Author's Note: This is the first installment of many in a new story arc titled: Sam's Niece. The entire arc will be set in an alternate universe constructed closely to canon. The timing of events might change a little, and some events might not happen entirely, but the biggest thing to change is Bobby doesn't die. Some installments will be in Sam's point of view, some will be in Dean's, and a couple will be in Bobby's. It's just a fluffy little AU scenario that popped into my head and once I acknowledged it, all these other little side stories started to bloom. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading.

This first installment is set mid-late season 5. Sam didn't let out Lucifer and the apocalypse isn't happening.

The Beginning

One of the only times Dean checked Sam into a hospital by using his legitimate last name would be the time he finds out he has a daughter.

They had been in the Baltimore area wrapping up a vamp hunt when Sam's arm had a bad encounter with a machete. If it had just been about the stitches, Dean would have taken care of that, no problem. There would have been no reason to bring Baby to a screeching halt outside the nearest ER at 1 o'clock in the morning. But Sam had bled a lot—a whole lot—and Dean wasn't going to try and take care of something as serious as ungodly amounts of blood loss all on his own.

After the good doctors had patched up Sam, they'd offered up a bit of hospitality in one of their trauma rooms while he got his fluids topped off. And that's exactly where Dean was when his world got tipped on its axis. Legs propped up on the gurney, Dean had been busy drifting through a comfortable doze when someone had knocked on the open door. He'd cracked his eyes open to find a dude dressed in jeans, a sports jacket, and sneakers, and he had asked if one of them were Dean Winchester.

Dean glanced at his brother—arm bandaged and propped up on a pillow, the kid was still zonked out on painkillers. Looking back, Dean told the stranger, "Maybe."

Guarded tone received, the guy had smiled and lifted his hands in a calming gesture, "Relax. I'm not with law enforcement or anything else that you might need to worry about."

Dean did relax, just a little. The tension eased from his shoulders and he asked, "What do you want?"

"May I?" the man asked, gesturing toward the inside of the room. Dean nodded, and he walked in and sat in the seat beside him. Glancing at Sam, he spoke softly, "My name is James Nelson. I'm with the Department of Child Protection Services."

Dean felt the guarded expression on his face tumble straight into baffled and he said, "Child Protection—um. We uh," Dean gestured between Sam and himself. "Mister, there must be some kind of mistake. Neither of us has any kids." And, even as the words left his mouth, a strange churning pit of dread started to stir within his gut. Out of the two of them, if there were any little Winchesters running around, it would be Dean who would have been the one to spawn them. It all came down to the numbers, and Dean's numbers ran circles around Sam's.

James smiled in understanding. "I hear that a lot. Unfortunately, I can't go into any further specifics, until I find Dean Winchester. So," He looked at Sam and then him, "I assume one of you is Dean?"

"I am."

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask for a form of ID."

Dean sized up the guy for a minute, gauging if anything he had to say was worth digging out his ID over. His curiosity over why the hell this guy dragged his ass down to the ER to meet with him at three in the morning got the better of him and Dean gave him a calculated look, saying, "Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

The CPS agent chuckled, "Of course," and started digging in his back pocket. They exchanged ID's and he extended his hand, saying, "Pleased to meet you."

Dean reciprocated the handshake and said, "What's this about? You come to find me and tell me I've got a kid? Someone looking for child support?"

"Would you like to talk about this somewhere else, so we don't disturb your friend?"

Dean looked at Sam and then replied, "I'd rather not. I want to be here when he comes around again."

James nodded and resumed speaking in his soft tone, "Mr. Winchester, the reason I'm here is because the CPS authorities in Fort Wayne, Indiana have been looking for you for about seven months. A mother has a Dean Winchester listed as the father on her child's birth certificate and, well, I'm sorry to say that she has since passed away. When your…" James trailed off and gestured at Sam.

"Brother."

"When your brother was registered here at the hospital, the last name got flagged in the system and, being the local CPS liaison, I was contacted."

"At 3-something in the morning?"

James grinned, "Not hardly normal business hours, but this is somewhat of an urgent matter."

Wait," Dean held up a hand as he processed what he'd just heard. He looked back at James, "Wait, you're telling me I have a kid?"

