And here is a bit of chapter nine. Only read over it once, ignore errors as always, no need for chapter warning except loads of angst, but seriously when do I ever need to forewarn that. Please let me know what you think, this chapter has been difficult so far. More A/N explanation at bottom.
At first, Sam didn't recognize the sounds flitting through the dark room, he just knew something out there was whimpering or keening or moaning. The sounds were off, like they were coming from ground level as he sat under water. Nevertheless it sounded distressful, and he almost thought he should go help whoever sounded so scared until a very heavy weight crashed into his side and he snapped back into the sane and functioning part of his brain.
The weight had been Dean and the sounds had been him and just like that he was yanked out of the water and back to the surface, finally jarred from his shock - registering his surroundings again.
There was a lot of blood in his bed; it looked like one of the many murder scenes he'd investigated before, except that he was laying in the middle of it. He was almost sure that had never happened before.
"Sam! Come on look at me Sammy! Meyer! Bobby!" Dean roared turning his head toward the closed door to project the enraged sound in the right direction. "Meyer get in here now!" Dean yelled again and finally Sam looked at him.
His expression was nothing but confused now that the shock had passed; what the hell was going on? Why was their blood everywhere?
And then, out of nowhere, his stomach was convulsing, cramping up like he'd never felt before, not even in his 'episodes.' This was different, something was wrong. The confusion magically dissipated, replaced by a simple pain, pain, pain chant running through his head.
Dean noticed the shift as Sam fell back to the bed and curled up in a ball, "Oh, fuck Dean." He whispered just as Meyer crashed through the door literally almost braking it off its hinges.
He stopped short just long enough for Bobby to collide into him as he took in the gruesome sight, Sam was practically swimming in all that blood. Quickly though, he regained composure, doctor that he was, and moved into action.
Meyer pulled the ultrasound machine over to the bed from where it was sitting in the corner: the last place they'd left it after Sam's first monthly check up. And all the babies had looked perfectly healthy and that had been a little over a week ago. Funny how quickly things could flip.
"Hey Sam, you're gonna be okay." Meyer recited running on auto pilot as he grabbed the tube of gel and gloved his hands, "I need you to lie on your back for me."
Sam tried to comply as he slowly rolled off his side, Dean helping, his arm held tight in his fist, "Bobby, get towels." Meyer shot without turning away from Sam. He squirted the gel onto his stomach and gently began rolling the wand around, spreading the cold substance until he found his target on the screen.
And saw exactly what he hoped to hell he wouldn't.
"Doc what the hell's happening?" Dean asked, voice cracking several times in his utter anguish. Sam's face was still scrunched up in obvious pain and Dean was about to start swinging if someone didn't tell him right the fuck now that, at the very least, Sam wasn't dying.
Bobby rushed into the room then, carrying arms full of towels, looking uncharacteristically disheveled and panicked. And, unfortunately, he arrived just in time to hear Meyer's answer.
"Sam's miscarrying." He said, voice tight and controlled as he swiped off the gel from Sam's stomach and pushed the machine away. The towels fell to the floor.
"What?" Sam finally spoke up doing his best to lift his head and look at Meyer to confirm he'd just heard what he knew he did. His face was horrified.
Dean was stunned, he didn't know what that meant. Except that obviously Sam was losing a baby, or two or three. But what he wanted to know was what it meant for Sam. He couldn't worry about the rest yet.
"One of the fetuses wasn't getting enough nutrients," Meyer said, walking to retrieve the towels from the floor, "IUGR is what it's called, I should've caught it earlier. Though there's very little that can be done to stop it." Meyer elaborated to the stunned, and partially dismayed group around him, "Sam's body is trying to pass the remains now."
Meyer took his position by Sam again, Dean still on the bed cradling his distraught brother and Bobby still by the door, looking utterly lost. How should he feel? Was this good or bad? By the looks of Sam it didn't seem good at all, but then this whole time both boys had been adamant about not wanting these babies…
Sam collapsed back on the bed resuming his position curled up on his side, nobody could see the damp moisture leaking from the corner of his eyes and into the pillow. The soft glow of the moon wasn't providing enough to see, and for some unspoken reason no one had turned on the lights.
"Isn't there something you can do?" Dean asked moving closer to Sam's hunched back and resting a hand on his shoulder, "It's gonna be okay Sammy." He said, voice dropping low.
