Dean had always loved Sammy. They were brothers; been to hell and back together, literally. Yes, Dean loved his little brother, but he absolutely adored his baby sister. Dean and Melissa Winchester were cut from the same cloth, equal parts heroically passionate and humblingly self-loathing. They fought for the best of the world only to see the worst in themselves. It was tragic, but it meant they understood each other.
Which is why when Dean saw her doubled over on the couch, heard her muffled cry of pain, and she told him to shove off, he listened. The hunters had caught a case, but there was no way Dean would leave her alone in that condition, so he told Sammy to take it on without him. Sam did not have the same reservations about leaving; he and Melissa had a more tenuous relationship. She, too, had decided to go to law school and have a normal life. Only, unlike her brother, she had actually succeeded, and he resented her for it.
And so it was just the two of them sitting on the couch, both pretending to watch tv. Every once in a while he'd hear her breath hitch; he'd glance over and she'd have the pillow in a vice, trembling slightly from the effort of suppressing the groan that was so desperate to escape her lips. But then it would pass and they would both resume the charade. The hours ticked by and Melissa got more and more uncomfortable. They were about halfway through a season of Law and Order when she yawned, though it came out as more of a wince.
"I'm kinda tired. I think I'll try and get some shut-eye," she said, massaging her slightly distended stomach. The motion was not lost on her brother.
"You sure? If you go to bed now, you'll never find out if… the guy… did… the thing." Neither of them had actually been paying attention to the crime show.
"Oh I'm sure the guy didn't do the thing. It's always the other guy, the guy that they were sure would never do the thing, doing the thing," she stated with confidence. Slowly and with great effort, she hoisted herself onto shaky legs, Dean's hands hovering unseen an inch behind in case she fell.
She hadn't taken two steps before she inhaled sharply and crouched over, one arm curled around her midsection and the other clutching the arm of the couch for support. Dean was by her side in an instant, but she frowned and shrugged off his help. "I'm fine, Dean. I just… need to rest. Go watch your show." She scurried off to her room without looking back at her helpless brother.
Dean tried to watch the show, he really did. And he tried to do research, make some dinner, clean his weapons. Even the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties couldn't hold his attention. Every time he would begin to settle down, thinking Mel had finally found some rest, a soft moan would crawl to his ears from the small crack at the base of her door.
Several times he knocked. She would grumble, "How the hell am I supposed to sleep when you keep knocking on the damn door," so Dean would go back to trying to keep himself busy, then hear another groan and start the whole process over again.
It was three in the morning when he heard an honest-to-god scream and decided he'd had enough. He busted down her door and found her curled up in the fetal position on the floor of her bathroom. The normally pristine tile was painted with a horrifying palette of pinks and reds, and Mel was writhing around in it, unable to breathe and eyes wild with pain. She clutched desperately at her stomach while her whole body shook uncontrollably, neither able to quell nor endure the unfamiliar pain that held it captive.
Dean flew over to her, unsure what to do or how to help. He knelt by her side and lifted her gently into his lap. She twisted his shirt in her fist and panted into his chest as he cradled her. As the pain subsided, she seemed to come back to herself, realizing what she had given away in a moment of weakness. She released him from her death grip and pushed herself out of his embrace. In her haste, she stood up too quickly and became lightheaded, closing her eyes and bracing herself against the vanity until her blood pressure stabilized.
"S-sorry about the mess. I just- I just need some sleep," she mumbled without conviction, looking anywhere but into her brother's eyes. At this highly unlikely solution, Dean sprang up from the floor and pointed an accusatory finger in her direction.
"You need to go to a damn hospital!" he shouted, anger borne out of fear and concern.
"No! I'm fine. I swear," she pleaded, eyes darting around him to the doorway, looking for an escape route. He folded his arms across his chest and repositioned himself to stubbornly fill up the whole exit.
"Like hell you are." She pressed her lips together painfully tight and he sighed, leaning heavily against the door frame. "Look, what happened in Vermont –"
"Don't," she warned. "Nothing happened, alright?"