"Not quite yet, I'm not. I still need to match you with the information we have on file, and then a DNA test will be required to establish paternity. But, from what I'm going on, I'd say it's a pretty good chance you're the one we've been looking for."

"You have a kid?"

Dean whipped around at the groggy question. Sam was looking at him with a truckload of confusion on his brow and, "Uh...," was the best response Dean could come up with.

He looked back at James and the man smiled kindly, "Look, take care of your brother and when you can, come down to my office and I'll be able to do the necessary checks and we'll go from there."

"Okay," Dean said, nodding and feeling a bit dumbfounded as he accepted the man's business card.

"Relax," he told Dean. "And remember, this could all just be a case of mistaken identity. Don't lose sleep over this just yet." He patted Dean on the arm, then looked at Sam and raised a hand, "Sorry to disturb you; feel better."

And then he was gone.

"... you have a kid?"

Twelve hours later, a woman with a God-given talent for filling out a pencil skirt in just the right way, escorted Dean and his brother through the local CPS agency, to a back office to meet with James Nelson.

"James?" The receptionist called, wrapping her knuckles against the doorframe, "Dean Winchester is here to meet with you."

Looking up from the file on his desk, James gave them a smile. "Very good, Kelly. Thank you," he said, as he got to his feet and shook Dean's hand, "Hey, guys, good to see you. C'mon in." He noticed the sling Sam wore and offered him his left hand, "Hi, James Nelson."

"Sam." His brother answered, shaking the man's hand.

"Nice to see you up and about." James told Sam and then ushered them into his office, "Come in and have a seat. Would you like a drink? Water; coffee?"

"Uh, I'm good." Dean answered, and James looked over at Sam who grinned saying, "Fine; thanks."

Nodding James closed his door. Taking a seat behind his desk again, he said, "I've gotta say, I'm surprised you made it in today."

James looked between the two of them and Dean shot a thumb over toward his brother, "Couldn't get this one to wait until tomorrow. Too much suspense, I guess." Sam turned and gave him a look and Dean shrugged at him.

James chuckled, "I understand. It's a potentially life-changing discussion and people either come in as soon as possible to meet with me, or I never hear from them again. It's no small thing we're here to talk about today, and I'm very pleased to see you guys."

Dean gave him an uncomfortable nod and then James grabbed a file on the corner of the desk and pulled it in front of him. He opened it up, and Dean had to keep himself from leaning forward to look at it. "Okay. So. Like I mentioned last night. We have a baby girl in the system, just over one year old. The mom, a Miss Julia Canmore—"

James looked up at him and Dean realized he was in the hot seat to recognize the name. "Uh," he squirmed in his seat, looked at Sam, and then back to James, "Uh, where was she located?"

The agent looked back down to the file, "Says here, Maples, Indiana. It's a town just east of Fort Wayne."

"Fort Wayne...," Dean looked over at Sam, "Were we near Fort Wayne almost two years ago?"

Without words, Sam gave him a look that asked if Dean had forgotten how much they travel. Shrugging, he said, "Dean, I don't know... but, if we were, it'll be in the journal." He must have looked spooked because Sam gave him a smile and his elbow nudged his arm.

Dean turned back to James and asked, "Do you..., um, is there a picture of the mom?"

"Yes." Flipping to the front of the file, he pulled out a 3x5 photograph and handed it to Dean.

"Oh... my God I know her. Holy shit, I know her." Sam leaned in and Dean moved the photo toward him. Sam looked at it and then back at him, and Dean asked, "She doesn't look familiar?"

"Ah," Sam grinned and looked back at the picture. "Maybe?"

Dean pulled the photo back, still studying it, he shook his head at it, "I know her." He looked up at James, "How did she die?"

"Well," James took a deep breath, "unfortunately that's something I cannot go into. You and Ms. Canmore weren't family and the specifics of her death, I'm not allowed to discuss. Privacy laws and all that," he tacked on, accepting the photo Dean was handing back.

"She passed away... about six months ago, you said?"

James nodded, "Seven to be exact. And, like I mentioned last night. She listed Dean Winchester as the father on the birth certificate, and in her will."