Sam fought the urge to simply forget their audience and the gentle soothing tone of Dean's voice and lash out at those words, because how in the fuck would it be okay when he was losing one of the babies?
But he didn't. Instead he curled in tighter on himself and stifled a broken sob in his chest, holding on to his last shreds of dignity as every pair of eyes inspected him, waiting for some clue as to how he was taking the news. How they should be taking the news.
"No," Meyer said softly, "The baby's already dead, there's no way to-"
"No I know that," Dean interrupted, not angrily but maybe, disappointed? "I mean for Sam, he's in pain."
"Oh, right." Meyer sighed, "I'm afraid not though, the only pain medication I have is far too strong and could risk his and the fetuses' health. I have advil, but it could increase the blood flow." He said just as he took one of the towels purposefully in his hand and glanced at Bobby, then at Sam, wondering if the boy would want some privacy. Bobby got the hint, slipped quietly from the room, and once he was out of ear shot, was praying pleas out loud that his boy would be alright.
"Okay Sam," Meyer began calmly once the door was shut, "I'd like to get you into the tub if that's alright."
I'm not a fucking child.
Sam snarled at the man but chose not to voice any protest as he currently had tears running down his temple and didn't feel much like fighting back anyway. It would only be a completely transparent attempt to mask the overwhelming grief that was currently, slowly settling in. So he kept his mouth shut and did his best to push himself upright, once again Dean helping his every move, as he shifted uncomfortably over to the bathroom. Meyer was a step ahead of them and already running the tub once they entered.
"Sam you can just sit in here for a while, wait for the blood to slow a little," He looked over to Dean, "You can just keep draining the water and freshening it," He added assuming the brother's would want to stay together, before turning his next words back to Sam, "You might see some liver-like pieces come out, its normal so don't worry." Meyer said standing from the edge of the tub. But the advised 'don't worry' had an opposite effect on the youngest Winchester as Sam was quickly becoming livid at the callous and uncaring tone of his doctor's voice. As if 'liver-like pieces' of his dead child leaving him was perfectly alright.
Right away Sam started berating himself for angry feelings though. He knew everyone's cool reactions were his own fault; he'd made it too apparent that he didn't want these babies when really, over the past few weeks, his ostensibly innate paternal instincts had livened. He'd started accepting these babies and caring for them - feeling the need to protect them.
Quickly his thoughts were stolen away though as another seizing-like cramp shot low through his belly and shut everything else out. He arched over, cradling his tightened muscles and Dean immediately reached for his back to steady him, sitting him down on the toilet. Meyer joined him, "The contraction like pains shouldn't last too long, once everything passes they should stop. But Sam," He said making sure he had his attention as he noticed the cramp fading, Sam looked up at him with slight exasperation and fear, "You need to make sure you come and get me if the pain becomes too intense or if the bleeding suddenly increases. I don't know how the stitches inside are doing, they should hold up fine but just as a forewarning I want you to watch out for it." He shot both the boys stern glances to make sure they understood before straightening up again, "Alright, I'll leave you two then." He said more tenderly, his gaze softening with his tone as he looked at Sam and noticed the underlying currents of sorrow emanating from the boy.
He left in a hurry after that, eager to talk to his friend about the possibility of Sam starting to care for these babies.
"Sammy let's get you in the tub huh?" Dean asked once Meyer had gone. Sam stood on shaky legs trying to harden his gaze and make it less obvious he'd been crying. The last thing he needed was some pity party or a mother henning Dean. He just wanted to deal with this alone.
But not all that surprisingly, it didn't mean he wanted Dean to leave. He needed his presence, that comforting, anchoring force in the background to help ground him while he 'dealt.' So he let Dean help him out of his night shirt and blood-soaked boxers before climbing into the steaming tub. He couldn't even bring himself to feel embarrassed pregnant and naked in front of his brother, his brain was too overload and overwhelmed to process discomfiture and like he said, he needed Dean right now.
"How you feelin' Sammy?" Dean asked trying not watch as the blood started turning the water pink; he let up the drain and turned the water on again decided he'd keep the flow going until the bleeding stopped.
Sam didn't answer, his gaze was intently fixed and focused on his belly, fingers tracing the faint scar the incision had left him and mind going crazy with a million different agonized thoughts. Mostly of regret.
He should've cared for them more, he should've loved them. He should've eaten better and listened when his body needed to rest.
