"Sam, that's a baby."
"Yeah, Dean. I got that."
"Why is there a baby in the car?"
"Well, Dean, I must have left a magic baby seed on the front seat before we went to dig up Ol' Firestarter McGee. How the hell should I know why-"
"Well, are you gonna pick it up?"
"You pick it up."
Two minutes go by.
"We are standing with shovels in a grave yard, and it's almost sunrise. Grounds keepers are on their way."
"Why are we just standing here?"
"I'm waiting for him to wake up."
Eye roll. "Yeah, how long do you suppose that will take?"
"How the hell should I know? I don't know anything about babies."
"And how do you know it's a he?"
"It's just so we don't keep calling him 'it.' Seems wrong."
Four minutes go by.
"Sam, I think we're gonna have to wake him up."
"But, he looks so peaceful. Look, he just put his knuckle in his mouth and, oop, no, he's back to sleep. "
"It's weird how his arm is just hanging in the air like that."
"Does kinda look uncomfortable."
"Okay. This has been fun, but, we gotta drop the kid at a hospital or something and get going."
"But, we don't have a car seat or anything."
"Just, put him on your lap, and I'll drive slow."
"If the cops see us, they'll pull us over."
"So cover his head with your jacket or something."
Silence. Major Sammy-glare.
"I know, bad idea. Just hold him on your lap."
Doors slam. The engine rumbles. The car doesn't move.
"He is kind of cute, sleeping in your gigantic hands."
"You think it's really not safe to drive without a car seat?"
"If you go slow, it's probably okay."
"But, he looks kind of floppy to be driving around unsecured."
"Dean, we're in the middle of nowhere. It's 4:00 in the morning. We've been away from the car for three hours at least. Who knows how long he's been in here? We've got to get him inside, get him some food."
"You think he's sleeping, or you think he's unconscious?"
"I would have to wake him up to find out."
"Guess it wouldn't matter if we knew, one way or the other."
"Except, if we wake him up, he'll probably cry. And, we're kind of far from any hospitals."
"Yeah, that would suck, to drive with a crying baby…oh, wait. I drive around with you."
Silence. Car stays idle.
"Okay, okay. Just, hold on to him, okay?"
"I got him, don't worry. He seems to be breathing okay."
"What was that? Did he talk?"
"Just a little settling noise, I think. So, maybe he's not unconscious?"
"Sounds kind of like a cat."
"Dean, drive, would you?"
"A cat that got stepped on."
"Uh oh. He's waking up, I think."
Loud crying abruptly fills the Impala.
"What did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything. He's just waking up. He's probably hungry."
"Well, give him something to eat, damnit."
"Dean, he doesn't have any teeth. I can't just open a Snickers and feed him."
Crying grows loud and strong.
"Jesus Christ. Give him something!"
Sam pulls a granola bar out of his pocket. He opens it, puts a small flake on the vibrating tongue. The crying stops a moment, the flake is spit out.
"He needs milk or something, Dean. Just drive."
Dean turns, puts his hands on the wheel. "Wait, wait. Lunch. Is it still in the back seat?"
"Yeah, the trash is."
Dean leans over the seat, reaches the bag on the floor behind Sam's seat.
He tosses it at Sam. "Give him the yogurt you didn't finish."
Silence, excepting the mountain lion-type wailing.
"Dean, that's gross."
"Sam, that kid is hungry, my nerves are already shot from two days of putting out fires in this damn town, and I can't drive with that racket. Give the kid some damn yogurt."
Sam thrusts the squirming, screaming baby at Dean.
Dean puts the kid over his shoulder and bounces him. The crying lessens. Dean hums The Who's 'Who Are You' softly into its ear.
Sam pushes past the scraps of their 7-11 purchased lunch, and pulls out a half-filled strawberry yogurt. He opens the glove compartment.
"Do you need a gun? What are you looking for?"
"A clean spoon."
Eye roll. "Sam, just use your finger. He doesn't care."
Hard Sammy glare. "I was just digging up a grave, using gasoline to burn bones. I haven't washed my hands." Holds up a clean, white plastic spoon. "I always keep a spare."
Disbelieving, yet, oddly proud stare. Soft singing of "Whoooo are you, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh…"
Sam brings the spoon to the tiny mouth.
Nothing happens. Crying continues.
"He's not opening his mouth."
"Sam, just put some on his upper lip. He'll get the idea."
Crying stops. Wet mouth noises replace the din.
Sam smiles. Dean smiles. The yogurt disappears into the weirdly toothless mouth as fast as Sam can spoon it in.
Sam scrapes the sides of the container, fills the spoon one last time. "Wow. He really was hungry."
Dean pats the tiny back, hands the baby back to Sam.
"You seem to know a lot about babies."
A short laugh. "You think?"
Another beat of silence.
"I sort of forget that you had to take care of me, you know, when I was little."
Dean puts the car in gear. "Yep."
"Must have been annoying."
"Sorry about that."
"Sometimes it was okay."
Dean turns on the radio.
"You were a pretty easy baby. Didn't cry much. Pretty frickin' easy to make you laugh. Ate everything." Glance over. "Much easier than now."
The music is low, the engine is purring. The sun is starting to come up.
" I forget, sometimes. About everything you did-"
"It wasn't a big deal."
"It was a lot to put on you, though. You were just a kid yourself."
"Shut up. We're brothers. What else would I have done?"
" You could have done nothing, actually."
Glance over. Small smile. Memory behind the words, "Where's the fun in that?"
Smile, answering glance. "Yeah."
The little face scrunches up, turns red. The body gets rigid, Sam holds the baby away from himself. "Dean? What's he doing?"
A loud sploosh is clearly audible.
Smirk. "I'm driving, Sam. You deal with it."