10th May, 2008
"Sammy, duck!"
Sam dropped to the floor and the bullets went thunk-thunk-thunk into the wood directly above his head. He swore as a cramp shot through his abdomen, and crawled behind the nearest stack of crates as he heard one of the vampires climbing up the stairs directly above him. He wasn't sure where Dean was, but he could smell the coppery tang of blood, and hoped that it belonged to the others and not his brother.
Standing slowly, he tightened his grip on the stake clutched tightly in his right hand, and cast his eyes around the room. A few vampire bodies were littered around the warehouse floor, and some of the students that they'd come to rescue were with them. Sam felt a sharp pang of despair spike through him.
"Looks like I've got my last meal all sorted."
Sam whipped around to face the voice and was greeted by razor fangs framing a mouth that was streaming with blood, eyes red and pupils massively dilated, one hand drawn back and already hurtling through the air towards his head to knock him out and he wasn't quite sure what happened next. One minute, the vampire was about to punch him – and then suddenly he was being hurled backwards by some invisible force, some demonic force, and hit the a beam as he passed it with a sickening thud.
"Sammy!"
Dean jogged up to him, Colt in one hand and stake in the other, eyes blazing.
"I'm fine," Sam said calmly, pre-empting his brother's question. "I think I just used telekinesis."
"Did it hurt?" Dean asked urgently, and Sam shook his head.
"Nothing, not like before. Just cramps down there, but that's not linked to my powers."
Dean looked momentarily pensive.
"Unless…"
Sam looked up at him.
"What, it was the baby? Come on Dean, like that's going to happen."
"You know what the deal is."
"But still –"
"Look out!"
Dean pulled Sam down to the ground as another volley of shots rang overhead, and one of the people that they'd come to rescue shouted out in terror.
"Let's go," Sam said decisively, and his brother followed him with a nod toward the middle of the warehouse, slipping in between shadows with eyes darting this way and that, feet hunter-silent on the stone cold floor, draughts whipping around them as they passed an open doorway and Sam grunted, falling against the wall and hand grabbing his chest as the bang resounded throughout the building.
"Sammy!"
But there was no pain. There was no blood. Sam fended off Dean's frantic hands and pulled off his shirt, inspecting the area around his heart. He watched the area around his heart in fascination as the bullet was forcibly pushed out of his skin, metal cold and hard and unyielding and yet completely harmless. It fell to the floor with a dull click.
Sam looked up at Dean, and his eyes flared.
Ten minutes later, the black drained from them, and Dean took a step away from his brother, trying not to trip over the bodies of all the dead vampires.
1st July 2008
"That is absolutely disgusting," Dean said, lip curling, as he slowed at the intersection. Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Am I asking you to eat it?" he asked, gesturing with the spoon, and Dean flinched away.
"Yeah, but I have to live with you when you get gassy, bro," he complained, shifting further away, and his brother rolled his eyes.
"It's stewed rhubarb, not dried prunes. And you're the gassy one around here."
"I just don't get why you'd want to eat it."
Sam's hand dropped and he glared at his brother in an annoyed fashion.
"It's a craving, Dean. People get them when they're pregnant."
"Women get them when they're pregnant. You're a guy, in case you'd forgotten," Dean shot back, and Sam scowled at him.
"Dean, I am pregnant, whether you like it or not. My body's releasing mainly female hormones at the moment. That includes oestrogen, which is what causes PMT. So don't piss me off, OK?"
"Whoa, slow down a minute there buddy," Dean said placatingly, raising one hand defensively. "No need to go moody cow on me."
"Well then stop annoying me!" Sam snapped, and dug back into his rhubarb. Dean screwed up his nose, and concentrated on the road ahead of them. The Impala's headlights cut through the dark air and illuminated the landscape as they barrelled down the road and out of Sutherland.
"Can you feel him?" Dean asked, quite gruffly, after five minutes of silence.
"He's been kicking for a few weeks now," Sam muttered back. "Keeps me awake usually."
"What, every night?" Dean asked, covering his surprise, and cast a sharp glance at his little brother out of the corner of his eye. Sam nodded.
"Did you not wonder why I'm always up at stupid hours of the morning?" he asked archly, and Dean shrugged.
"Figured you just felt nauseous and were getting something for it. Does it hurt?"
"No. More uncomfortable than anything else when I'm trying to sleep."
Dean hesitated, and stared determinedly at the road.
"So is he kicking now?"
Sam didn't respond, and for a few sickening seconds Dean that he'd somehow offended him and he was going to go into a sulk. But then Sam reached out and took his right hand from the steering wheel, guiding it across the car and up his shirt to press against the now significant bump. His skin was warm.
"Feel him?"
He was about to say that no, he could feel nothing, until he felt the gentle pressure under his palm, and his face broke into a grin.
"So that's what it feels like?" he asked, looking away from the road and to his brother. He withdrew his hand and Sam dropped his shirt back down.
"Pretty much, yeah," he said wryly. "Except for the few times when it's as if he's trying to kick his way out of me," he caught Dean's concerned look. "Not that he does that often."
Dean frowned, and took a right turn.
"You know, we should probably refer to it as… well, 'it'. I mean, this is the goddamn Antichrist we're talking about, not just some little toddler."
Sam sighed and picked up his rhubarb from where he'd deposited it on the Impala's floor.
"Dean, I'm not going to give birth to an 'it'," he said tiredly. "And for the first eleven years of his life, he's not going to be the Antichrist. He'll just be the next Winchester, that's all. We can raise him not to be evil, I'd reckon. Once he's taken away, we can't do anything more – but until then, we'll raise him as a Winchester."
