Born of Ill Intent.
Please read warnings from chapter one.
Apologies for the later posting due to illness.
Many thanks for your words of comfort during this distressing time, and for all the wonderful reviews I've had so far. I refer, of course, to the reviews that were actually relevant to this story, and not the one which didn't even mention it.
Chapter Six.
"H-how?" Dean stammered, some hours later, after he was over the initial shock – though, to describe it as over was a bit of a stretch. He blinked slowly, and absently accepted the crystal tumbler of scotch pressed into his hand. "I mean, how's that even possible?"
Patch shrugged and sat down beside him on the wooden veranda, while Bobby retrieved a woollen blanket from indoors to place around Dean's shivering form.
Poor kid's in shock, thought Bobby, not feeling all that steady himself, truth be told. It was one thing to have suspicions, but to have those suspicions confirmed…
Christ knows how his brother's gonna take this.
"To be honest, I'm not sure how it works, but from what Bobby told me on the phone before you came here, I'd say Sam's abductors were no ordinary shifters," Patch poured himself and Bobby another dram of scotch.
Dean frowned. "Why dya say that?"
Patch nodded and patted his shoulder. "Shifters are rarely known to force themselves on their victims, preferring to take them willingly by imitating someone close to them. It's all part of their sick games. That they weren't playing 'nicely' this time was the first clue, but I wasn't entirely sure what we were dealing with until Sam mentioned them taking the guise of a wendigo. Now, as a general rule, shifters can't do that. They can take human or animal form, no problem. They just need access to the genetic material and… well, Bob's your uncle. But monsters? No can do."
He clicked his tongue, for the first time showing just how worried he really was.
"However, there is a separate species altogether that can not only imitate humans and animals, but also rugarus, werewolves, vampires, and, of course, our old friend the wendigo."
Patch took a sip of his drink. "They're called Polymorphics. Main things to note about them? They can turn into absolutely anything; undead, dead or alive, doesn't matter, so long as the original subject is organic, or at least used to be. They've even been known to take on fictional forms, though no one's ever found out how. Could be a movie memory thing from one of their victims, I suppose, but I'm just clutching at straws here."
Patch took another swallow of whisky to clear his throat.
"But the other thing that really sets them apart from your ordinary shifter?" He paused and glanced at the other two hunters. "Ya see, they cannot reproduce among themselves; they need a human or animal surrogate to breed by implantation, and the foetus takes on some of the surrogate's DNA." Patch swallowed hard, dreading the next part. "But… male or female surrogates will do. They aren't fussy."
Dean's jaw dropped. "You're kidding me!"
"Nope, wish I was," said Patch, looking troubled. "From an evolutionary standpoint it's a huge advantage to the species because it allows for a far wider gene pool, I believe."
Bobby eyed him in disbelief; he'd heard of polymorphics but never seen one, and his knowledge of them was severely limited. He gestured for Patch to continue.
"Like normal human children, the offspring retains all the characteristics of its human parents, such as eye and hair colour, etc. But they also inherit the polymorphic's abilities to shift. And if the polymorphic was wearing the skin of another human, you for example, Dean, then that human also becomes a parent, because like all shifters it needs your genetic information to form your skin in the first place. Of course, there's a chance it could be John's, but somehow I doubt that given his recent death. Gut feeling tells me it's yours – for the greater mind-fuck value alone - but we won't know for certain until the baby's born..."
Dean looked like he was about to be sick. "Uh… wha… hmmmm… excuse me!"
He jumped off the veranda and dashed to the edge of the forest.
Bobby and Patch suddenly found the sky thoroughly interesting, and shut out the retching and gagging noises going on in the background by keeping up conversation.
"Male pregnancy, huh?" said Bobby, circling a finger round the top of his tumbler. "Damn. Every time I think I've seen it all, something all brand new comes along and wipes the floor with me."
Patch smiled, sympathetically. "Polymorphics aren't common, to be fair. There've been no recorded poly sightings in well over five hundred years, having been virtually hunted into extinction." He frowned, suddenly. "I'm a little surprised they showed up here, in fact. They're natives of Romania, and normally keep a low profile, but then," his eyes darkened. "There's been a lot of shite come crawling out of the woodwork since yellow eyes re-emerged."
