Disclaimer: Writing for fun, not profit.

A/N (reminder): Setting is pre-series, obviously. Enjoy! Rated for talk of minors having sex and some adult language.

Holy crap, this couldn't be happening. Seriously. This couldn't be happening, because he'd been damn careful, at least the first (oops) time—he'd mostly gotten out the second time, thank you—and he'd read in that one magazine (the one he'd never admit to actually reading, not upon pain of friggin' death) that there were barely ever enough soldiers left in the barracks after that first march into enemy territory to actually plant a goddamn flag—and holy shit, this was really happening, because Winchesters excelled at manly feats, which, apparently, involved fertilizing women at age sixteen.

Dad was going to kill him.

This was the end. Dean "Dumbass" Winchester is a dead man walking, he noted, with a hysterical chuckle. Well, he would have been a dead man walking, if he'd actually been walking. He wasn't. Mainly because his legs had quit working the moment that Penny Hamm had started crying about missing her period over the last two months. At that point, the crying alone had done him in—he hadn't even put together that second part, too focused on making the oh-god-she's-still-sobbin' stop to get to the if-her-father-hears-what-she's-about-to-say-there's-going-to-be-a-rifle-pointed-at-my-head.

And, then she'd made her case. Missing period—why, why, did she have to keep mentioning her girl stuff?—sick days from school, five more pounds on the scale, scary dreams, and dill pickle chips…Dean didn't understand why chips mattered, and he wasn't sure Penny knew either, but she'd just lumped that in at the end.

"Oh." Dean had managed to make a one syllable word that was really more of a sound. "Oh."

Then she'd pulled out the test, still in its box, and said she was going to go pee on a stick.

Dean had thought guys were supposed to be the ones all over-telling when came to gross bodily functions, but he realized that assumption was completely wrong. Of course, he also realized that his list of things he was completely wrong about was getting kinda long. Right above period-talk was the belief that the night he borrowed the Impala to take Penny "Red-Panties" Hamm to the drive-in didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

Christ, Dad was going to kill him. Especially when he found out what had been done in the backseat.

Dean wiped his sweaty palms off on his jeans, staring at Penny's room as if he'd never seen it before. Mostly because he hadn't. His time with her had been limited to one wow-that-was-awesome night after one too many teasing passes by his locker. Did it mean anything that he barely knew her? What if she was a crappy mother? What if Penny Hamm would want to put his child up for adoption? What if she wanted to get rid of it? What if her parents were fetus-eating monsters?

Dean figured her floral green wallpaper wasn't supposed to be spinning. He sucked in a breath and squeezed his knees, trying to calm down.

Would Dad let him keep the baby? The question had come out of left field and brought his world to a screeching halt. It wasn't really a good question because it didn't have any basis in reality. Dean would admit as much. Because, come on, if she did decide to have it, if she did decide she didn't want to keep it, if he got any say whatsoever, Dean figured he still wouldn't be offered the chance to keep the baby. But…But if he was…

Dean smirked, shaking his head. Sammy would love it. Not being the baby, the youngest in the family, anymore. And Sammy…Sammy had been hard to raise, but Dean figured he'd done good, right? And the kid had turned out okay so far—a bit bookish, sure, but not everyone could be a lady killer (slash, impregnator). Plus, he had a secret weapon now—he could drive the Impala. Instant nappy time. Another mouth to feed would put a strain on the budget, but hell, he didn't need school, a bit of pool hustling and a side job would be all he needed for a few years…

And no one would be able to protect his kid like him. No friggin' way he'd let some civilians who didn't know the first thing about laying down salt lines keep his baby.

So, yeah, Dean figured—

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Penny dashed back into the room, her peed-on stick held hidden under her sleeve. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but there was a small smile on her face. Dean didn't know what that smile meant, so he just held his breath.

"Sorry." She sighed, shaking her head. "Sorry, I got so weepy—it's negative. We're in the clear."

"Oh." Back to that one syllable. That word that was a sound. Dean blinked, letting everything she said sink in and all the things he'd thought fall behind the curtain again, and, finally, he forced a grin onto his face. "Awesome."