Dean looked across at him as they approached the motel.
"We'd better do a good job then."
12th August 2008
Dean stood up as there was a knock at the door. He glanced at Sam as he crossed the room, stomach churning nervously.
"How do you reckon he'll take it?" he asked, and his brother shrugged.
"He's seen pretty weird things, Dean. Once he gets over the initial shock…"
"I really hope so," Dean said gravely, and pulled the door open. Bobby was leaning against the frame, and he eyed them suspiciously.
"What is it that you boys need to see my about so urgently?" he asked warily, and Dean moved to the side, dropping his head to look down at his feet.
"You need to come in for this, Bobby," Sam advised. "I'd get up, only…"
"Only what?"
"Just come in," Dean replied bluntly. Bobby took one look at the expression on his face and stepped through the door, boots muddy and heavy, and Sam adjusted the blanket covering his abdomen. He pushed the toast that he'd been eating to the side, and Bobby watched him curiously.
"Sam, is that… peanut butter? And… treacle?"
"With pepper," Dean muttered, closing the door, and Sam stuck his tongue out.
"As I've already said, I'm not asking you to eat it, am I?"
"No, but I'm the one who has to go out at some ridiculous hour of the morning to get some more peanut butter when you get a bad craving!"
"I've always offered to go myself," Sam pointed out, and Dean scoffed, leaning against the side of the armchair that Sam was sat in.
"Yeah, like I'm going to let you out looking like you do."
"Guys, guys!" Bobby interrupted, and they looked up at him as though they'd forgotten that he was there. His eyebrows shot up. "Is it the Trickster again?" he asked, and Dean shook his head.
"Come on, you gotta show him," he said to Sam, and was met with a pained expression.
"Maybe we should explain first…?"
"That's not going to help, is it?"
"Explain what?" Bobby asked impatiently, and the brother shifted guiltily. "What do you mean, show me? And why can't Sam go out by himself? And why in hell's name is he eating peanut butter and treacle?"
They exchanged a look that seemed far too loaded for Bobby to comprehend, and with a sigh of resignation Sam pushed off the blanket and stood, lifting his shirt up.
"That's why," Dean said flatly, straightening up beside his brother, and Bobby tried to gather his thoughts without saying something completely inappropriate. He was struggling.
"It's the Antichrist," Sam explained, dropping his shirt. "I'm five months gone. We can't get out of it, either – if he dies, so do I. We figured it was safest just to go with it, we only have to raise him until his eleventh birthday."
"And what, you didn't even try to get out of this?" Bobby suddenly shouted, outraged, and Dean took an almost imperceptible step to stand between them.
"Not as simple as that," he said curtly, and with an incredulous look at the two of them, Bobby whirled around and sat down heavily.
"I need a goddamn beer."
Dean complied hurriedly as Sam back down, reaching for his toast. Bobby tried forcibly not to think about the fact that the youngest Winchester looked almost radiant, and they both seemed better off for this unfortunate turn of events.
"I think you'd better start at the beginning," he said tiredly, and pretended not to notice Dean's hand lingering on Sam's shoulder as he handed the beer to him.
20th November, 2008
"You reckon he can hear me?" Dean asked quietly, raising his eyes to Sam's. His brother shrugged.
"Yeah. Hearing is the first of the senses to develop, he's been able to hear my heartbeat for a few months now. Talking to him won't hurt, you know."
Dean looked as though he was going to step away, but then suddenly dropped to the floor, settling himself between Sam's legs and pressed the side of his head to his stomach. He felt Sam chuckle gently, and his brother reached down to pull up his t-shirt. Dean blinked at the sight of the huge bump.
"Dude. You look like a woman."
"Surprisingly, yeah," Sam said wryly. "I'm eight months pregnant."
"It sounds so weird to hear you say that."
"Trust me, it feels even weirder to say it myself. Go on. Talk to him."
Dean hesitated, then leaned forwards again, ear firmly pressed to Sam's warm belly. For the few second, there was nothing, and then suddenly the whump-whump of the tiny heart pumping inside his brother was audible. He grinned widely.
"Hey there buddy. This is your uncle," he paused to twist his head and look up at Sam, ear still pressed to the soft skin. "I'll be seeing you soon."
24th December, 2008
"Dude! I am not holding your hand," Dean said derisively, backing away from where Sam was lying on the dirty mattress. The small Christmas tree glinted merrily on the other side of the motel room.
"Damn it, Dean!" his little brother shouted, eyes flashing black, and Dean's hand grasped his tightly. Sam's fingernails dug in.
"You do realise that this will make you the only guy on the planet who knows what this feels like, right?" Dean asked, reaching up to wipe the sweat from Sam's brow, trying to distract him. His brother scowled.
"That's not funny," he ground out through gritted teeth. With a growl of impatience, he threw his head back onto the pillow. "God, where the Hell are they? I thought they were going to be here! If they don't cut me open soon –"
"Whoa, really did not need that mental image," Dean said gruffly, and closed his eyes in disgust.
"Yeah, well you'll be getting a physical image soon. Provided they get their asses up here!" Sam snarled, and as he spat out the last word, there was a great rumbling and the floor beneath them began to tremble.
Sam glanced up at the Trap painted above them, then flinched as another sharp pain lanced through his abdomen. Dean's grip tightened on his hand.
Snow began to fall outside.
The clock in the sheriff's office one block down struck midnight, and Sam's scream pierced the air.