"It's just… if what I think happened, happened," she narrowed her eyes at him and he held his hands up in surrender, "then this," he gestured to her shaky, pallor form, "isn't just gonna go away, okay? So either admit what that son of a bitch did to you and own up to what this really is, or just keep pretending that this is PMS and I'm taking you to the damn hospital anyway!" He placed his hands on his hips and pursed his lips, waiting.
As he finished delivering his little ultimatum, Mel's breathing began to quicken and the panicked look returned to her eyes. "Dean –" she began, pitching forward. He hooked a steady arm around her waist just before she could collapse.
"Whoa, hey, easy there," he soothed as she hung her arms around his neck and leaned into him. She rested her head against his chest, the vice-like band around her stomach becoming impossibly tight until she finally cried out in anguish. He rubbed small circles on her back, surprised and horrified by the impenetrability of the taught muscle against his strong hands, until the pain subsided.
She gazed up into his determined emerald eyes. "At least- let me shower first?" She'd meant for it to be a demand, but in her weakness it came out as more of a question. He considered it, then gave one tight nod.
"Be quick. And… sit down or something. I don't want you fallin' down, knockin' your teeth out, hmm?" She nodded and he let her have some privacy, though he hovered right outside the door.
She stepped under the warm shower and watched the pink water disappear down the drain until it turned clear. Twice she found herself on hands and knees to weather a debilitating contraction in the five minutes it took to shower, and it had taken every ounce of willpower for Dean not to jump right on in there every time she let out an muffled groan. When she exited, she noticed that he had cleaned up most of the blood on the floor, taken her soiled garments, and laid out a clean towel and fresh clothes for her to put on.
He had to practically carry her to the car – both because of her reluctance and because the pressure in her abdomen seemed to be constant now. He gingerly placed her in the passenger seat and she immediately curled in on herself, facing out the window and away from the one forcing her to come to terms with her situation. The nearest hospital was 30 minutes away. Mel seemed to make herself smaller and smaller, and with every desperate whimper Dean's foot pressed a little harder on the gas pedal.
All things considered, they made record time, but it was still all too close. When they pulled up, the EMTs carted his sister away faster than Dean could get out of the car. Taken away from the safety and familiarity of the bunker, her fear had been building; but when they whisked her away, cutting her off from her family, the only semblance of comfort she had left, she became absolutely hysterical – thrashing and screaming and demanding that they leave her the hell alone.
After some choice words with the parking attendant, Dean followed the commotion until he came upon the delivery room they'd wheeled Mel into. They were trying to force her legs into some torturous-looking contraption, but she was kicking and rolling and doing everything in her power to try and stay in control of her body.
Then she let out a blood-curdling scream that stopped the foot traffic in the hall. They seized the opportunity to pin down her arms and legs while she was paralyzed with pain. Her back arched off the bed and Dean was sickened by the scene's uncanny resemblance to an exorcism. They were terrifying her, and probably doing more harm than good.
"What the hell do you think you're doing? You're hurting her!" he yelled at the struggling hospital staff.
"We need-" grunt, "her –" he pinned down one of her ankles, "to calm down!" the doctor growled in a very un-calming tone. All the monitors in the room were beeping furiously and erratically.
"Get your damn hands off her!" Dean shouted, pushing aside the abrasive physician and a harried nurse. Mel immediately flipped to her side and began to work against the other two holding her down, who quickly lost their battle with her powerful flailing limbs. She scurried to the very top of the bed and tucked her knees up as high as they would go with her protruding belly in the way.
Her breathing slowed, but her eyes still darted around quickly like a trapped animal. Dean approached her slowly. He lowered himself down on the edge of the bed, facing her but careful not to touch her.
"Mel, you gotta listen to me. Wheelin' you outta there alone like that, trying to pin you down, that was a dick move," he said, gazing pointedly around the room. "But they're just trying to help. Remember? Vermont –" The word elicited the reaction he was hoping for. Momentarily her anger was greater than her fear and she began to berate him for bringing it up again, but then her hands flew to her stomach and she looked up to the ceiling, wheezing in ragged breaths through clenched teeth. "Can we do this without the torture chamber?" he asked the room, pointing to the stirrups at the end of the bed.