Bobby nodded. "Sure has. No doubt news of John's passing is making the rounds."
Patch smirked, humourlessly. "Oh, don't you worry about that. The very second his heart stopped most, if not all, of the demon world knew about it, and then some."
Bobby eyed the Irishman, sizing him up. "So, you know about Sam."
"Oh yes," Patch replied, sadly. "John told me all about that, about the other children, and the demon army."
"And?" Bobby pressed, curious to know what the other man thought.
Patch took a deep breath. "I have to say, I don't think it's going to be as simple as all that. None of this is will be cut and dried. I'm talking about grey areas that will test both brothers; their love and loyalty, their faith, in each other as well as God himself." Patch looked over at Bobby. "But they'll have to trick Sam into whatever it is they have planned, because he's not stupid and he won't fall to their side easy. He's a good kid, and though he might make mistakes, he's not evil. He's been touched by it, sure, but he's not intrinsically bad. I'd stake my own life on it. No, they'll try to use his own good nature and fears against him."
They both went quiet when Dean came back, wiping his mouth and still looking rather green.
"You ok, son?" asked Bobby, getting to his feet.
"Yeah, yeah," said Dean, looking anything but. He stared at the wooden veranda, hands on hips, and chewing on his lower lip, then his head snapped up to meet Patch's gaze. "How long have we got?"
Bobby blinked, but Patch seemed to realise what he was asking.
"The gestational period varies, but five weeks is usually the average time for it to develop in the gut cavity. Despite that, Sam's gonna be hungry. A lot. So I'll make sure to keep the cabin stocked with food."
Dean hissed in a breath between his teeth. "And Sammy was… uh… impregnated… what? 'Bout a week ago, give or take? That barely gives us a month to find out how to help him," he fixed Patch with a knowing look. "'Cos I'm guessing it ain't gonna be as simple as cutting that thing out of him, right?"
Patch nodded. "'Fraid not. The child…"
"Don't call it that!" Dean snapped, unnecessarily. "It's not a child, and it sure as hell ain't mine or Sam's!"
Patch didn't miss a beat. "The offspring will fight back at the first indication of an abortive procedure, probably taking Sam's life in the process."
Dean nodded, frustration and fear oozing from every pore. "You mean it'll claw Sammy to death from the inside out."
There was silence while everyone took that in.
"So… what then?" asked Bobby, incredulously. "We wait until he goes into labour?"
Patch rubbed at his eyes. "That's about the size of it."
"Fine," said Dean, with renewed determination. "So we wait for the birth, then kill the evil son of a bitch once it's out."
"That could kill Sam in itself," Patch protested. "In case you hadn't noticed, he's not exactly built for it. We'll need a doctor to perform surgery."
Dean frowned. "But you said…"
"So long as we wait until the eleventh hour, as it were, and everything is in order and in its place, with Sam fully sedated, the… foetus shouldn't put up a fight." Patch leaned back against the cabin wall, looking grim. "All you have to decide is what to tell him."
Dean looked wrecked. "I-I don't know," he mumbled.
"Like it or not, Dean," said the Irishman, softly. "That unborn shifter is as much yours and Sam's offspring as it is the polymorphic's. And even though it has to die once it's born, Sam has a right to know."
He stood up, brushed himself off and gently squeezed Dean's shoulder. "But I'll leave that up to you, son. You have my sympathies, 'cos it's not a decision anyone should have to make."
Dean said nothing to that, just turned away and walked back out into the forest, with both men staring after him, worriedly.
"How in hell are those two boys gonna get through this?" murmured Bobby, watching as Dean disappeared from view.
Patch patted his shoulder. "Call William Barnet. Fill in him and see what he suggests. In the meantime, I'm gonna make sure Sam's comfortable."
Bobby shook his head. "Like he hasn't got enough on his plate right now."
"Now that," said Patch, smiling contentedly, "is something I can deal with. I've already got him relaxed and calm. Shouldn't take much more."
Bobby's gaze snapped to the Irishman. "You ain't gonna wipe his memory or something, are ya? Jim Murphy told me what you did to their food last time they ran into you..."
