Author's notes: More crack fic. And yes, I am thinking of writing an Mpreg. I can't help it, I like them.

The Winchester Brothers in the Land of Fic (Part 2)

The Setting: Yet another run-of-the mill motel in Bumfuck, Somewhere, USA.

Sam is sitting on his bed, busily typing away on the laptop, when Dean staggers in from the bathroom.

"Sam."

Sam continues to type, not missing a beat. "Can't you see that I'm on the computer? I'm busy here."

Dean puts his hands on his hips. "You're cruising internet porn, Sam."

"Like I said. Busy."

"I have to talk to you."

"Busy."

"Sam!"

The tremendous whine in Dean's voice causes Sam to put the laptop down with a sad sigh. Chocolate Hunnies will have to wait. "Oh, all right. What is it?"

Dean plops down next to him on the bed. "Ok, you know how I haven't been feeling well for the past couple of weeks? Well, it's been getting worse. I'm all achy. I'm throwing up every morning now." Dean pauses for dramatic effect. "I think I'm dying here, Sammy."

Sam leans over and pats Dean on the head. "You're not dying, Dean. You're just still getting over all those Hurt!Dean stories from that challenge. You'll be all right. You just have to take it easy."

"No. I want to see a doctor."

"What? You know we don't see doctors unless we've been electrocuted or we're missing a limb!"

"I want to see a doctor, Sam. If I'm dying, I have a lot of things I want to do before I go."

"You are not dying so there's no need for a doctor," Sam says with finality. Then curiosity gets the better of him. "What, umm . . . what kind of things?"

"Well, I've never been to Disneyland for one. Oh and for once, I'd like to stay in a place that has a concierge. I don't even know what it is but it sounds really cool."

Sam pats Dean's head again. "It's such a good thing you're pretty. Hey, speaking of pretty, wanna have sex again?"

Dean smacks Sam's hand away. "NO! I want a doctor."

"But Dean . . . be reasonable."

But it's already too late. Dean's lower lip is starting to tremble and his eyes are getting really big as they well up with tears. Sam watches in fascination, wondering if his brother has any idea how much he resembles Puss in Boots from Shrek.

"I want a doctor!"

Sam could continue to argue, but then it would detract from his special time with Chocolate Hunnies. There was one . . . Bambi. He's drooling just thinking about her. "Fine! Fine! We'll go see a doctor, ok? First thing in the morning. Just . . . make your eyes go back to their normal size, please. I can't stand it."

Dean smiles. "Thanks! Ok, go back to your porn." Then his smile quickly disappears as he turns green. "I'm gonna go throw up again."

Sam watches his brother run back into the bathroom. Then he looks at the laptop. His brother probably needs him.

But so does Bambi.

Dean.

Bambi.

Dean.

Bambi.

He stands up and closes the laptop.

"Fine, but I'm not cleaning up any puke, I swear!"

The next day at the doctor's office . . .

Dean is perched on an exam table, somehow making the blue paper gown that he has been forced to wear look good, and nervously twiddling his thumbs.

Sam, meanwhile, is perusing an old Ladies Home Journal and wondering if the recipe on page 189 is hard to make.

"Why is this taking so long?" Dean asks.

"If I made grilled swordfish with tomato chutney, would you eat it?"

"Sam, can we focus on my impending death here?"

Sam rips the page from the magazine and folds it into his wallet. "You're not dying. I told you, you're recovering. Those girls put you through hell and back with some of those fics." He shakes his head. "Sickos. But you'll be feeling better in no time."

"Then why is it taking the doctor so long to come back in here?"

Sam stands up and grabs some tongue depressors, sticking them in his back pocket. "What am I - psychic?"

Just as Dean is about to retort with some smart-ass comment, the door opens and the doctor, a pretty brunette, walks in.

"Well, gentlemen," she says, looking down at the clipboard in her hands. "I've checked and rechecked the test results and there's only one conclusion that I can possibly come to."

Dean straightens. "What's wrong with me, doc? I'm dying, aren't I? Oh God, I knew it."

"No, Mr. Winchester, you're not dying. You're pregnant."

Dean's eyes bulge almost out of their sockets. "WHAT?"

Sam's eyes follow. "What?"

The doctor nods. "Pregnant. The tests don't lie."

"But . . . but . . . that's not possible. I'm a man."