Her will... Dean mulled that over in his brain. So, her death hadn't been sudden or unexpected. She'd known she was going to die and made sure to put him on the necessary documents, hoping their daughter went to him. Wait—he stopped himself. If she was even his daughter. He was already getting way ahead of what they knew so far. He needed to take a step back and breathe. He knew her...

"Yeah, but," his brother's voice broke through his thoughts. Addressing James, Sam said, "There has to be—how many Dean Winchester's out there?" He looked at Dean, and then back at James, "I mean, it's not as common of a last name as Smith or Thompson, but you can't tell me you're trying to track down and do a paternity test on every single Dean Winchester you manage to come across."

"No, no. Nothing like that. Before she passed, Ms. Canmore filled out her will, leaving full custody of her daughter to Dean Winchester, and since she didn't have any contact information for the father, she also left a detailed description of him in her will. Going by physical description, race and approximate age, only three other possible matches have been contacted; none of them claim to have been near the Fort Wayne area within the estimated time frame."

"So—" Sam looked over at him, and Dean started rubbing his brow. Sam looked back at James, asking, "So, what about other family? I mean, the child has been in the system for the last seven months? What about grandparents, or aunts, or uncles? Has no one else tried to claim her?"

James shook his head, "No. She's been in foster care since the time her mother was no longer able to care for her and no one has stepped up to claim her. Same goes for tracking down any other family. We struck out there, also."

Sam sat back in his seat and Dean could see the gears of his mind working. His brother thought for a few seconds and then looked at Dean. They just looked at each other for a beat, and then Dean asked the agent, "So, where do we go from here? Say I do the paternity test, and it comes back that she's mine. Say I..." Dean shot a glance to his left and Sam gave him a subtle nod. He looked back at James, "Say I want to take custody of her. How does that work?"

James leaned back in his chair, "Well, first we establish paternity. If it comes back positive, and you decide you would like custody, you'll sign an Acknowledgement of Paternity form. CPS will run a background check and as long as there are no red flags, and since no one can be found that would contest it, custody would then go to you; the father. There is a process, of course, and it won't happen in a day, but if paternity is established and you wish to take custody, that usually gets pushed through the family courts fairly quickly, all things considered."

"How long does it take to get the results?"

"The DNA test takes anywhere from 3-4 business days to 3 weeks, depending on the lab. Here in Baltimore, I know our lab's turnaround is close to 3 days. Sometimes two if they aren't backed up. I'm unfamiliar with the processing times in Fort Wayne, but I could find out for you if you'd like."

Dean thought for a minute, and then asked, "Could I just have the test done here? Or do I have to do that in Fort Wayne?"

"The paternity test can be done by any CPS agency, but for the rest of the paperwork, you would need to go to Fort Wayne to have that completed."

Dean sat back and blew out a deep breath.

"It's a lot, I know."

Rubbing his forehead again, Dean laughed softly, "That's putting it mildly."

James sat patiently while Sam and Dean shared another look, and he said, "I can step out if you would like some time to talk, or you can go home and get back to me later. Whatever you need."

"Um," Dean took a second, and then looked at James again. "Um, no. I mean, let's do it—get the test over and done with, right here, in Baltimore. Just so I know."

Turning in his chair, Sam gave him a hard look, "Dean. Are you sure you don't want to go back and dig through the journal first before you go donating your DNA? We should make sure we were even remotely close to the area back then."

"Sammy, I know her," Dean replied, knowing he had projected some of his fears and uncertainties just in that simple statement.

Sam was concerned, that much was clear, and Dean completely understood where he was coming from. If it had been Sam in his position, Dean would be pushing him to do the same. Check the facts. Giving up your DNA should always be kept as a last resort. But Dean had this feeling. This terrible, hopeful, sinking feeling. He knew her.

Sam looked at him for another moment, and then he sighed. Giving him a nod, he said, "Okay, man."

Dean looked back at James and said, "I'll take the test."

Sitting forward in his chair again, James pulled out a slip of paper and scribbled on a few of the lines, "This is the lab we use; the address is on the paper. Just pop in whenever you are ready and hand it to the lady at the front desk. That is all you have to do. They'll do a cheek swab and get back to us with the results. I'll be in contact with you as soon as I find out."

"Okay..." Dean thought, then said, "Guess I should give you my phone number."

