br Dean was pretty freaking sure that the baby – whose name, Sam had informed him after a couple hours of what looked like painful thinking, was David John (promptly shortened, by Dean, to Davie) – didn't ever sleep. Sure, for the first few nights, the kid had been too tired, and too freaked out to i not /i sleep, but now he was realizing that his mother wasn't coming back, and no kid dealt well with that. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't dirty, he wasn't cold or lonely or any of the eighty-three other possible baby emotions Sam had suggested. Dean was pretty sure he was scared, and that he wanted his mom, which was the one thing that they could never give him.

br Luckily, Dean had some experience dealing with scared and homesick six-month-old Winchesters. He looked over at Sam and the baby, who were lying on the bed opposite, in what was the position that they'd both started gravitating to over the past five days – Sam, spread out on his back, one hand his son's back as David splayed over his father's chest on his stomach, mouthing at Sam's shirt, or currently, whimpering, having cried himself raw.

br "Sammy, c'mere," Dean murmured, "and bring my boy with you," Sam looked like he was about to protest, but shifted David's dark head up to his shoulder before moving over to Dean's bed, lying back down on his back. "No, put him here," Dean muttered, patting the space between them, "and look at me, 'kay?" Sam did, pulling his knees up a little and curling towards Dean, leaving his hand on David's stomach. The baby whimpered a little more and arched towards his father, reaching one hand out to tangle in Sam's ratty old T-shirt. Dean reached over, laid one hand on Sam's hip before kissing David on the head.

br "Think this'll change anything?" Sam asked, yawning wide. Dean had offered to stay up with the baby, but apparently, when Davie didn't sleep, Sammy didn't either.

br "Used to make you sleep," Dean said, "I remember. You would sleep in Mom and Dad's bed, and then after, you know, after, you used to sleep between Dad and me. Warm, I guess, safe, right?" David, as if in agreement, reached out his other hand and the second it fell back on Dean's chest he let out a contented little sigh.

br "He likes you," Sam said, grinning. "And I love you," then, blushing a little, he buried his face in the baby's curls, kissing the crown of his son's head before closing his eyes. "Formula in forty-five, wake us up, 'kay?"

br Dean nodded, but didn't wake Sam up – because if Sam was tired enough to actually say stuff like that when it ran through his big, girly head, then he needed his rest. Besides, the baby needed to understand who was actually in control of the food supply. Dean was determined to get the kid to like him more.