"Well, I know that!" she says, slightly affronted. "But you're still pregnant. Don't ask me to explain it. I can only imagine what's going on in there."

"But . . . but . . . " Dean splutters, trying to come up with an actual sentence. He is distracted though, by the sound of something vaguely hyena-like coming from Sam's direction.

"Sam? Are you laughing?"

"Well, trying not to, actually."

"This isn't funny!"

"It certainly isn't," the doctor says sternly. "This poor man is going to go through nine months of hell, not to mention the agony of the actual birth."

Dean, upon hearing these words, pales and falls back on the exam table with a groan.

"The least you can do is support him," she finishes as she glares at Sam.

"What? Don't look at me. I'm not responsible for this!"

"Oh? Then who is?"she asks.

"Well, I don't know! I mean, he's a slut! He sleeps with everybody!"

Dean lifts his head slightly. "Hey!"

"Well, it's true!"

"Not because I want to! It's because those damn fangirls are always making me."

"Ok look, it's obvious what's happening here," Sam says as he lifts his hands. "Somebody, somewhere is writing an mpreg. And they've made you the pregnant one, Dean."

"Why me?" Dean whines.

"Well, cause you're kinda girlie."

Dean turns his head to look at the doctor.

The doctor shrugs and nods.

"In fact," Sam continues, looking thoughtful. "We could be in a fanfic right now."

The doctor looks around. "Really? Wow. I've never been in one of those before. How's my hair? Do I look ok?"

Dean sits up, flashes her a smile and a quick wink. "You look great, baby." Then he falls back down heavily.

"Wow. Did he just flirt with me?"

Sam waves a dismissive hand. "It's like breathing to him. He doesn't even know he's doing it."

"Well, as much as I would love to stick around here and continue this fascinating conversation, I do have other patients to attend to. Dean, I'm going to refer you to an ob-gyn. She'll be taking care of you from now on."

Dean merely groans and pales some more.

"In the meantime, get plenty of rest and stay away from alcohol and caffeine and try crackers and ginger ale for the nausea."

"And Sam, stop laughing at your brother. Or lover. Or whatever the hell you two are."

Sam holds a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

"Bye boys. The nurse will be here in a moment to give you the name and number of your new doctor."

And with that the doctor walks out of the room, muttering under her breath, "Now, how the hell is that baby going to come out, I wonder?"

Dean groans again and puts his hands over his face. "Impending death would have been better."

Sam grabs some q-tips and stuffs them in his pocket before walking over to where Dean is lying. He rubs his tummy. "Now, now. It could be worse."

Dean slaps his hand away. "How, how could this be worse?"

"Well, it could be me for one thing. You know, I really thought it was going to be me."

Dean lets his hands drop from his face and sits up. Sam notices that his lower lip is trembling and that his eyes are starting to get really big again.

"No, Dean. Don't do it."

"I don't want to be a father. I don't want to be an unwed father."

"Dean . . . "

"And dad's gonna kill me!"

And with that, the floodgates open. Big time.

"Hold me, Sammy!"

"Do I have to?"

But Dean only cries louder at that.

Sam sighs. He knows what he has to do. He wraps his arms around Dean. "It's ok, Dean."

"No . . . "

"Yes. If women the world over can do it, you can do it. Plus, I'll bet that you'll look really cute all round and soft. And dad's not gonna kill you. Remember the one time he talked about wanting grandchildren?"

"Wasn't he completely wasted at the time?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he didn't mean it."

"So, you promise you'll stay with me?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Every step of the way?"

"Through everything. Through the throwing up and the heartburn and the sciatic pain and the bloating and the peeing every five minutes and the labor that could last for hours . . . everything."

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"You're scaring the shit out of me. I think I'm gonna pass out now."

"You go right ahead, brother. It'll give me some time to steal some more stuff before the nurse gets here."

Dean manages to say, "Klepto," before passing out.

Sam lets him drop back onto the exam table before grabbing every spare supply he can find and stuffing them into his pockets.

Then he drops down to his knees and laces his hands together as he bows his head in prayer. "Almighty fangirl author - thank you so much for not making me the pregnant one. And please, please do not make me the father of this baby. Amen."

He's about to stand back up when he remembers one thing.

"But Dean and I can still get it on, right? Pregnant women can have sex up until the third trimester, you know."

He looks up toward the ceiling. "I'm just saying . . . "

And somewhere in the heavens, a fangirl author listens to Sam's plea and plots away . . .