If he would've just opened his blind eyes sooner he would've seen this for what it was, or at least what it could've been had he given it a chance, which was a miracle.
No, it didn't happen the way he expected or wanted, and no it wasn't planned or desired at the time, but that didn't change the fact that these were his children. Little pieces of him and Dean, living and growing inside him. They were incredible lives to be treasured.
And it only took the death of one for him to realize it.
"Hey man you okay?" Dean asked, stirring Sam from his head as he noticed the small droplets that'd started to leak down his brother's cheeks while he was lost in his inner turmoil. Sam looked up at him with wide eyes, barely noticing as another wave of contracting pain struck through his lower abdomen, focusing on Dean's concern instead.
"What is it Sammy? Does it hurt?" He asked instinctively reaching over to lay his hand on his brother's still flat stomach, ignoring how close the touch put him to his groin. Sam seemed to relax under the contact but then shook his head refusing to answer with words again as he leaned back against the tub.
"No don't give me more of that silent treatment crap, talk to me Sammy. I can't help you if you don't." Dean said gently pushing a tear off Sam's cheek with his free hand.
They were quiet for a long time, Dean holding out for an answer, Sam wondering what he should say. Finally, the silence broke.
"Dean?" Sam rasped, voice quaky and quiet, "Is it wrong that I feel…" Sam seemed to lose his nerve for a moment huffing a shaky breath and averting his glassy eyes. Eventually he found his voice again, and Dean waited patiently, "I feel…sad." He whispered, voice cracking on the last word as his tear-chocked throat constricted, finally looking up at Dean with wide, watering, shameful eyes. He looked so uncharacteristically small, and utterly heartbroken.
Dean looked back, struck into silence for a moment, watching Sam anticipate his answer, seeming to think it would be some outburst of 'YES, of course it's wrong!' or at least a confused 'What?' or a retort of some kind. But Dean didn't voice any of that. He didn't feel it.
He understood.
"No, Sammy." He whispered and acting on pure instinct again, cradled Sam's head to his chest, feeling the water from the tub soak into his shirt, "No."
And with those quiet words of empathetic understanding, Sam came to terms with his grief and let it go with deep, guttural sobs of loss.
Their baby was dead.
"Dean I'm – I'm so sorry." He breathed after coughing a weak, tortured sob. Apologizing for so many different things.
"Sam don't. You've got nothing to be sorry for, this isn't your fault." He whispered into his dark, dripping locks, pressing chaste kisses in between his words. Sam just clutched tighter to his older brother and continued to let the guilt and the overwhelming heartache take over.
He couldn't stop seeing beautiful, tormenting images of a baby girl: bright green, wide curious eyes framed in long black lashes, blinking up at him as they took in the world. He couldn't help but imagine her pink flushed cheeks and button nose, her impossibly tiny fingers struggling to wrap around just one of his own. He kept seeing flashes of her growing up; her long curly sun-bleached hair whipping around as she raced through their backyard, playing with her siblings and laughing, growing, learning. So innocent, so helpless and small, dependent on him.
And then gone, before she ever got a chance to live.
Sam didn't know why, but he felt he knew he'd just lost their daughter. And the implausible, but what he felt was certain, realization made the situation glaringly real. And horrifyingly tragic.
"Dean." Sam sobbed into his brother's shoulder, clutching to him like the life line he knew he was.
"Shh Sammy, calm down," Dean cooed to his hysterical brother, brushing fingers through the long strands of wet hair, "We're gonna get through this Sam. You hear me?" Dean asked gently, pulling Sam away to look into his tear-streaked face, "We're gonna be okay. All four of us." He promised rubbing fingers soothingly over the cramping muscles of Sam's stomach, hoping to God he could salvage what was left of his family.
Sam cried harder, crashing into Dean's chest again.
They stayed just like that for a time neither comprehended: Dean's eyes dripping solitary tears; Sam's eyes growing swollen and dry; Dean's arm's cramping around his shaking brother; Sam drawing all the comfort he could from the embrace.
It seemed to have become somewhat of a routine for them.
Well, I've never done this before, but since I'm taking such a horribly long time with this awfully difficult chapter, I've split it in two. This is what I have that's completed so far, and it is part one of chapter 9. I'll begin on part two right now, and hopefully some reviews will make the process just a wee bit quicker. Love you all, thanks for being patient and sticking with me.