There are times when Castiel wakes discombobulated.
The lack of warmth usually bleeds through his consciousness first, rousing him from slumber just enough to make the Alpha fully aware of his absent mate. With the pregnancy so far along, this awareness is usually accompanied by heart palpitations and a stab of fear. “Dean?”
But Dean’s slowly fading scent is Cas’s only answer.
From experience, Castiel knows his mate is in one of three places: the kitchen, the den, or the nursery. Though he makes his way towards the latter first, he can’t help but remember the times he’d found Dean sitting at the table, spooning out ice cream straight from the tub, or the instances he’d descended the stairs in a panic only to find his mate happily eating a piece of pie and watching Die Hard. Dean would comment to his belly every so often, asking if the pup liked the food or what she thought of the movie.
Of course, he’d turn quickly at the findmatepupfearpanic stench that Castiel would emanate, but that stress would fade as the Omega would pull his Alpha down to him, kissing apologies into his skin. “Pup was hungry,” he’d whisper.
But this time, Dean isn’t downstairs. He isn’t in the kitchen or the den, and he’s not watching a movie. This time, he’s sitting in the nursery rocking chair, hands on his gorgeously swollen tummy. His pj pants are low on his hips, the ends rolled up around his ankles while his oversized tee hangs loosely on his shoulders. He’s smiling down at his belly, tracing little patterns over the bulge.