"If you think she can control herself, then yes, I suppose," the doctor he'd told off earlier snapped, tugging in annoyance at the wrinkles his crisp white lab coat had incurred. Dean made a mental note to swipe the doc's credit card later, maybe charge a few thousand dirty movie rentals to it, before remembering his sister, who was slowly sliding back down onto the bed, shaky legs no longer able to hold her up and out of reach. Her eyes were pleading as they locked on his. He held out his hand and she grabbed on like it was the only thing holding her to the earth. Maybe it was. "Don't push yet; I have to check your progress first," the doctor chastised as if she'd already disobeyed his orders.
"Just breathe," Dean coached as the pain worsened. A nurse tentatively slid one of Mel's bent legs to the side, a question in her eyes. Mel looked like she wanted to kick out again, so Dean brought her focus back to him. "In, and out. In, out. You're doin' so great, baby girl." He hadn't called her that since they were kids.
"Mel, is it?" the obnoxious doctor questioned.
"Yes," Dean responded quickly, before she could spit out an obscenity at him.
"Well, Mel – how far along are you? Have you had any prenatal care? When did the contractions start?" The rapid-fire questions were all too much for Mel, who hadn't even admitted to herself yet that she was, in fact, pregnant. Another contraction came before she could answer and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing it all to be a terrible dream.
"What's with the third degree?" Dean asked in her defense.
"I need to know what we're dealing with here." Mel whined and grunted and rolled her hips around on the bed, unable to relieve the tremendous pressure bearing down between her legs. "Guess that will have to wait – you're fully dilated! Baby's right there, Mel. Go ahead and push."
Mel froze, snapping her knees together and sobbing. "I can't. This isn't happening. Dean, make it stop!" The fear in her voice broke his heart, but there was no way he could do this for her.
"You know I can't. It'll all be over soon, I promise. Just do what the doctor says." Her abdomen went rigid as another contraction started. When the nurses again pulled her knees apart, she cried harder, unable and unwilling to hold her breath and bear down.
"Come on, Mel, your baby is waiting to meet you!" the doctor said cheerfully. Mel's eyes were desperate as she pleaded with her brother.
"Read the situation, doc. Jesus," Dean growled, annoyed that he was making things worse. Mel was breathing hard, the worry wrinkles on her forehead causing sweat to streak down her nose. He placed a tender kiss over the creases, cupped his hand under her chin and brushed the tears off her cheek with his thumb. "You can do this," he assured her.
Her lower lip trembled and she shook her head. "I can't," she breathed.
"I ain't never seen you run from a fight," he goaded her. Pain that went beyond physical flashed behind her eyes.
"If I had, maybe I wouldn't be here," she whispered so softly he almost didn't hear. She groaned as the overwhelming tightness once again built up in her abdomen. She screamed and cursed and panted, everything except push.
"The baby's heart rate is dropping. If she can't get the baby out, we're going to have to go in," the doctor warned. Dean didn't know what he meant by that, but it didn't sound pleasant.
"Please, Mel. I know you can do this." She didn't seem to be hearing him and he was getting desperate. "If you want, after this is over, we can go back and pretend like nothing ever happened. No Vermont, no hospital, no baby." He doubted that either of them would ever be able to forget this, but he knew she'd try her damnedest anyway. She considered his words carefully, and when the stabbing pressure returned to her aching pelvis, she gave a reluctant nod.
"Alright, push, Mel!" the doctor ordered, much to both of the Winchesters' annoyance. Even so, she could not stop her body from responding to the innate instinct to bear down. The nurses tried to count her down, but she refused to listen to anyone but her brother.
"You're doin' so great. So proud of you." He kept whispering praises and encouragements, telling her to be strong and to work with her body instead of against it. Even though she was in greater pain, playing an active role in her labor seemed to be good for her morale. When the doctor announced he could see the head, Dean saw the panic return to his sister's eyes. "It's okay. Just means it's almost over."
She had started to push again, but quickly released all the air she'd been holding in an uncontrollable wail. "Burning!" was the only coherent word she managed to get out. Dean looked wildly at the nurse, who confirmed that for some godforsaken reason, that was considered normal. Well he had been trapped in hell for 40 years and never heard so much pain behind a sound.