"No, of course not," said Patch, earnestly. "No memory wiping, and as I said to John when he asked me, I hate having to do that. It's not right, but I could see why he insisted at the time. No, I intend to soften the memory of Sam's captivity a little, just enough so he feels less overwhelmed by it all."
"Is that wise?" asked Bobby, anxiously. "I mean, he's bound to be feeling all kinds of shit about what happened to him, but you're talking about suppressing it. It'll be like an even bigger mind fuck to the poor kid, someone just wandering in at will and altering..."
"Nonono," Patch protested with his hands up, as if warding off Bobby's concerns. "Nothing gets altered or changed. The only thing that I'll be touching is Sam's perception of when it happened. It'll feel to Sam like it happened a long time ago, but he'll understand, logically, that it was fairly recent. Believe me, Bobby, it'll help him to deal with it all, up here," he tapped his head. "Where it really hurts. And he needs all the help he can get right now."
Bobby thought about it for a moment, then sighed. "You're right. We ain't exactly got the time for group therapy or trauma counselling, so I guess a little mojo weaving is all we have left."
Patch winked. "You know it makes sense, boyo."
As they headed inside in order to give Dean some privacy, it hadn't escaped either man's attention that they had studiously avoided using the word rape throughout the entire conversation.
Sam gazed into the flames from the comfort of his bed, feeling safe, warm and languid. He knew something bad had happened to him, knew he'd been raped, but right then it felt as though something was cushioning him from the memories. For the time being, he felt free of it all. He hoped it would last.
However, as relaxed as he was, it was time to get up and move about before he planted roots. Sam hated feeling restless, and movement was the key to resolving it. Even if he only made it as far as the sofa.
He glanced down at his injured arm, the IV lines, and the oxygen tube snaking away from his face. The pain meds were good, he reflected, probably morphine because he couldn't feel a thing. But it still seemed odd that there was little to no discomfort after everything he'd been through, and he still couldn't figure out why he was here, in Patch's metaphysical cabin in the mountains, that sometimes doubled as a hotel in California. Ridiculous.
Something nearby growled deeply, demandingly, and Sam's grin emerged, lazy with sleep.
Well, what dya know? He thought, sniffing the air.
Who'd have guessed he'd be feeling hungry? But something sure smelled good.
Sam pushed back the covers and cautiously shifted his legs until they dangled over the edge of the bed. He carefully removed the oxygen tube and tested the floor with the soles of his feet, encouraged when the wooden boards didn't try to eat him – because nothing would have surprised him at this point - and slowly lifted himself up on his good arm.
By the time he was upright, he was panting and dizzy from the effort, sweat pouring down his face and soaking his tee shirt. He was half temped to abandon the food hunt through sheer exhaustion, but his stomach growled again in protest at the notion, and so Sam struggled onwards, shuffling towards the end of the bed, and pulling his IV pole along with him.
It was when he looked down that he noticed the ever so slight roundedness to his gut. Frowning, he used the palm of his good hand to test it, and gasped when something seemed to move underneath.
He didn't get time to freak out, however, which was just as well, because the cabin door swung open to admit Bobby Singer and Patch Jenkins, who stopped and stared at the youngest Winchester.
"What in God's name are you doing outta bed, kid?" demanded Bobby with a scowl.
Sam immediately froze, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlamps, and licked his lips nervously.
His stomach growled again, and Sam immediately forgot about the strange bump as the desperate need for sustenance seized control.
"I-I was just looking for some food," he explained, and reached out to the bed post to steady himself. "And... and I wanted to sit by the fire. Sorry."
Bobby's face softened. "You're hungry, huh?"
Sam nodded and looked away, embarrassed.
Patch jumped in at this point. "I'll serve up some stew, young Sam, if Bobby could help you to the couch...?" he gave Bobby a gentle nudge towards Sam and moved over to the kitchen.
Bobby knew exactly what Patch was up to but made no comment. Instead, he wrapped a gentle arm around Sam's waist, let the kid lean on him, and dragged the IV pole along with them across the room.
"You sure you don't wanna sit up in bed?" he asked, anxiously. "You might be more comfortable..."
Sam shook his head immediately. "N-need to move."
