A/N: This chapter, you may be glad to know, is a pretty long one. I thought about splitting it into two, but that seemed a little pointless.

I've come up with another original-type-creature-thing and I hope it explains smoothly... :-/ lol

I would also like to say that, being from England, I have very little idea where the states are and how long it takes to get there, so I apologise in advance if I offend anyone. I love the US! So please don't hate me for not being geographically correct.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!


The journey was long and Dean's temper was short. After their breakfast, they hit the road, speeding across the nation in search of answers.

About two hours after leaving, Dean's belly began to ache. Only mildly at first, but within twenty minutes, the muscles of his stomach were knotted so tightly they were causing him to grip the wheel in pain until his knuckles turned white. Sam, who had been dozing lightly, was woken by the sound of Dean hissing in pain.

He frowned at his older brother. "What's the matter?"

Dean didn't answer. Instead, he grunted and slowed the Impala, pulling her off the road. Once the car had stopped, he doubled over, clutching his stomach and leaning his head on the steering wheel.

Sam's frown deepened. "Dean, what's wrong?"

"My stomach," he grunted in reply. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes as another cramp twisted painfully through his abdomen. "Cramping like a bitch."

"Here," Sam said. He leant forward and opened the bag at his feet, pulled out a small bottle of aspirin and a bottle of water, and handed them to Dean. "It should help."

Dean looked up and took the painkillers. "Thanks," he muttered with a grimace, washing a couple of the tablets down with the water. He tried sitting up straight, but groaned as his muscles tightened painfully. "How far have we got left to go?"

Sam checked the map. "We're still at least five or six hours away."

"Great," Dean muttered, his tone bitterly sarcastic.

"I'll drive the rest of the way," Sam said. "You should lie down on the back seat."

"Don't you mean curl up in a ball on the back seat?" Sam frowned thoughtfully. "What?"

"Do we still have that heat gel?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"

"That heat gel? For muscle aches."

"Um… yeah, I think so, in the first aid kit. Why?"

"I've got an idea."

Sam got out of the car, gesturing for Dean to do the same. He followed, begrudgingly and with a scowl on his face with his right hand clamped tightly over his stomach. Sam was rooting for something in the back of the car. He must have found what he was looking for, because as Dean made his way toward him, he straightened up and closed the trunk. He held up a small tube.

"What the hell is that for?" Dean asked irritability.

"Lie down on the back seat and rub this into your stomach," Sam told him, handing him the tube of gel.

"It'll help with the cramps?"

"Yeah… Jess used to get them. Well, she had a hot water bottle, but this is the best we've got, so it'll have to do."

Dean frowned. "When did Jess get cramps?

"Uh…" Sam looked a little embarrassed. "Once a month."

"Right," Dean said quickly, understanding. "Ok. Well, if it works on chicks, it can work for me, right?"

"Here's hoping," Sam said. "Now get in the car. We've still got a long way to go."

Dean groaned at the thought, but climbed in the back seat all the same. He lay out on the back seat as Sam got behind the wheel. He unbuttoned his jeans and popped open the tube.

"Jeez!" Dean exclaimed as he squirted a small amount onto his fingers.

"What? Is it too hot?"

"No, God! This stuff stinks!"

Sam laughed softly. "Just rub it on your stomach, it should help." He started the engine and pulled back onto the road.

With his nose wrinkled, Dean started to rub the gel onto his stomach. For a few moments, he felt nothing. Dean looked on the tube, trying to determine whether or not it was still in date, when his skin started to burn. He hissed softly, but the heat suddenly became quite pleasant. His muscles began to loosen and un-knot themselves. He rubbed a little more gel onto his stomach for good measure before capping the tube and sticking it in his pocket.

"Dude, that stuff reeks," said Sam.

"Tell me about it," grumbled Dean, "although it seems to be working, so I can't really complain."

"Told you." Dean could hear his smug smirk.

"Just shut up and drive."

The cramps slowly subsided, which allowed Dean to stretch out fully on the back seat. Luckily, he didn't need to use any more heat gel during the remainder of their journey, but he did leave his jeans unbuttoned, giving his stomach a respite.

After hours on the road, during which time it got darker, Sam slowed the car and turned onto a small overgrown dirt track that would've gone unnoticed by many others, even in broad daylight.

Dean eyed the protruding branches warily. "Don't scratch her."

"Dean, the car is going to be fine," Sam said, exasperated.

Dean mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a threat under his breath as Sam continued to drive up the track.

After a few agonisingly long minutes, the path widened and they rounded a corner to be greeted by the sight of an old house that looked like it'd seen many a better day. The peeling paint may once have been white, but looked a murky grey in the light of the moon. The dirty windows, which barely allowed light to penetrate, the ones that weren't boarded up anyway, added to the ramshackle appearance of the house.