James grinned, "Might make it a little easier to contact you."

Leaving James' office, Sam and Dean meandered around a sea of cubicles, walked through the government building, and all the way out to the car in silence. Both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, it took until Dean was pulling the Impala into the lab and put the car in park before he said, "I might be a dad."

Sam turned to look at him and gave him a crooked, uncertain grin, "Yeah."

Dean sat there for a minute, and then pulled the keys from the ignition.

Inside the lab, Dean handed over the paper James gave him and then showed his ID. It was exchanged for a clipboard and pen, and Dean turned and went to sit next to his brother.

Dean sank down in the chair and looked over the medical form. He got started, saying, "It's so strange filling out one of these things with my actual information."

Sam looked over and smiled, "Yeah. Speaking of that, what made you skip the alias last night at the hospital?"

Moving to the next blank field on the form, Dean paused and then said, "Man, I don't know. You were all frootloops with blood loss and me—I don't know. I wasn't thinking."

"Good thing." Sam looked at him, "I guess?"

Dean looked up, "I can't get my head wrapped around it yet. I don't know how I feel about all of this."

Sam nodded, "But hey, maybe..." Sam gave him an unsure, cringy kind of grin, "Maybe she's not even yours. You know?"

"Yeah," Dean answered and gave his brother a half-hearted smile.

Cheek swabbed twice, Dean led the way out of the lab and back into the parking lot. He stopped at his car door but didn't open it. He was trapped in his thoughts again. He felt like he was a figure in a snow globe and someone had picked up his world and given it a hearty shake. If they were to give the crank on the bottom a good wind, he was sure 4 Non Blondes would start playing and he'd be the one inside the globe singing out, "Hey! What's going on?"

"Dean?"

Looking across the roof of the car Dean found his brother still looking concerned for him. The worry in Sam's eyes was obvious, but when he looked closer, Dean also saw that he was hurting. Sam wouldn't bring it up, not now when Dean was trying to deal with what just got shoveled onto his plate. Yeah, he might be grappling with the idea of potentially being a dad, but dealing with the stress of that didn't mean he was going to shirk on his duties to the person he'd already played that role to so many years ago.

"C'mon," Dean said, opening his door, "Let's book a room. You need to get off your feet."

Sliding behind the wheel, he cranked the engine as Sam was closing his door. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, and then looked over at his brother, "Busy day for you after what you went through last night. How you are doing?"

Sam looked over at him, "I'm okay." Dean gave him a look and Sam sighed, "Okay, arm's throbbing. I'm tired, but I'm okay."

Winchester Translation: I'm in pain and dead on my feet.

Dean looked back at the road. He'd find them a place to crash and then go get some food. He didn't know if he could eat, didn't know if Sam wanted to, but he knew they both needed to.

Dean pulled up under the covered entryway to a Hampton Inn and put the car in park, "I'll be right back."

"Dean," Sam grabbed his sleeve before he could get out of the car. "What are we doing here? Why didn't you just go back to the place we stayed at last night?"

Dean shrugged. He grinned, "Felt like a change."

"But, Dean...," Looking out the windshield, Sam trailed off and then looked back at him, "We can't afford this."

"Sammy," Dean sat back in his seat with a sigh, "Look, we've both had a hell of a last 24 hours. I think we deserve a nice room for a change. Besides, I'm going to drive you nuts with nervous energy until I get a call about that test. For your sake, let's take the good room with the good cable channels that I can zone out to."

Sam just smiled and let go of his sleeve.

Ten minutes later, they were dropping their duffels by the beds and it took maybe another three seconds before Sam was completely stretched out on his. Dean looked over to see him easing his arm out of the sling. He tossed a spare pillow at his brother's legs, saying, "Get that arm propped up. I'm going to grab you some ice."

Walking back from the ice machine with the bucket tucked under his arm, Dean couldn't stop thinking about what having a little girl would mean for him. What would he do? Would he take custody of her? Could he, with their life? How would it change their life? Would he stop hunting? Would he be able to deny being her dad? He didn't think there was one part of him that thought he'd be able to turn his back on her and abandon her back into the system.

