dad asked from the hallway.

We both looked at him. He must have come in when he heard the screaming.

I freed myself from Dean's grasp. "Dean'll tell you," I said quickly before jumping into my bedroom door behind me and locking it.

How's that for not helping me with my morning sickness today?


I know I said I was done, but I couldn't help it with this chapter. Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to everyone who asked for a sequel. Thank you so much, guys! Hope you enjoyed!