"Keep pushing, Mel. Almost over." At least he hoped it was. Mel's constant agony had put him so on edge that it was a miracle he had thus far resisted the urge to stab anyone with all the sharp, pointy medical equipment lying around.
The doctors and nurses kept glancing nervously over at the fetal heart monitor, but Dean kept his focus on Mel. Her scream had condensed into a series of strangled whines that escaped her clenched jaw on each exhale. She was crowning, the nurses said. Stretching. Dean shuddered at the thought.
Mel pounded her fist against the hard bed in frustration. "What. The. Hell!" she growled.
"What? What's wrong?" Dean asked frantically.
"'s going back in!" she exclaimed. What was going back in? He didn't want to think about it too hard.
"You just have to push through the contraction next time," the doctor said. "Don't be afraid of it, just go." The comment earned a glare from both Winchesters.
Mel groaned as another contraction started and Dean turned to her. "This is the one, alright? You can do it." She looked like she might start crying again.
"I'm scared, Dean." She sounded so young, so child-like. He wanted nothing more than to take her pain away; to bear her emotional scars and return her innocence. How much simpler it was when he could just beat the crap out of a cheating boyfriend or blackmail a bitchy classmate.
"I know, baby girl. I know. But I can't do this for you. I wish I could, but I'll be right here the whole time." He hadn't even finished speaking before the urge to bear down became too great. She pushed and screamed, then gasped and began to let up. "No, no, no," Dean pressed, "you gotta push through it."
"Nnnngh!" she grunted, failing to put any momentum behind the action. "Ahhhh-hoo-hoo," she panted in quick breaths, once again releasing the push.
"Pushpushpush," Dean pleaded, desperate for her pain to be over. She was shaking her head, precipitating a steady stream tears onto his arm, but he could see the quick, concentrated tightening of her abdominal wall as she managed to push between cries.
"What are you doing? Get off, get OFF!" Mel screamed at the doctor, trying to push herself further back on the bed by her heels. Dean looked over to see that the man had his hand pressed between her legs, as if holding the baby inside her.
"I'm applying counterpressure," he explained, as if that would mean anything to a couple that clearly had no prior experience with childbirth. "Your pushing was too effective, and I didn't want you to tear," he elaborated, making what was almost a compliment into a bitter accusation. Dean winced and his core clenched involuntarily; his sister was literally ripping in half. "I just want you to breathe through the next contraction; don't push unless you absolutely must, not until the head's out."
First they don't want her to do anything; then they want her to push; then she pushes too well and they want her to stop; then they want her to push again. If Dean was this frustrated, he couldn't imagine how Mel must have felt; she started muttering obscenities, but soon all her concentration was required in an attempt to override her body's natural instincts.
She was gripping Dean's hand so hard that he swore he heard bones crack; Mel's ability to sit idly by and ride out the visceral waves of torture only lasted a few seconds before she was scrunching up her face and holding her breath again.
"Uh uh, no. Look at me, baby girl. Breathe. Breathe!" he practically shouted at her, giving the hand that still held tightly in his grasp a desperate shake.
"Ha… ha… haaaaa…" she exhaled in punctuated gasps. She relinquished her brother's grip and brought both palms to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. For an unbearable 20 seconds or so – seemingly an eternity, and easily the worst 20 seconds of his life thus far – Mel endured the persecution naturally inflicted by her own body, face contorted in a mask of silent suffering.
Having exhausted her last ounce of willpower, Mel let out one last choked cry before slumping slightly in relief. Dean chanced a look down and saw a round, bloodied head poking out from beneath the cotton cover. He was equal parts awestruck and disgusted.
"Hardest part's over. One more push and you'll –" the nurse was cut off by Dean's warning glare.
The fetal heart monitor began to spike wildly and the doctor sounded too calm as he stated, "You need to push, Mel. Now. One big one."
The ordeal was taking its toll, and Mel was already the kind of tired that settled in your bones and caused you to ache from the inside out. But when the nurses pulled her knees back, she curled in on herself once again, bearing down for all she was worth. And then it was over. Mel gasped and threw back her head, collapsing on the bed as the child was pulled from her body.
"It's a girl!" someone announced. Mel was shaking with silent sobs.
"Would you like to hold your daughter?" someone else asked.
