Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

The Monster's Child (Chapter 10: Pie And Other Food) by frostygossamer

Following that little escapade, Sam thought that they needed to go see someone who would make Dean feel better about himself. He remembered an old priest that Dean had spoken about once, a friendly soul, and his sweet elder sister, who kept house for him and had treated Dean like a favourite godson while he had been doing some repair work for them.

"How 'bout we visit with old Pastor Joe?" he suggested.

"Jim," Dean corrected him. "The ex-missionary?" He chuckled. "The Pastor was one helluva poker player and all round good guy. And his sister, I woulda married that old gal for her pie, if she hadn't been old enough to be my grandmom."

Dean chortled to himself at the recollection of her baking. Sam was pleased to see his brainwave seemed to have been a good one.

They headed for Minnesota.

-~=O=~-

After a few hours driving, Dean stopped the Impala right in front of the huge, old house with its front yard planted out with roses. Sam, who had been lolling in the passenger seat, woke with a start.

"We're here," Dean told him. "This is Pastor Jim's place."

The two men climbed the rickety steps up to the front door and Dean rang the doorbell. After a few minutes the door was opened by a grey-haired geezer in a black shirt and pants.

"Hi," Dean said, smiling. "Been a while."

The older man squinted at him for a moment and then the light suddenly dawned in his eyes.

"Dean," he said chuckling. "Been a long time."

"This here's my brother Sam," Dean told him, indicating Sam. "We were just passing by..."

"Oh, come in, come in," the pastor said, beckoning them inside. "Look who it is, Gert honey. Dean, you know, Dean Winchester. The guy who helped me fix the kitchen extension out back last Fall but one. He's here with that brother he used to talk about."

Gert, who was sitting in the parlour, smiled radiantly.

"Come in. Sit down, boys. Jim just put on the kettle to make tea. I got a fresh-baked strawberry pie here. You always loved my strawberry pie, Dean."

Jim came back with an enormous teapot and Gert dished them out big wedges of pie, being especially generous to Sam.

"So how's things been with you two?" Jim asked.

"Fine, I guess," Sam replied.

Gert leaned forward with a kindly smile. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said, patting Sam's knee familiarly.

Sam looked surprised. "I didn't know you woulda heard about my mom," he said.

Dean grinned. "Oh, Gert has a sixth sense about that kinda thing. Haven't you, Gert."

"Sensitive. That's what they call me," she agreed with a chuckle. "I pick up things. That's what I do."

"Picks up too damn much," Jim chimed in. "Folks round here figure she's been eavesdropping on them sometimes, things she comes out with."

The two old people giggled together. "Stick-in-the-muds," Gert chuckled.

After a couple hours of funny anecdotes and assorted baked goods, it looked like time for the boys to be getting along. Dean asked to use the john and disappeared upstairs, while Jim busied himself tidying up their empty cups and plates. Gert shifted herself to sit beside Sam on the couch and took his hand gently. Sam felt a little crowded. Gert seemed to have taken a particular unwelcome shine to him.

"Your brother has a dark road to travel, my dear," she said softly. "I knew it the first time I set eyes on him. He's not like us. I can sense that. But he's closer to you than most."

She leaned back and looked him steadily in the eye for a moment.

"You know, don't you?" she whispered.

"Yes," he replied.

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Then you'll know what to do. He's lucky to have you."

-~=O=~-

They stayed in town for a couple weeks, and they did a few jobs around the house for the friendly old siblings. They played some tricky games of poker with the pastor and he told them some fascinating things about the customs and folk tales of Latin America, where he had worked as a missionary for many years.

Pastor Jim was interested in what Sam had picked up about the folk tales of Eastern Europe, although Sam never told him exactly why he had researched them. Jim had his opinions about the gothic archetypes, the Draculas and Wolf Men, of literature and what they might really have been based on. Despite being a preacher, he was a down-to-earth guy and he was inclined to look for the truth behind superstitions.

Dean kept out of these conversations. They only served to worry him more. It bothered him that Sam and the old-timer were talking around conditions similar to his 'affliction' like he wasn't in the house. He didn't enjoy being the object of scrutiny, even anonymously.

It reminded him of one of his new pet fears: being dragged away to be caged up and studied by some secret government white-coats, like some case from the 'X-files'. He might not be human but he was no dumb animal. Sam failed to notice that he had begun to brood, but Gert didn't.

The sweet old lady walked in the living room, interrupting her brother and Sam, who were poring over Sam's laptop, by plonking down a tray on the table beside them.

"You boys got time for a coffee break?" she asked chuckling.

"Sure, Gert honey," Jim replied, with a grin.

Sam jumped in surprise. "Oh sorry, Gert," he apologized. "Didn't realize the time." He glanced at the tray. "Only three cups?" he asked.

Gert beamed at him. "Dean went on back to your hotel a while ago," she explained. "Said he had a headache. To tell you the truth, Sam, he was looking a mite moody, if you know what I mean."

Sam frowned. "Reckon I'd better go, guys," he said, standing up. "Thanks, Gert," and he hurried out the door.

-~=O=~-

"No, Dean!" Sam slammed his step-brother against the wall, knocking the Bowie knife from his hand. "Not this way!"

Dean was panting, his eyes wild with panic. "It's no good, Sam," he whined. "I can't live like this, a gothic goddamn archetype like freakin' Frankenstein!"

"Victor Frankenstein wasn't a monster, and neither are you," Sam retorted, pinning the shorter man's arms over his head and immobilizing him with his own weight.

"You're wrong!" Dean yelled, and he shoved Sam back with a greater than human physical strength, causing him to lose his footing and tumble backward onto the floor.

Dean was on him in a flash, snarling in his ear like a tiger, his hot breath searing Sam's flesh. Sam struggled to throw him off, but Dean only seemed to grow stronger. He gave an animalistic, throaty chuckle and licked his teeth viciously.

"Let me go, Dean," Sam spoke softly, attempting to calm him down. "Let. Me. Go."

Dean grinned wickedly, his eyes dancing with fire, and he lunged at him. Sam felt Dean's sharp teeth penetrate the muscle of his shoulder, sinking deep and connecting with bone. He hissed at the pain and tried to pull away, but his assailant gripped on like a bulldog.

Sam threw back his head, panting. "Don't kill me, Dean," he whispered. "Not like this."

He felt the bite release, and when he raised his head to look around, he found Dean was gone.

-~=O=~-

The wound bled like a gusher and Sam had to clean and bind it himself. Later that evening Dean returned. He'd clearly spent some time in a bar and had had not a few drinks. He stank of whiskey. Sam was sitting beside the fire reading, when he trailed in.

"Made you a sandwich," Sam told him, without looking up. "It's in the fridge."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, starting toward the kitchen, then he halted. "I'm sorry," he said. "You OK?"

Sam closed his book and turned toward him, wincing slightly as he moved the muscles of his shoulder. He nodded and half-smiled.

"Reckon I proved my point," he said. He doubted monsters apologize.

Dean nodded. "This time."

TBC

A/N: That was close. Sam needs to watch out for those murderous teeth. More tomorrow.