Putting the keycard into the slot on their door, another, more disturbing thought came to him. How was he going to feel if it turned out all this stress and worrying was for nothing? How was he going to feel if the test came back negative? How would that feel?

Instead of trying to find an answer to any of the above questions, he just pushed the door open and walked back into the room.

Later that night, half a cold pizza sat over on the entertainment center while some old western played on the TV. Sam was doped up on oxycodone and dozing through most of it until sometime around 9 o'clock when he started working on getting up.

Looking over, Dean eyed him, asking, "What are you doing?"

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sam rubbed his eyes with his left hand and spoke through a yawn, "Gotta hit the head."

"Hey, lightweight, you too high to walk straight?"

Sam looked at him, "Well, there's only one of you and I don't see any dancing bears, so I think I'll be okay."

"Just go slow, will ya?" Dean replied, watching Sam rise to his feet. He tracked his movements across the room, making sure the narcotics hadn't made him dizzy. The bathroom door shut, and Dean returned his attention to the western.

A few minutes later, Sam came padding back across the room toward his bed. Sitting down, he pulled out his duffel and started rummaging through it. "You're going to have to use Bobby's address."

Dean scowled at the statement and shot a look over at Sam. "The hell you talking about?"

His brother pulled out a pair of jogging pants and said, "If she's yours, you're going to have to fill out all sorts of paperwork. You're going to have to say that you live at Bobby's place. They're never going to give custody of a child to someone who lives a vagrant lifestyle—biological father or not."

Dean looked back at the TV and said, "Guess it's a good thing I never use my real name with anything to do with hunting. If they do a background check, I can't think of anything on there that would raise a flag."

Sam tugged the pants up with his good hand and then slipped under the covers, "You think putting down Bobby's info would raise any? Surely, they'd check into anyone the child would be living with. You think he's got anything that would throw a wrench into the process?"

Dean took a minute to think about that. "Nah. Bobby's real careful about that. His salvage business is fully legit, and his house is paid off. Only thing might be if someone showed up for an inspection of the premises."

"Yeah, and even then, you wouldn't get denied custody over that. They'd tell you what needed to be changed in order for them to grant custody. Cleaned up, or unsafe things made... safe."

Dean smirked, "Man, listen to that big brain get all wordy."

Sam sunk lower in the bed, "Shut up."

Gunshots rang out from the TV as black-and-white cowboys chased after black-and-white cattle rustlers. They were just about to string up one of the rustlers when Dean piped up, "Hey." He tossed Sam a bottle of water, asking, "What are we talking about this for so much anyway? Man, we don't even know what that test is going to say. This could all just blow over, and we'll go on our way and pick up our lives right where we left off before all this."

"Dean."

He hated that tone—hate, hate, hated that tone. That was Sam's cautionary, you're not going to like this tone. Steeling himself, he looked over at his brother and Sam said, "When you went to get the pizza, I dug through my journal. Dean, we did a job around Fort Wayne almost two years ago. How long ago we were there and how old the child is—dude, the math adds up. It's a little surreal how the cards are falling," pausing, Sam looked at him for a moment and then said, "Dean, this little girl might really be yours."

Two days later they got their answer. Dean's phone had rung and it was James. Sam sat at the desk in the room, watching him pace the tight space between the beds and the tv as he listened to what the CPS agent had to say. It wasn't a long phone call, and less than five minutes later, Dean was thanking him and saying goodbye.

Closing his phone, Dean sat down on the end of the bed and stared off into the mirror on the wall across from him. He closed his eyes and just sat there for a minute. He just needed to sit for a minute. If he didn't, everything that James had said would probably just evaporate before his brain had a chance to absorb it.

He wasn't sure how long it was before the bed beside him sank down. Another moment of silence passed, before Sam touched his arm, asking, "Dean?"

Taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at his brother. "She's mine, Sammy."

Sam released a long breath and then said, "Holy crap."

Dean chuckled, "Yeah. That's about as far as I've gotten too."

"What do you do now? What are you going to do now?"

Dean looked up at the ceiling and sighed, "I guess we're headed to Fort Wayne, Indiana."

Sam smirked, "You've made your mind up? You're sure? I mean, I'm not trying to make you second guess yourself, or change your mind or anything, but I'm just asking... you sure?"