"NO!" she screeched, throwing her arm over her eyes. "I don't want to see it!" she cried. The hospital staff balked at her, unsure how to react.
Dean noted the intense silence. "Why isn't she crying?" he asked the nurse holding the newborn. That seemed to snap them out of it. Everyone began rushing around and the baby was quickly taken out of sight. "Where are you taking her?" Dean demanded. The doctor was reluctant to answer the man prone to violent outbursts.
"She's being taken to the NICU. She's premature and her lungs aren't fully developed. I'm assuming that there was no prenatal care," he said accusatorily, "so we'll have to do a full blood panel. You can go with her if you like," he said as an afterthought.
Dean stared at Mel. She wouldn't look at anyone, wouldn't respond when he spoke to her, pulled away when he tried to touch her. She may have needed him, but she certainly didn't want him, so he decided to give her some space to process everything and took off down the hall after his niece.
It was several hours before Dean returned to Mel's room, looking 10 years older than he had the night before. She was lying on her side, eyes unfocused and unresponsive. He sighed, rubbing a calloused hand over his stubbled chin. "You can't do this, Mel. You can't just shut down." No response. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared toward the same blank wall. "I know what happened in Vermont. I know what that psychopath did to you. Every day, I hate myself for not being able to protect you from that." He glanced at his little sister, who had somehow managed to retreat even further in on herself. "And you dealt with it the way we Winchesters seem to deal with everything – stuff it down deep inside; act like it didn't happen while it slowly eats away at you until there's nothing left." He sighed, as much from his own demons as the ones he was trying to get her to deal with. "You don't wanna talk about how he raped you, fine." She visibly flinched at the word. "Wanna not take care of yourself, ignore every sign that you might be having a kid? I get it, Mel, I really do." And he did, because he probably would have done the same thing. They were the same, but that didn't mean they were always right. "But that little girl out there? She didn't get a choice in this. She ain't got no past. She's fighting for her life, and she needs her mother." Another flinch, then she resumed her catatonic indifference. Dean sighed. "Doctor said babies do better if the mother holds 'em. Just… think about it."
He felt bad for the kid, but honestly he couldn't blame his sister for her reaction. Her most painful memories – emotionally, then physically – inexorably linked and resulting in a new life that would be a constant reminder of the worst moments of her life. So he went back to the NICU alone.
After her brother left, Mel broke down – utterly and completely. All the guilt and shame that she shouldn't feel over what had happened to her, all the fear and anger and pain. She let go just a little and the floodgates opened. She clutched at the handrails of the bed, riding out wave after wave of misery, each small catharsis lightening the heaviness that her heart constantly bore.
What could have been hours, minutes, days later, Mel slowly, tentatively pulled herself upright. The shift in position caused her to wince from the unusual soreness, but it quickly passed. She shuffled through the door and down the hall before she lost her courage.
The scene through the large glass windows made her knees weak and her legs could no longer support her. Dean – her fearless big brother who fought monsters and the devil himself – was crouched over a clear plastic incubator. He had one hand inside, lightly curling the tiniest arm she'd ever seen around his index finger and a single perfect tear rolling down his cheek.
She slid slowly down the wall and laid down on the floor, head toward the open door. Once she got her own breathing under control, she could hear him speaking softly to her daughter.
"You made it this far, kiddo – you can't quit on me now. You're a fighter, just like your mom," he choked, holding back a sob. Mel crawled back up to a seated position. She bit her lip and pulled herself back up to the window.
Her feet led her around the corner, through the NICU door, and to the other side of the plastic dome. When she looked up Dean was already staring at her. She shuddered a breath, gave a tentative smile, and reached in to hold her daughter's hand.
Mel didn't know what she expected to feel when she made contact with her baby for the first time, but it certainly wasn't the unbridled joy and love that bloomed in her heart. Her skin was slightly translucent and she had breathing tubes in her nose, but Mel thought she was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. "Hi, baby girl," she choked before dissolving into a blubbering mess. Dean came around beside her, helping to hold her up on once again weak knees.
He kissed her temple and whispered, "She's gonna be fine, Mel."
"Of course she is," she proclaimed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "She's a Winchester, damnit."