Dean, of course, pissed off that witch in 'Pregnant Pause', the tale of Fred the Not-Real Assbaby, so he knows all about it. Just ask him, he'll tell you.
Chapter Eight
"Still no signal," humphed Dean, as Ronnie and Lemmy called into the night once more.
"Hardly surprising, given the..." Ronnie suddenly stopped, and gasped. Dean peered at her.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked again, flicking on the interior light.
Ronnie's face was white, and she shook her head. "The zecke," she wheezed, "It's... it's..."
"Huh, enjoy it while it's this tame," said Dean knowingly, "I thought the Braxton-Hicks business was bad enough, but they weren't anything compared to actual labour – that was more like sitting on a running band saw, and before you ask, yes, I do know what that's like, been to Hell, remember..." Ronnie continued to gape at him. "It's okay," he waved a hand airily, "It'll only go for a minute or two."
"Last... ten... minutes," Ronnie grated out, clutching at her stomach.
"What?" Dean stared at her as she let out a grimacing hiss of pain. "Why didn't you say?"
"Thought it was just the schnitzel," she panted sheepishly. "Told you, red meat makes it frisky. It's been getting frisky since lunchtiEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" She slouched in the seat, trying to straighten out. "Aaaaaaaaargh! Oh fuck me, that hurts..."
"Since lunchtime?" Dean echoed incredulously. "Shit! Why didn't you say something?"
"Because I thought it was the bloody schnitzel!" she yapped at him. "Are you deaf as well as stupeeeeEEEEEEEE OOOOOOOOWOOOOOOO!" The last word turned into a pained howl, as her fangs descended.
"Well, if I wasn't deaf before, I am now," griped Dean, batting at one of his ears, "You could've stuck your head out the window before you did that." He put the car into gear. "I think this trumps a lost puppy, I'm gonna take you back to Bobby's." He brought the Impala around in a spray of mud, and set off back the way they'd come, the back end fishtailing on the slippery road.
Unfortunately, the road surface wasn't the only thing the weather had affected. It was just lucky that with the rain and the darkness, and the presence of a pregnant-but-quite-possibly-soon-to-be-not person on board, Dean wasn't going as fast as he might've otherwise, so when the downed tree blocking the road suddenly loomed in the headlights, he managed to wash off enough speed and take evasive action so that the car ended up slewing sideways off the road and onto the shoulder, and not straight into the tree.
"Fuck!" he shouted, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuckity fuck it!"
"As eloquent... as ever..." panted Ronnie."
It was a very large tree, and Dean didn't have to get out of the car to inspect the situation to know that moving it would be impossible. "We'll have to double back," he told her, "We'll call this in once we're back at Bobby's."
"You could try... swearing at it," she wheezed, trying to retract her wolf teeth. "Or pouting. You can pout epically. You could pout... for your country."
"Fuck off," he told her tersely, checking the dash lights. "Then, fuck off some more. Then when you arrive, fuck off from there too." He restarted the stalled engine, and put the car into gear. "And when you get there, fuck off until you get back here, then fuck off again." He eased onto the gas. The wheels spun in the mud.
Muttering dire threats against any deity stupid enough to be within earshot, he shifted into low gear, with no result. He tried rocking his Baby out, reverse then drive, but she just dug herself in further.
"Keep going, you might... strike oil," suggested Ronnie. "I know, I know," she forestalled him, "Fuck off, right?"
A quick inspection of the back end made it clear that Baby was unharmed, but well and truly stuck."
"So, we're not fucking off anywhere in a hurry, then?" she asked, seeing his expression.
"Doesn't look like it," he sighed resignedly. Ronnie hissed again, and let out a low growl that rose to an anguished whine, her fangs reappearing. "Look, you might be more comfortable in the back seat until this passes..."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Andrew stood in the rain, and let loose a long, carrying howl that made the hair on Sam's neck stand up, while Lars added his puppy voice to the increasingly desperate summons.
"Anything?" Sam asked plaintively.
"Not a damned thing," the werewolf replied, shaking water off before getting back into the truck. "If she got caught in this, she may well be bunkered down somewhere."
"I still can't get a signal," Sam scowled at his cell. He started the truck, and set out slowly along the road again, Andrew and Lars peering out into the dark. "I wonder how Dean and Ronnie are doing," he smiled briefly.
"Probably swapping pregnancy stories again," Andrew grinned, "Pissing witches off is something of a hobby for your brother, isn't it?"
"Maybe 'addiction' is a better word," humphed Sam, "Because he doesn't seem to be able to help himself. Still, at least they've got something to talk about. It might even stop them sniping at each other for a while, you know, a shared experience."