Dean looked at him, "Yeah, Sam. I'm sure. I think I've been sure ever since I found out there was a possibility. I mean, am I scared? Hell yes. But no way is there even the slightest part of me that would be okay with abandoning my own daughter. Go on with my life and just pretend it never happened?" Dean shook his head, "I can't do that."

"I know, Dean." Sam grinned and smacked him on the back, "Let's pack up. It's a 9-hour drive to Fort Wayne. The way you drive, we might get there before the CPS office closes for the day."

Three more days. That's all it took before he met his little girl for the first time. Just like Sam predicted, they'd made it to Fort Wayne in record time that day. By 4 pm, they were sitting in a different CPS agent's office. He was showing his ID and signing the AOP form and then Sam filled out the form for a background check to be done on him also. It was necessary, seeing as they lived together, and also since Dean was naming him as a legal guardian. It was one of about forty different things they'd talked about on the long drive from Baltimore.

Considering the delicate nature of uniting a small child with her family, the AOP got pushed through family court and the Judge had signed off on it by the end of the following day. Both his and Sam's background checks went through without a hitch. Once paternity was approved by the family court, they learned all that CPS had on file about her. The first thing they found out was her name: Libby—not short for anything, just Libby. Then they'd been shown her photo.

Dean had taken the photo from the agent in Fort Wayne and had just sat there, staring at her smiling face. She was gorgeous, and love at first sight didn't seem like just a cliché anymore. Right off, Sam had pointed to the picture, telling Dean she had his eyes. Which, he had to admit, kinda no denying that. Her hair color she got from her mom, a light chestnut. Her fine baby hair had a spattering of loose, bouncy curls that were so similar to the ones that chased around his earliest memories of Sam, and simply put, it made his heart smile.

Now he and Sam were back in the CPS offices, waiting to see his daughter. He was going to see his daughter, Libby, for the first time. Sitting there, waiting for her to show up, he started entertaining the thought that time had found a way to work backward, just to screw with him. He was nervous and excited, and he was pretty sure his stomach was crawling up into his throat. His leg bounced up and down to the tempo of some unheard Rave music until Sam grabbed his knee. Dean looked over at him. Smiling, Sam told him, "Breathe, Dean."

Then the door opened and they both looked up as the CPS agent walked in with his little girl in her arms. He didn't know if he was supposed to ask to hold her or to just reach for her, but thankfully the agent made it simple by suggesting they go down to the toy room, so they could let her get to know them through play.

Following the agent down the hallway, Libby was looking at them from over the woman's shoulder, and God help him, Dean couldn't stop himself from making a goofy face at her. Ducking her face into the agent's shoulder, Libby hid her smile. When she peeked at him again, he made another face, and then another. The more she smiled, the sillier his expressions got. In fact, he was busy crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out sideways when a reverse snort came from his right. He looked over and saw his brother snickering at him. Dean struck out and punched him in his good arm.

"Ow!" Sam mouthed around a silent chuckle.

Libby laughed at them.

Dean was smitten.

He'd just found out about her less than a week ago. He'd only met her ten minutes ago, and already he was sensing she'd been a glaring piece of their lives that they'd been missing out on.

Sitting on the toy room floor, they played with colorful, oversized blocks. It wasn't long before he'd been assigned the grunt work of laying the blocks as she unquestionably assumed the role of the foreman. Going to town on the binkie in her mouth, she toddled back and forth between the wall they were constructing and the bin of blocks.

She was very specific on which block they needed to use next. Sam offered her one, and she shook her head, he tried another, and again she shook her head, after rejecting the third, he picked up one exactly like the first, and she grunted in approval. She took it from Sam and brought it over to him, pointing to the exact spot where he needed to place it. If he got it wrong, she'd bull her way in between him and the wall and move it to where she wanted it to go.

"Jeez, Dean," Sam teased after that happened a few more times, "Get it together already."

Looking around the wall, Dean gave him a look, saying, "I know, right?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the CPS agent sitting at a table across the room, and smiling at them from behind her hand.