Sam pulled up in front of the porch and shut off the engine. He looked round at Dean. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

They climbed out of the car (Dean buttoning his jeans back up before closing the door) and walked to the porch steps. They hesitantly tested them with their feet, but they held, groaning underneath their combined weight. When they reached the door, which looked like the only sturdy part of the house, Dean rapped loudly on the wood with his knuckles. They waited and, after a few moments, movement could be detected on the other side.

"What do you want?" Came a gruff, muffled voice from inside.

Sam glanced at Dean briefly before answering. "Scott? Scott Parsons?"

"Who wants to know?"

"It's Sam and Dean Winchester… our dad told us you'd be able to help us with something."

There was a pause, then the clinking and rattling of numerous chains and locks could be heard. The door swung open on creaking hinges, revealing a short, skinny man in his late forties, early fifties. He was balding and had gaunt features; pale blue eyes, a pointed nose, prominent cheek bones and an angular jaw. He had the look of a Hunter, one that had seen too much… if such a thing were possible.

Scott frowned. "You John's boys?"

Dean tilted his head. "Yes sir."

Scott nodded. "He called and said you'd swing by. Sounded troubled by what you boys might be facing."

"Yeah," said Dean, "we were hoping you'd be able to provide the answers we're looking for."

"Come on in." He stood to the side , biding them entrance. They stepped over the threshold and paused while Scott closed and secured the door. "Can't be too careful," he said, before gesturing toward the small living room, situated to their right.

They followed the old Hunter and sat themselves in separate armchairs that were next to an open fire, which wasn't in use. Opposite them, across a small coffee table, was a sofa, on which Scott sat himself.

"Can I offer you boys a drink?"

Sam shook his head "I'm good, thanks."

Dean thought about it for a moment, but decided against it. "Me too."

Scott shrugged slightly then regarded the Winchesters carefully. "So… John said that one of you boys got attacked."

Dean raised a hand briefly. "I did."

"When did the attack occur?"

"A little over three months ago."

Scott nodded and leaned forward in his seat. "I'm going to need you to tell me everything that happened."

Sam and Dean launched into their story, one filling in any details the other overlooked or missed. They described what the monster looked like, what it did to its victims and how it attacked Dean. They finished by telling Scott of Deans illness, asking whether if it was in any way related to the attack.

When they were done, Scott rose to his feet and left the room without so much as one word.

"Where's he going?" Sam whispered, a frown on his face.

"How should I know?" Dean replied, an equally perplexed look on his own face.

Scott returned a few moments later with a small leather bound journal. He placed it carefully on the coffee table. "Good news is, I know what you're up against. It's called a Stolax." He flipped through the pages of the journal, which must have been old because small clouds of dust rose when two pages flopped together. He held up a picture, an old drawing. "This the thing you fought?"

They nodded. Then Dean frowned. "Wait, how can we still be up against it? Sam ganked it right after it attacked me."

Scott sighed. "Like I said, the good news is that we know what you're up against."

"So what's the bad news?" Sam asked.

"What it did to you," he said, looking at Dean.

"Why? What did it do?"

Scott leaned back in his chair. "The Stolax is a solitary creature."

Dean managed to suppress an eye roll. Here we go, he thought, Stolax history 101.

Scott continued. "It only appears every fifty years to feed. It has an extremely slow metabolism, so it can live for centuries, only appearing when it needs to eat."

"And it eats human flesh," Sam said, to confirm the beasts diet.

Scott shook his head. "Bones. Calcium is what keeps this thing going, and human bones are rich in it."

"Why not eat the entire body then?" Dean asked. "In the cage in that warehouse, there were torsos that were just left to rot."

"Our internal organs are like poison to the Stolax."

Dean nodded. "Like the fugu fish?"

"Yeah, sort of."

Sam frowned and stared at Dean. "Fugu fish, Dean?"

"It's a Japanese dish," Dean said. "Most of the fish is poisonous to us, the organs and skin, but a small part is considered a delicacy."

"And you learned this, how?"

Dean looked a little embarrassed. "I watch cooking shows when I'm bored!"

Sam shrugged. "You watch Oprah, why not cooking shows too?"

Dean scowled. "Shut up, Sam."

Scott chuckled. "Are you two finished?"

"Yeah," Sam said quickly.

"Sorry," Dean added.

Scott shook his head, a small smile still on his lips. "So, like I said, the Stolax comes out of hiding, or hibernation, every fifty years or so to feed. But it also needs to breed."

"I thought you said it was solitary," Sam said.

"I did," Scott nodded, "and they are. These things are A-sexual and they need humans in order to breed."

Dean shuddered. "Ugh, gross."

"Why does it need a human?"

"Humans are used as incubators for the Stolax spawn."

Deans mouth suddenly went very dry.

"How does that work?" Sam asked, keeping his tone calm, although there was an underlying note of slight anxiety.

