Salt of the Earth Chapter 4
A/N: is purely made up. By me. I don't know if a website like this even exists…and, no, I haven't looked for it, either…IF there is a website by that name, it's PURELY coincidence…
Sam crept to the top of the stairs after orienting himself to the rest of the first floor of the house. The floors were hardwood with area rugs scattered throughout. The furniture was old but in good condition and had obviously been taken care of. There were fresh flowers in vases and charming decorations and pictures on the walls. Overall, the house appeared to be well-maintained and secure, but he still was compelled to spread more salt and goofer dust on the window panes and thresholds. He walked into the room that Dean had claimed, and found his brother in nothing but boxer briefs, laying on his back, snoring away. I'm glad one of us can sleep, he thought, although the fact that his brother's recent sleep habits might not be under his control or voluntary nagged at him. Dean may not have much of a choice in the matter, he thought again. As a matter of fact, I know he doesn't. He's gone without sleep for less than this…
With nothing to go on until tomorrow and nothing to consider but Dean's physical signs, Sam decided to note everything that he'd seen Dean experience or complain about since being touched by an angel. First, he wrote 'tired all the time,' then 'hungry', 'puking.' 'cranky,' 'increased sense of smell,' 'changes in bowel habits,' and 'weird cravings.' He submitted all these into and blinked when the result loaded on the screen: Most Likely Condition to Discuss With Your Doctor—PREGNANT.
No way, he thought. He plugged in the information again, just to be sure, and the same result appeared on the screen. Hm. Dean is a guy. Not only is he a guy, he's a guy's guy. He doesn't have the equipment to conceive or grow anything or anyone. He wouldn't even know how to keep a plant alive. Could an angel do that to him? Oh, he'd laugh like hell if he knew this is what came up. Or get mad—like—Hulk mad. At Cas, hopefully. It's not like he could miss a period…Gawd, how would it get out? No—nevermind. What a stupid thought. Or not…he did say 'in his stomach,' right?
Sam glanced over to his sleeping brother, remembering the expression on Dean's face when he'd felt his abdomen, like he'd found something that wasn't there before. Sam slowly got off his bed and crept over to Dean's unconscious form, focusing on his brother's lower abdomen. He studied it for a few minutes and decided it didn't look any different than it ever did. Dean had been complaining of constipation, lately, but overall, he looked the same. Well, that's a good thing, right?
Sam stood guard over his brother that night. He never left the room and he listened to every breath. He thought about what he must have looked like when he was three and Dean was seven and he was potty training. Dean used to tell him he HATED wearing underwear and whenever he saw them, he'd run away and the only one who could catch him was Dean. Ultimately, Big Brother would wrap him in a seven-year-old bearhug and carry him back to dad. It started, then, to become a game, and when Baby Sammy would look over at his brother, the inevitable giggle would escape, and the baby-butt-down-the-hallway-chase was on. Dean was the one who taught Sam how to ride a bike. Dean was the one who Sam took his first steps toward. Dean was the one who patched up the scraped knee. Dean was the one who Sammy cuddled next to on those creepy, windy, rainy November nights. All this reminiscing made Sam more steadfast in his resolve that nothing, nothingwould harm his brother, ever again. He had no desire to relive the times he had been without him. Amelia had made the decision not to seek out Dean a little easier to tolerate, but Sam also knew that he couldn't put off looking for his brother forever. Even though he was easily the happiest he had ever been in his life, a cloud still followed Sam wherever he went; it was oppressive and Sam knew he couldn't ignore it—not for long. His brother needed him. Every time he had been out from under his brother's protective eye, he'd ended up making REALLY bad decisions (sleeping with Ruby, drinking demon blood, going on ass-minded revenge tours)…Sam knew he needed his brother, just as much as his brother needed him, and as unhealthy as it may have seemed at times, it wasn't NEARLY as unhealthy as when they were apart…
Morning arrived, and Dean stirred from his sleep, waiting for the signal that vomit was on the way or not. After a few minutes of nothing more than regular ol' morning cottonmouth, he decided to risk a trip upright to the bathroom. He sat up. No dizzy head. Good sign. Sam was exiting the bathroom, hair wet, covered with a towel.
"Mornin'."
Dean nodded in reply. There was something wrong with Sam. There was a fear in his voice, a sad one, an agitation that Dean recognized within milliseconds. Sam was scared shitless, and neither one of them knew what any of this was about yet. Dean knew one thing about fear, though —it was contagious and neither couldn't afford for both to be afraid. He decided to wait things out and make a plan after Cas arrived.
"You didn't use all the hot water did you?"
Sam raised his eyebrows, then smiled in an attempt to add levity to the morning. "Maybe. I'll make some coffee to warm you up."
"Anything sweet down there would be good, too."
Dean entered the bathroom and for a moment, glanced in the mirror. Yes, there was definitely a small swell right under his belly button. His brow furrowed and he rubbed it with his hand. It wasn't hard or anything, and it didn't hurt. More salad. I hate salad…
After he was finished, he put on his favorite pair of hunting jeans and strolled downstairs. Well, they used to be his favorite hunting jeans. Sam must have put them in the dryer on HIGH HEAT and shrunk them. Dammit. But, the coffee smelled wonderful and Sam stood at the stove, making eggs for himself and on the table, a cinnamon sticky bun that looked fresh out of the oven.
"Awww…look at you! Best Little Brother in the World! Ha ha!" Dean sat at the table hungrily and began to devour the poor thing like it had wronged him somehow, leaving icing on his face, dripping down his unshaven chin and onto the front of his shirt.
Sam looked at Dean, amused. "That bun have too many moving parts for ya?"