A little while later, Dean had joined the agent at that same table. Sam and Libby continued playing on the floor while they chatted about odds and ends. At some point, their casual conversation had drifted into what it took to raise a child, and Dean smirked. Dropping his head, he had to smile to himself and nod. She was good. The way she steered their conversation from latest YouTube phenom to the rising price of groceries and then straight into child-raising responsibilities, it was a natural, smooth progression, and he had stepped right into it.

Lifting his head again, he looked at the agent and had to grin at the knowing smile playing on her lips. Subtle, and not at all cocky, her look said she knew he'd caught onto being wrangled, and now she sat across from him, patiently waiting to see what he had to say.

Nodding to himself again, Dean drew in a breath and his head canted in his brother's direction, "When Sammy was just an infant, our mom had passed away. So, then it was just us and our dad. And, you know, dad did his best. He really did. But, being a single parent, he worked all the time, so he was gone a lot." Looking over toward Sam, he thought for a minute, then said, "I'm not really, exactly sure when I ended up mostly taking over for Dad. I think it must have been when I was eight or nine." Dean looked back at her, "Somewhere around then Sam became my responsibility—because Dad was gone all the time. I had to learn real quick how to cook..." he leaned across the table, proudly declaring mac and cheese with hotdogs as his first masterpiece. A laugh broke through the agent's frown, and he grinned, "...packing lunches, helping Sam with his homework, chasing away bad dreams, keeping him safe. That all fell on me."

The frown on her face deepened as she looked at him with something not quite to the level of pity but way past concern. She said, "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"Don't be."

"That's an awful lot of responsibility to put on the shoulders of someone so young—an immense amount of responsibility."

"Look," Dean asserted, "I'm not glad our mom died or anything, but I've never resented being the one there for Sam all those years."

"Oh, I know," she acknowledged. Reaching across the table, her palm landed close to his arm and she said, "Believe me, I know. You two have an obvious connection. There is a powerful dynamic between you and your brother. It's something I've witnessed off and on throughout the years with siblings that grew up relying on each other. I'm not trying to imply that you took care of your brother just because you were told to. I'm just saying, I know how much work that can be, especially for a child, and it appears that you did a great job."

Dean smirked and looked toward his brother again, "I don't know about 'great', there are some fails I could tell you about that would make your—" looking at the agent, Dean reminded himself to tread carefully when it came to divulging his faults. Grinning, he sat back in the chair saying, "Well, let's just agree he's still alive and we'll call it a win."

The agent laughed. Her hand reached across the table again, and this time it landed on his arm. "I could tell you about some of my own fails as a parent that would make your hair stand on end. And I was an adult when I became a mom."

They shared a laugh as she sat back in her own chair. Smiling at him she hesitated for a second, and then said, "Now, I'm just going to put this out there... and I'm not trying to imply anything or make any judgements or assumptions, but I need you to understand something. If you think it's going to be too much, or if you are uncomfortable with taking on a baby full-time, or even if you just don't want to be a dad—there is absolutely no shame in putting her back up for adoption."

Dean knew she was just doing her job, and he told himself that the woman was kind and it was her duty to put Libby's wellbeing as her first and primary concern. And, to be fair, if he wasn't certain he was ready to take on all the challenges that came along with raising a child, yeah, that would be far from Libby's best interests. Taking a breath, he was getting ready to solidify his conviction that he was ready to be her dad when a rich, bubbly, munchkin-sized belly laugh erupted from the other side of the room. Both he and the agent turned and looked over toward the towering brick wall.

Sam was sitting cross-legged on the floor and Libby was sitting on one of his knees, staring at his hand resting in the sling. She was grinning so wide the binkie was in serious danger of tumbling out of her mouth. For a second, she just sat there, looking, and then she started to lean forward, grinning more as she reached out. Tentatively, she eased her hand into the sling. The farther her arm disappeared within, the larger her eyes widened. Her grin was morphing into this maniacal little smile and gurgley squeals of glee and anticipation started spilling out from behind the binkie. And that's when Sam's hand latched onto her arm and Libby shrieked out in startled delight. Sinking back against him, she completely dissolved into another round of those rich, contagious belly-laughs.

Cracking up, Sam caught her in his good arm and looked over at Dean. Pointing at Libby, he was was full-on dimples and laughing just as hard as she was.

Dean smiled. Shaking his head, he looked back at the agent, saying, "I think we're sure."

Fin.