"The Stolax will take its victim and slice their stomach open, then spray them with a pre-fertilised embryonic fluid."

Dean looked at Scott in horror, although he managed to maintain a semi-normal facial expression, which wasn't being helped by the fact he could sense Sam shooting worried glances his way. He focused on Scott.

"The victim is usually unconscious for the fertilisation and healing process, which only takes a few days."

"Hang on," Dean said, finding his voice, "I was bedridden for a week!"

"The Stolax aids the healing process. It also creates a connection, a psychic link, between the human and the Stolax spawn, so they won't think to get rid of it throughout the… pregnancy."

"What?" Dean asked.

"The gestation period of the Stolax is similar of that of humans." Scott paused to allow Sam and Dean to absorb what he was trying to say. Realisation hit the brothers hard. Deans complexion paled slightly and he looked worriedly at Sam, who looked as concerned.

"Wait-" Sam began to say.

"What are you talking about, Scott?" Dean asked, his words laced with anxiety.

Scott sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean, but from the way you described the attack… it sounds like you're carrying the spawn of the Stolax."

Dean shook his head. "No. No, this- this can't be right… I'm a guy! I don't have the right… stuff to carry… anything inside me!"

"The Stolax is A-sexual, Dean. Gender means nothing to it. Why'd you think I said 'human' instead of 'woman'?"

"Any other guys get themselves knocked up by this Stolax?" Dean asked, still sceptical.

"One or two over the past few centuries. It's rare, but it has happened."

"And how did they cope?" Sam asked.

"They were thrown into asylums, or chained up in basements, away from the view of everyone else."

"This can't be happening," muttered Dean. "This cannot be happening… I mean, I don't have that 'psychic connection' crap."

"You must have," Scott said.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, interrupting him as he was opening his mouth for a retort.

"What?" Dean snapped.

"Your eyes."

"What about them, Sam?"

"Right after the attack, just before you passed out," Sam said, remembering, wondering why he hadn't mentioned it before, "your eyes flashed a kind of vivid lime green colour."

"That'll be the connection," Scott said.

Dean rubbed his face, trying to set his reeling mind straight. He sighed. "I think I'm going to need that drink now."

"You can't," Scott said bluntly.

"Oh, because it'll 'hurt the baby'?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"I'm all for that," Scott said, "but the Stolax inside you won't let you." Sam and Dean looked confused. "As much as you might want to drink yourself into a coma, as long as the connection remains, the Stolax will prevent you from doing so."

Dean stared at Scott for a few long moments, then shook his head. "I still don't believe it… It can't be true."

But the more he thought about it, the more things started making sense. Why else would he feel nauseous for days on end without reason? And why would he, seemingly all of a sudden, pack on a few pounds? In this line of work, you couldn't help but keep fit. This information, as unbelievable and horrifying as it was, was true.

I can't be though… men don't get- ok I'm not even thinking of going there! Dean thought. But it explains everything… the puking, the cramps… but I still can't believe it…

"Dean?" Scott's voice stopped Deans train of thought, causing him to look up. "I know this is hard for you to believe, but it's happening… and unfortunately, you've just got to ride it out, son."

Dean looked at Scott and saw the unsaid apology written all over his face. He sighed. "Great," he muttered. "At least we know what we're up against." His voice was dripping in sarcasm.

Sam looked at his brother, an expression of deepest concern on his young face. "How do we stop it?"

"The pregnancy?"

Dean shuddered at the very word. He was not pregnant!

"Yes."

"You can't."

Sam frowned, worriedly. "What? Why?"

"The connection between Dean and the Stolax spawn will prevent any harm from coming to it throughout the duration of the pregnancy."

"So this thing's just going to rip me to pieces then?" Dean asked scathingly, staring into the black hearth of the fire.

"No," Scott said softly. "I said you couldn't get rid of it during the pregnancy. But you can sure as hell torch the little bastard when it's born."

Sams spirit seemed to life, but Deans did not. "How will I survive the birth long enough to kill this parasitic son-of-a-bitch?"

"With this," Scott said. He rifled through the ancient journal until he found what he was looking for. With a pen and a fresh piece of paper, he began to copy a paragraph from the pages in front of him. When he'd finished, he handed it to Sam. "Don't lose that. You're gonna need it."

Sam frowned. "Why do I need it?"

"Dean's going to be a little… preoccupied when the time comes to perform the ritual."

"Ritual?" Dean asked.

"This incantation will allow the Stolax to exit the womb without killing you."

Dean suppressed another shudder. "How?"

"When the time comes for the Stolax to be born, you'll go into a trance. You'll head somewhere secluded, so that the Stolax can devour you in private."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You won't be alone. Sam has the incantation, which, when said, will reopen your old scar, created by the adult Stolax, allowing the baby to come through as safely for you as possible. Once it's out in the open, Sam, all you'll have to do is light the bastard up. Light it up like the fourth of July."