"They're probably swapping disgusting food combo ideas as we speak," groaned Andrew. "Nobody should have to watch anybody eat strawberries with peanut butter. It's not natural."
"I hear you," agreed Sam glumly, "Being sent to get onion rings and grapes in the middle of the night is bad enough, but then being sent to get cherry syrup to put on them, blah."
"I think they were just doing that to watch our faces turn green," opined Andrew.
"I can believe that," nodded Sam. "I bet they're doing it right now."
"I bet they're laughing about what they're going to talk about when we get back," Andrew stated.
"I bet they have a contest to see who can gross us out more," Sam concurred. "It's the sort of thing they'd do, and think it was hilarious."
"Yep," Andrew mused, "I'll bet that right now, they're having a great old time at our expense."
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Not the upholstery! Not the upholstery!" Dean yelped frantically from the front seat as Ronnie's wolf teeth came out again. She curled on her side on the back seat, and looked as if she was going to bite something. "Don't you dare bite the upholstery!"
"Fine!" she snapped, "I'll bite you instead! Would that be better? Aaaaaaaargh!" she clutched at her stomach.
Dean threw her one of the old towels he'd collected in preparation for the Winchester pups' first road trip, in case they'd inherited Jimi's early age travel sickness. "Here, chew on this," he ordered.
Ronnie sank her teeth into it. "Ohhhhh, I think the zecke has decided it wants out," she moaned in a muffled voice.
"What? What?" Dean looked horrified. "You can't! You're not pregnant enough yet!"
"Try telling that to the thing trying to claw its way out!" Ronnie rasped.
"You canNOT have a baby in my Baby!" Dean said sternly. "Don't you even think about having a baby in my Baby!"
"Okay, then," she snarled, "I'll just cross my legs, shall I? AaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaah, oh shit, oh fuck, owwwwww..." She let out another snarl, teeth bristling.
"You need to hang on!" Dean shrieked, "Don't you dare let Zeck out in my car!"
"Well, if you don't like the idea, you can always come on over here, and try to shove it back in!" she snapped, breaking off to let out another howl of pain. "Go on! I dare you!"
"I'm serious!" Dean yelled back, "I mean it! Veronica Claire Shepherd I FORBID you to give birth in my car!"
"I don't give a rat's arse!" Ronnie wailed, "And I don't think Zeck does either! If I don't get a choice here, neither do youoooooOOOOOOWOOOOOO!" She gasped for breath, choking as she fought for air.
"No, no, no," Dean yapped at her, "You need to breathe!"
"I am breathing, you girly-faced moron!" Ronnie screamed at him breathily, "If I wasn't breathing I'd be dead!"
"At least you'd be quiet," he muttered under his breath. "No, I mean breathing breathing, to get some control during the contractions. A series of little short ones, then a long one. It helps, it does, it worked for me. Like this." He demonstrated. "Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!"
Ronnie's grimaced at him. "You are nuts!" she told him, "You are seriously nuts! Owwwwwww! Owwwwww, it's ramping up again, OWWWWWWWW..."
"Ronnie!" Dean grabbed he hand. "Try it just try it! Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!"
"Sheee... Sheeee..." gasped Ronnie.
"Try again," he encouraged. "Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!"
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!" panted Ronnie.
"That's it!" Dean enthused, "That's it, do that again!"
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!" Ronnie rasped out.
"Is it helping?" Dean asked.
She nodded, and winced as another pain hit. "Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!"
"Good, that's good," he told her, "But can you let go of my hand now, because you're squeezing it kind of hard... ow. Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow ow Ronnie, let go now, shit, shit, let go, shit..."
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!" went Ronnie.
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!" went Dean.
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!" went Ronnie.
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit FUUUUUUUCK!" went Dean. "Let go, let go, letgoletgoletgoaaaaaargh!"
Ronnie released his hand, and he inspected it gloomily. "I think you broke it in thirty seven places," he griped, "Let me try the phone again." He still couldn't get a signal. "Oh, great," he moaned to an uncaring universe, "Just great. This is just perfect. I'm in my bogged car with a smartass cow who's about to give birth and I can't even make a phone call! Just perfect! What a great way to spend an evening! It doesn't get any better than this! What could possibly be more fun that this?"
"No no no, it's starting again," wailed Ronnie, "No no no nooooOOOOOOO OOOOOOWROOOOOOO!"
There was a sound of tearing fabric.
Dean took in the sight of a six-foot-four she-werewolf crammed into the back seat of his car, fangs bristling as she howled in pain, and sighed.
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