Patch watched him out the corner of his eye as he dished up more stew. Knowing what lay ahead, he'd forgone the usual sized bowls and opted for a huge salad dish, which made Bobby's eyes widen when he saw it.
Sam, however, didn't seem to notice and just fell on it the moment he was settled in front of the fireplace.
The room was silent apart from the crackle of the logs and Sam's eager slurping and chewing noises.
It was like feeding time at the zoo, thought Bobby, utterly amazed at the change in Sam. The kid never had a particularly large appetite, even when he was growing up, but right now Sam could out-compete his big brother with little effort.
Mere moments later, Sam held out his empty bowl, mouth still full, cheeks bulging with food, eyes desperately pleading for more. When he shivered suddenly, Bobby pulled a thick woollen throw off the back of the sofa and tucked it around the kid.
"Alright, Sam," said Patch, kindly, taking the bowl and stood up with the intention of fetching more stew, but he stopped suddenly.
Bobby noticed that the Irishman was staring over Sam's shoulder, and turned his head.
Unnoticed, Dean had quietly crept back in from the cold half way through Sam's fierce feeding binge. He stood by the door, a thin layer of snow dusting his hair and shoulders, face pale, his eyes haunted with fear and sadness.
"Sammy..." he mumbled and took a faltering step towards his little brother, at a loss for words. Supposing the kid rejected him. The shifters had raped him wearing Dean's skin. Would Sam back away and freak out again once he knew the full story of what they did to him?
Dean's heart thudded with anxiety.
Sam turned his head and swallowed his last mouthful hurriedly.
"Dean, I'm ok ya know," he said, softly and with a self-conscious smile. "Well, I'm alive, at any rate. Best be thankful for small mercies, huh?"
Sam's voice was so soft and kind that Dean found himself blinking back tears.
"Yeah," he whispered, shakily.
The older brother stared at Sam for a long moment, then crossed the room and carefully cupped the back of the kid's neck.
"Yeah, we should," he said, and touched his forehead to Sam's. "I know things have been shitty lately. I've been shutting you out, wallowing in my own grief and generally being an asshole." He sniffed loudly, and stroked the back of Sam's head as the anguish of the last few months came pouring out. "I'm sorry so, kiddo. I'm so sorry I hit you. I had no right to do that. He was your Dad too. And I should never have sided with Gordon against you... he hurt you..."
"Dean, stop it! Please," Sam shook his head slightly. "You got nothing to apologise for, dude."
"Bullshit!" said Dean with feeling. "I got everything to apologise for. And I'll tell you what else: I'm here now, Sammy. I'm with you all the way, no matter what happens."
Sam drew back, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to that statement than meets the eye?"
Dean instantly looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and turned his gaze on the older men for assistance.
Bobby cast Patch a subtle questioning glance, and received a nod in return. The mojo-stew was working. Sam's emotional recovery had been given a boost, for now at least.
But the kid was already asking questions.
Patch rocked back and forth on his heels. "He'll soon figure it out for himself, Dean," he said. "Changes are already taking place."
"What changes?" Sam glanced between the three men, worriedly. "What's he talking about, Dean?"
Dean huffed out a breath. "You still hungry, Sam?"
"Uh... yeah?"
Big brother eyed him, closely. "And that's normal for you?"
Sam thought about it for a second. "Well, not exactly, but I've been sedated for days, right?" Then he sat up straight, hand flying to the bump under his tee-shirt. "Wait! Uh, guys? Has this got anything to do with it?"
He lifted his shirt, and three pairs of eyes widened.
Dean audibly gulped. "Shit," he breathed, and his already sickly appearance took a turn for the worse.
Sam glanced from one man to the other. "Well?" he demanded. "Has it?"
His brother dropped down next to him on the sofa. "Ok, here goes..."
TBC.
The Red Dwarf fans amongst you will be exclaiming that I nicked 'polymorphic' from the episode 'Polymorph'.
Yes I damn well did. *grins cheekily*
So, Sam's got one hell of an appetite on him, and it's only going to increase. His baby bump is showing, and Dean has the unfortunate task of explaining it all to him.
Poor kid's in for yet another rough ride…
Want more? Really?
Clickety, click away…
Love ST xxx