(Note: I’ve never done mpreg before but my friend has been having a hard time, so I’m doing it for her because she likes mpreg stories and friends do nice things for each other. There will be five parts to this story. Enjoy!)
Dean realized they weren’t going to be able to hide it much longer when Castiel stretched for a box of convent artifacts and a subtle swelling poked out of his shirt. That was also the day it became all too real.
They had no gender, of course. They evolved into reproducing among themselves and with humans, they thought, because God abandoned them so long ago that the species would have died out if it didn’t begin to breed. Only the old standard ultraconservative angels still referred to each other as siblings. Most of them grew to realize centuries before that they weren’t, in fact, siblings and many of them paired off into profound bonds.
Dean had to chuckle whenever he thought of Castiel describing their relationship that way, conveniently leaving out the fact that a profound bond was the angelic way to describe deep and abiding romantic love. Castiel had been telling Dean “I love you” for years but it all got lost in translation.
"What are you looking at, Dean?" asked Castiel, his voice dragging Dean back to reality.
"Lemme carry that thing," Dean answered as he grabbed the box from the angel.
A head tilt followed, of course. “I’m perfectly capable of carrying a box of artifacts up to the library.”
"Not while you’re knocked up." Stone tablets tugged on Dean’s arms and he knew he was right. He had to keep an eye on Castiel and the … the … baby-thing.
"Knocked up? I don’t understand tha—Ohh.” All of the wheels in Castiel’s mind worked together and understood the odd expression. He trailed after Dean through the labyrinth of the bunker’s basement toward the stairwell. “Dean, I’m not as … delicate as humans, I suppose you could say. Angels wage war and keep life flowing in humanity, all while expecting their fledglings.”
"Yeah, well, they’re not carrying my fledgling,” Dean muttered through the bunker. “I’m supposed to take care of you. It’s what I do. And you’re not that different from pregnant women anyway.”
Lugging the box into the library, Dean kicked a chair out in passing and hoped Castiel would take the hint to sit down. “Number one, I saw you getting weepy at the movie last night.”
"It was a moving story," retorted the angel.
"Uh-huh. Cas, you don’t cry." He shot Castiel a skeptical eye as he dropped the box on a table and pointed at the chair to make him get off his feet. "Number two, you don’t eat but you polished off my whole bag of sour cream and onion chips two days ago, not to mention the snack shelves in the pantry keep coming up empty this week."
"I like the salt taste. It’s simple. Not too many molecules," Castiel said with a bit of an injured look.
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