"And… Dean'll survive?"

"He's got a better chance of survival with the incantation than without it."

Dean frowned. "Hold on, how do you know so much about this thing when we found Jack Squat online?"

Scott smiled. "I am one of the last of an ancient organisation called 'The Fathers of the Forgotten'. We've been around for centuries, protecting the knowledge that has been passed down from generation to generation."

"Why don't you share this knowledge with other Hunters?"

"I swore an oath," Scott said simply, "to only give the information to those who need it."

"Lucky us," Dean muttered Darkly.

Sam glanced at Dean and thought they'd better make a move; the look in his brothers eyes spelled trouble. "Well, thank you Scott. You've been a great help, but I think we should be heading on out."

"I don't mind putting you boys up for the night."

Sam smiled. "We couldn't, but thanks anyway."

"It's around fifty miles to the nearest motel. I'm just trying to save you guys a hell of a drive for a couple hours of sleep."

"You sure?"

"Not a problem."

"Dean?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."

Sam smiled at Scott. "Thanks."

"Alright." Scott stood up and gathered his journal together. "Now, I've only got the one guest room, first door on the left upstairs, so one of you will have to sleep down here." He left the room.

Sam glanced at his brother. "You can have the bed."

Dean didn't move, but he frowned. "What?"

"I'll sleep down here."

Dean snorted. "Don't be stupid, Sam. I'll sleep here, it's fine."

"Dean, I really think you should take the bed." Dean glared at Sam, a warning that he should stop talking, but the younger Winchester continued anyway. "I'm just saying that someone-"

"Sam," Dean interrupted, his voice dangerously quiet, "if the next words out of your mouth are 'in your condition', I will break your jaw."

The two brothers looked at each other, Dean with a push-me-if-you-dare look on his face, and Sam with an expression that seemed torn between saying what he felt needed to be said and wanting to keep his face intact.

Finally, Sam sighed. "Ok, I'd better get to bed."

"Yeah, I think that's wise," Dean replied, the threat of a broken jaw still in his voice.

Sam turned and made for the stairs, headed for the guest room. Dean sighed after he'd gone and rubbed his face again.

"He's only trying to look out for you." Dean looked up and saw Scott standing in the doorway, a blanket under one arm.

There was a moments pause. "I know," Dean said softly. "It's just this whole situation's… it's just got me… I mean, I…" He sighed, frustrated due to his lack of being able to find the right words to say.

"You still don't want to believe it, huh?" Scott asked. He moved to the sofa and sat down, dumping the blanket next to him.

"Yeah," Dean snorted, "you got that right."

"Look, Dean," Scott said softly, leaning forward. "If there was anything that could be done to resolve your current condition, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I know Sam would do it even faster."

Dean lowered his gaze, humbled by what the older Hunter had said, because he knew it was true.

"Don't cut your brother out, Dean," Scott continued. Dean looked up. "I'm not going to sit here and act like I know who you are, because I don't. But you're Johns boy, and I do know what family means to a Winchester… Don't cut him out, Dean."

Dean looked into the older Hunters eye for a long moment before shaking his head. "No sir."

Scott smiled softly before getting to his feet. "Now, let me get a fire started."

"Hey, don't light one just for me," said Dean, feeling a little awkward. "I'll be fine."

"Trust me, it can get awful chilly down here at night," Scott said as he gathered a few logs. "You'll thank me in the morning when you don't have frost bite."

Dean chuckled. "Fair enough."

Scott arranged the firewood in the hearth then covered it with thin twigs and bits of old newspaper. Striking a match, he set the newspaper and kindling alight. He waited until the first large log began to crackle then turned to Dean.

"Feel free to add another log or two if you need to," he said. "Make yourself comfortable, but remember to take your shoes off before you put your feet on my couch."

"No problem," Dean said, smiling slightly. Scott turned to leave. "Hey, Scott?" The older men turned around. "Thanks… for everything," Dean said gently.

Scott smiled. "My pleasure. Goodnight, Dean."

"Night."

The old Hunter turned and left the room, making his way to the stairs in order to turn in for the night.

Dean took off his boots and his jacket and lay back, trying to get comfy on his makeshift bed for the night. But his mind was too busy, still trying to process all the information he'd received, to let him sleep. So he sat on the floor with his right leg bent at the knee, providing a space for his right arm to rest, his left leg stretched out in front of him and his back resting against the coffee table.

He stared into the heart of the flames, his mind brooding over his situation, and listened to the cracking of the firewood, vaguely wondering if that's what his bones would sound like when the thing inside him burst free and started snacking on his limbs.


Well, I hope you liked it ^_^

If you have any questions about the Stolax, feel free to PM me and I'll answer them as best I can =)