Dean looked up and licked his fingers. "Tastes like more."
Sam, as good at predicting his brother as was the reverse, opened the toaster oven with another. Dean smiled.
"We gotta talk about Cas," he started, suddenly sober.
"Yeah, I know," Sam replied, setting his coffee and eggs down on the table. "I have wracked my brain all night. I know they know we're close to the second trial, but why would angels want us dead, too? It doesn't make sense." Remembering his little find from the research last night, he asked, trying really hard to mask his apprehension, "How do you feel today?"
"Okay, I guess…I didn't puke. I had heartburn like a mother fucker last night, though. I'm actually starting to feel better."
Another beautiful thing about Sam Winchester is his ability to remember the small things—the things that most folks just forget or don't pay attention to in the first place. After he'd found the information on symptomfinder, he'd researched pregnancy, right down to creating a fake name and registering with a pregnancy calendar, then reading about all the symptoms that arrived with each advancing week. Dean sparked his memory with his last statement. At some point the moms-to-be reported feeling better and that the nausea and tiredness were ebbing some, but then heartburn started…oh, boy…Dammit, where the hell was Cas?! He refocused at the ridiculousness of his train of thought and smiled sheepishly at his brother and returned to his eggs.
Dean pointed at Sam with his fork. "We need to get Kevin here. To stay. With his mother."
Sam nodded in agreement, then both heard a flutter of wings and Cas was at the table with them.
He looked briefly at them. "Good morning."
"Cas."
None of the three of them spoke for a full minute.
"You look rested," Dean started. "And shaved. Nice. Good job. You don't smell anymore either."
Cas didn't acknowledge the comment, which really wasn't unusual for him, but it didn't put the men at ease. Dean took a deep breath and started.
"Alright, Cas. You got us here. Angels and Demons are on our asses, you're hiding things in people and running around putting out fires and covering tracks, would you please shed a little light?"
"Yes." Then nothing.
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
"I don't know how to start," Cas stated, not looking at either brother. "I just want you both to know I did what I did to protect you both. And the future." He didn't look up until he finished the last word, then looked both brothers in the eye.
Dean sighed. Sam was silent. "Just start from the beginning, Cas. The suspense is killing us here."
Cas looked at Sam. "Do you recall the night Dean and yourself celebrated together after your weekend with Charlie?"
"Um, yeah. We went out for a few beers. Dean left. I went back. End of story."
"Sam, that's not the end of the story. It's the beginning."
Sam thought for a minute, then his eyes widened.
Dean was thoroughly confused. "Wait. You went back?"
"Yeah, well, I carried you back to the room, dumped you on the bed and came back."
Dean tilted his head. "Okay."
"And you met a young woman at the bar."
Sam nodded. "Her name was-."
"Lailah."
Sam shook his head in agreement. "Yes. Lailah."
"And you had relations with her."
Sam blushed.
Dean looked at his brother, grinning from ear to ear. "Atta boy, Sammy! I thought I'd have to call up a monkery in China somewhere soon."
Sam rolled his eyes at this brother, then stared him down.
"She conceived that night."
Both men stopped the staring contest and met Cas' face, shocked into silence. They met each other's eyes again, shifted in their seats, took audible deep breaths and returned their attention to Cas.
Dean looked back at his brother. "Didn't I tell you make sure your little purple warrior had his helmet on before sending him to the front lines? Dumbass."
"Dean, first, he's not 'little', and second, REALLY?! Pot. Kettle. Black."
Anxiety rising, as well as the hair on his arms and neck, Sam covered his mouth with his hands and rose from his chair, then he ran his hands thorough his hair and poured another cup of coffee.
"Okay. Where is she, how do we protect her and what does this have to do with what's going on now?"
"She was…an angel."
Dean looked at Cas and then his brother, mouth agape. "Wait. She was an angel? And did you say, 'was'?
"Yes. When the garrison discovered that she was pregnant, they formed a plan to assassinate her."
Sam was visibly shaking now. "She was carrying a nephilim."
"Yes."
Dean was trying desperately to clear his head. "A half-human, half-angel baby."
Cas continued. "Yes. She was the Patron Saint, if you will, of reproduction and fertility, but she had never birthed."
"So she had a case of 'always a bridesmaid, never a bride,' and came down here to get pregnant?"
"More like 'always a virgin, never a mother,'" Cas replied. "She knew that this would put a target on her back, but she wanted it anyway. She knew the product of conception would also be a target, but she thought she could protect them. Like any mother would. There have been nephilim in the past. Some angels fear that they are a threat, an abomination. They're powerful, and are favored of God. I intervened."
"How, Cas? How did you intervene?" Sam asked softly, almost choking on his words. This can't be good.
"I couldn't save her. I got there seconds too late. After the angels left, I went to her body and they were still alive."
If Sam Winchester was anything, he was an analyst and he was able to deduce facts with little contributory information, and these tendencies only became more honed as his stress level rose. These were the gifts that made him a hunter with such a prolific dossier of kills. The ability to figure things out-before they happened. The pieces came together quickly, as fast as the bile rose in his throat.
Nausea.
Vomiting.
Fatigue.
Mood swings.
Sensitivity to certain smells.
Weight loss, then gain.
"Oh, God."Sam's legs wobbled and he sat down roughly in his chair.
Dean, noting the absence of color in his brother's face and stepping into guardian position, asked Cas, "Okay, so, where are they now? They? You did say, 'they' right? So there's two? We have to get them. They're family, Cas! We can't leave them to die!"
Sam wretched.
"Yes. There are two. Twins. I had to hide them."
Dean's eyes met Sam's.
"I hid them in you."