Work Text:
“Are you sure you’ll be OK with her, Sammy?” you checked again, your hand resting on his bicep while your other hoisted your baby girl into his arms.
“Of course, Y/N,” he promised you with a humoured chuckle, taking your baby into his arms. “We’ll be fine. How hard can it be?”
“Sammy!” Dean shrieked from the kitchen of the bunker, your baby held in the air by his outstretched arms. “It keeps crying! Make it stop!”
“I dont know how!” Sam yelled back, running in with an arm-load of nappies among other things. “Have you tried, err, feeding it?”
Rolling his eyes, Dean retorted, “Duh, yeah I’ve tried feeding her, but it didn’t work!”
“Try calling Cas,” Sam suggested. “He’s been here a few thousand years, right?”
With a sigh, Dean obliged. “Cas, we need you! So bring your feathery ass down here!”
A rustle of wings signalled the angel’s arrival and he greeted them in his familiar gruff rumble, “Hello, Dean. Sam.”
“Cas!” Dean exclaimed with a gasp and thrust the wailing baby into his arms. “Fix it!”
The angel’s eyes widened and he looked terrified for a moment. “W-what?” he stammered, holding the baby in exactly the same way Dean did and with just as little knowledge.
Another rustle of wings and…Gabriel appeared!
“G-Gabriel?” Cas managed to get out.
The archangel just rose an eyebrow and snorted as he took in the scene before him: a mountain of nappies; a table-ful of half-eaten, half-spewed up baby food; bits of baby food thrown everywhere; and two hunters and an angel looking like they’d just trekked the mountain range for a month, surrounding a screaming baby, looking like they were facing a swarm of demons.
Gabriel just snickered. “You, sorry sons of bitches.”