I'll be completely honest with you. Ihe original title for this story was 'Why I Shouldn't Stay Up Past 11.' When I started writing it, I was trying to take a break from all the angst I'd been turning out. Soon as I got to the end of the first page, though, I realized I wasn't getting that vacation.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that, yes, it IS an MPreg story. I never read them, so I can't expect you to. If you'd just do me a favor and skim the first chapter, though, you might be pleasantly surprised. I sure was.

Title: The Grapefruit Analogy

Summary: How far would Dean really go to get a family of his own?

Rating: T

Warnings: MPreg

Disclaimer: I still don't own it. If I did, Dean would have more issues and Ellen might try to fix him instead of just... standing there and doing nothing.

The Grapefruit Analogy

"I'm pregnant."

Those two simple words, so innocent and yet so full of danger, echoed through the room, stopping Dean in his tracks. He didn't turn around, didn't flinch, didn't blink, just stopped.

"Did you hear me?"

He nodded, a little bob of his head to show that he had, indeed, heard the words that would forever change this woman's life. She was going to have a baby. It was a big step. She was going to be a mother.

Finally, he turned around and faced her, looking over the older woman who stood behind the bar, her hands on her hips, eyes watching him. "That's great, Ellen," he smiled, sliding onto one of the stools at the bar and resting his elbows on the scratched surface, "that's awesome."

She squinted at him, appraising him, gauging his reaction, her heart sinking when she saw the pure joy that shone in his eyes. He was truly happy for her. "Dean, I'm too old. It's too dangerous."

"If you just be careful-"

"I can't keep it."

"Why not?"

"Because something could go wrong. I could get hurt, the baby could get hurt. It can't happen."

"But-"

"And what would Jo say?"

Dean shrugged. "You don't have to tell her."

"It'll crush her. You know how she is. I'm not keeping it."

"I don't think that's your decision to make, Ellen."

"It's my body," she argued.

"But it's my baby," he shot back.

She glared at him, again appraising him, seeing how far he was willing to go to keep his son or daughter safe. In all honesty, it had been a mistake. He'd shown up at the Roadhouse on Christmas Eve, shaking and covered in fresh-fallen snow, telling a disjointed story about how Sam had found someone better to spend the holidays with. Old friends, he'd said, people from Stanford, nice normal folk who didn't kill to stay alive.

He'd been all alone on Christmas, and so had she. They'd kept each other company, sitting at the bar and talking. He had told about past adventures, and so had she. He'd asked why she was alone, and she had told him. Ash was with family, Jo was… well, she wasn't quite sure where Jo was, not since the postcards had stopped.

They'd enjoyed each other's company, talked and laughed into the wee hours of the morning, and then they'd headed off to bed. Together.

It had been a one-time thing, or so she'd thought before Dean had come through the Roadhouse doors about a week later and taken her into his arms and kissed her passionately. She'd hated to call it off, to tell him no, but she didn't have another choice. He was too young, her daughter liked him, and she still missed her husband. He said he understood.

And then this. Calling him here, having a fight after he'd thought she was going to apologize for hurting him like so many others had, telling the secret. He wanted to keep it. She didn't. He wanted something to hold onto and take care of and nurture. She just wanted her husband and daughter to come back.

"You know," he said softly, leaning over the bar and reaching slowly for her hand before she swiped it back, "I respect your choice. I do. I just would have made a different one."

She took a step back, watching his eyes, knowing that it was the only way to really know how he felt, what he was thinking. "It's not your choice," she whispered, "it's not your body."

He sighed, ducking his head, finally breaking eye-contact. She thought she heard something, a gasp, maybe, or a sob. It was quick, too quick to be sure. She saw his hand come up, though, saw him swipe at something on his face.

"It could be, though," she finally said, leaning over the bar and taking his hand in hers.

Wet eyes came up, shining with confusion and blind hope. "What?"

"I know of someone," she said softly, holding his hand up by her face, no longer caring what he might think it meant, how he might take it, just feeling sympathy and pity, the same two emotions that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. "She's a witch, exiled from her coven when she refused to act as a sacrifice to their goddess. She came to me for safety, and I got her away from her sisters and into a nice apartment in downtown Omaha. She could help."

Dean shook his head. "I'm not-"

She leaned closer, finally letting go of his hand. "I won't carry it," she whispered, "but you could."

He would never agree to it, never let her put him through that. He valued his masculine image too much for that. It was the only alternative, something he would turn down immediately, easing both their pain at this decision.

"Really?" he asked, leaning close to her, his face almost touching hers, hot breath coming in short gasps.

Ellen blinked, pulling back, getting him out of her bubble. "You're kidding." There was no mistake, though. The look on his face said it all. "You know what I'm talking about, right?"

He nodded, a careful smile creeping across his face, that old hopeful spark back in his eyes. "Is it possible? I mean, wouldn't we need another chick?"

She dropped her eyes, unable to believe her ears, to comprehend what she was seeing and hearing. "It's magic, Dean," she muttered, "not surrogacy."

"Great, then," he said, sliding off the stool and jumping to the floor, "when do we leave?"

"You need to think about this," Ellen cautioned, bringing her eyes up again and wishing immediately that she hadn't. He was practically bouncing up and down, staring at her with so much longing in those haunted hazel eyes, so much hope, so much wonder. "It's not something to be taken lightly. This is nine months of suffering and caution. It ends in pain."

"What's there to think about?" Dean asked, the wonder gone from his face, his body suddenly still. His eyes bored into her, assessing her, searching for signs of the same deception she'd handed him before. "I want a family. You don't."

"You have Sam."

"Yeah. Sam. You know he's run away three times since I picked him up from Stanford? He thinks he's gonna turn evil. He wants me to kill him. I have to save him, and once I do, he's going back to school. Then what'll I have?"

Ellen sighed, watching him. He was tense, still eyeing her with suspicion, waiting for a response, hoping for something he wasn't going to get. He wanted her to say 'you'll have me,' but it wasn't going to happen. The truth was, he wouldn't have anything. Nothing besides his car, and that was hardly the same as a human.

"You really want to do this, don't you?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"What are you going to tell your brother?"

"The truth," he shrugged, "not like he can do anything about it."

So, yeah. Any early opinions? Comments are always welcome, even if they're not the cheeriest :)