❝Don't Run. Don't move. Don't even breathe.
It's what Dean taught you to do if you were ever trapped with a monster. In a locked building, or underground, anywhere that you might be that you couldn't get out of.
"Don't run, just hide. Sammy and I, w...
Warnings: Slight angst, language, injury from falling down the stairs, & fluff.
Prompt: Imagine being pregnant with Dean's child. You thought he was overprotective before? Wait until you get hurt.
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Watch your footing, he said.
Be careful going down the stairs, he reminded you.
Don't carry more than one bag at a time, he scolded.
You were six months pregnant. You weren't a child or handicapped. But that's the way Dean made you feel whenever you weren't in his direct line of sight.
And then there was his brother.
Did you take your vitamins?
Are you drinking enough milk?
Uncle Sam made you a smoothie! It's got Kale in it, but you can't even taste it.
It was almost enough to make you scream. You were a grown ass woman. You could take care of yourself, god damn it!
And yet, here you were, at the bottom of the stairs.
The contents of the four grocery bags scattered all over the floor, tomato soup cans rolled under the table as you wrapped your arms around your swollen belly, protecting your unborn child.
You hadn't fallen from the top, or the middle, you were just three steps shy. But you had miscounted, thinking you were on the last step when you kicked your foot out, expecting the floor to be beneath it. You teetered on the edge for a heartbeat before pitching forward.
The air was driven from your lungs as you landed on your hip and shoulder. Your ankle burned as it twisted awkwardly and your knee screamed from the hyperextension.
"Y/N?"
The only answer to Dean's raised voice was a sob as you laid on the floor.
Boots fell heavy on the floor as he approached. "Jesus... SAAAAAAM!"
Dean's hands were under your head and on your belly as he turned you to your back. "Baby, look at me."
Just as you opened your eyes, Sam's bare feet stuttered to a stop, barely missing the bag of carrots he had asked for. "Oh, God. Y/N, are you ok?"
Your throat was thick as you tried to keep your emotions under control. "Y – yeah. I just... I missed the last step." Taking stock of where you were sore the most, you hissed. "I think I sprained my ankle."
"Let's get you to the couch." Picking you up carefully, Dean nodded at his brother. Sam ran into the kitchen to grab an ice pack and ibuprofen.
_____
With a pillow behind your back, neck, and under your ACE bandage wrapped ankle, Cas' hand rest on a spot above your belly button. A white light pulsed warm against your skin as he checked on the baby. His brows furrowed in concentration, watching as the baby moved beneath your skin.
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Finally, the Angel stood tall, watching with slight concern as you tugged your shirt down, seemingly confused by the act of modesty. "The child is unharmed."
A collective sigh filled the room before Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Thanks, man."
"But I would be careful, Y/N. It could have been a lot worse than a sprained ankle and hyperextended knee."
You shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his bright eyes. "I know."
"Your ankle and knee, shall I?" He didn't wait for an answer as he appeared to already know it. The ACE bandage was handed to Sam before any one of you could even start to verbalize your answer.
You rolled your ankle after a minute, relishing in the warmth that spread through the muscles and tissue, spreading up your calf, and into your knee.
Cas stood, removing his hand almost too soon for your liking. "There. You should be fine to stand."
Sam gave Cas' shoulder a squeeze before tugging him out of the room. "Help me with the groceries."
You waited until they left before raising your gaze to Dean. He was pacing at the end of the couch, a hand diving through his hair while the other was tucked into a pocket.
"You could have gotten hurt... really hurt."
"I know." You swept a hand over your belly just as the baby kicked.
"I told you to be careful. More than once."
"Dean, I'm fine."
Candy apple green and amber eyes flashed in frustration. "But you might not have been. What if we hadn't been here?" He had stopped pacing, coming to stand next to the table, next to you.
Grabbing his hand, you placed it where the baby was the most active. "I am fine. We are fine."
He lowered to his knees as his child pushed into his palm, against his long fingers. You threaded your fingers through his hair as he pressed his mouth to your belly after pushing your shirt out of the way.
You gasped when a thought occurred to you. "Oh no. The pie!"
Dean sat back with wide eyes when you gasped, narrowing when his mind registered that you weren't hurt, that you seemed more concerned about food. His voice was flat, unamused. "Pie."
"It was in a plastic bag around my wrist. I think I landed on it."
"You're kidding me, right? You just fell down the stairs and you're worried about a fucking pie?!"
"What? It was the last apple pie they had."
Standing, Dean ran a hand over his face, groaning not so loudly.
Sam popped his head around the corner. "Everything ok?"
You turned to face him, pulling your legs beneath you. "Did you find a pie?"
"You mean this?" A crushed plastic bag was held up, apple pie filling spilling onto the floor. Wide, hazel eyes met yours as you slumped down, sighing as you bit your lip.
"Guess I'll just have to make one from scratch."
Dean chuckled in irritation. "Oh no, no you don't. You are grounded."
"Excuse me?"
He stood tall next to you. "You heard me, Y/N. You are not leaving this couch unless it is to go to the bathroom, take a shower, or go to bed."
Cas strolled into the room with a bag of pork rinds. He had just finished licking the salty grease from a finger. "It is a good idea."
"Come on! You guys can't be serious."
"As a fucking heart attack, baby. Now... what do you want for lunch?"
