Born of Ill Intent.
Please read the warnings from chapter one.
Many thanks for all your kind messages. Hope you don't mind me not replying to your reviews this time, but I'm still not feeling too good.
Thought you might prefer the next chapter instead.
Chapter Seven.
Thirty minutes later...
"Oh God..." Sam muttered, and threw up loudly and violently for the fifth time.
Though, in Bobby's opinion, Sam appeared to be handling this far better than his brother. While Dean was worrying himself into a gastric ulcer about the emotional and physical ramifications of all this, Sam was busy freaking out over the fact he was a guy, and a guy on course to giving birth, possibly to his brother's kid. It was like a complete role reversal.
The grizzled hunter listened discreetly from the kitchen.
"I'm so sorry, kiddo," Dean repeated, gently rubbing comforting circles on his brother's back. "We'll figure something out, I promise."
Sam leaned back from the toilet bowl and took a steadying breath.
"Like what, exactly?" he moaned, softly. "Monster adoption agencies don't exist, dude, and if they did I don't think hunters would be allowed anywhere near them."
"This is serious, Sam..." Dean snapped, but Sam rolled his eyes.
"You think I don't know that?" he replied, tartly. "But right now, I'm still trying to get my head round the fact that I've been used to spawn sheer, deadly evil... and that my brother could be one of the fathers! Just how fucked up is that, huh?" He blinked. "Sooo wish I hadn't said that out loud..." and threw himself back over the bowl again with a loud and heartfelt "Brrruuuuuuuulllleeeecckkkkk..." that made Dean both wince and dry-retch in sympathy.
"Just how much of your mojo did you use on that kid, anyways?" asked Bobby out the corner of his mouth.
Patch shrugged. "Probably more than was strictly necessary." He broke out into a wide grin. "But hey! It won't kill him, and if it keeps his sense of humour intact, we're on a winner! It's a well known fact that laughter helps cure all ills."
"Really!" Bobby glared at him. "So tell me, Dr Giggles, does laughter cure labour pains too?"
A distant "Br-br-brrrruuuuuuulleeeeeeckkkkk...!" came from the bathroom.
Without missing a beat, Patch replied: "No more than it cures morning sickness, but at least he's not choking to death on his own vomit."
This was no morning sickness, Sam reflected as he gagged and spat bile into the pan. This was his reaction to the news that he was pregnant.
Up the duff.
A bun in the oven...
This can't be happening!
"Easy, Sammy," Dean murmured, still rubbing his back. "The doc's on his way. Bobby says he'll be here in a few days or so. Maybe a week."
Sam spat out more bile and groaned.
"Really?" he said, more than a shade sarcastically. "Why can't Patch transport the Tardis any damn closer to the hospital, I want this out, Dean, NOW!"
Dean sighed. He'd asked Patch that very same question not so long ago.
"I know you do, kiddo, but it doesn't work that way," he said, wearily. "Besides, the fact is you have to carry to full term without any unnecessary risks, and the place can't just up and move at will. There have to be spells, incantations and, apparently, he...uh, he kind of has to fill out a flight plan for the damn thing."
The whole process could take anything up to a month, depending on the distance required and the amount of supernatural traffic. A flight plan was essential for anyone who regularly fast tracked in the ethereal planes (no pun intended), partly in order to stay out of the way of the reapers who worked there, but primarily because running over an already pissed off spirit with a large, high speed house was ill advised. All in all, Dean wondered if it was really worth the trouble, but Patch clearly thought so. Apparently, not only did it make dodging the IRS a walk in the metaphysical park, but it also made guns and ammo smuggling cheaper and more efficient for hunters. The ATF had been after Patch for years, but had never once caught the crafty Irishman in the act.
Sam groaned again, and slumped against the bathroom wall, hands covering his bump, which had grown noticeably bigger in the last few minutes.
"Oh God," he mumbled with his eyes closed, rolling his head slowly from side to side in despair. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, I can't believe this is happening to me."
Dean crouched down low, and cupped the side of Sam's sweaty face.
"It'll be fine, Sam," he said. "As soon as it's out, we can gank the thing, do a salt and burn, go back to normal and everything will be ok. We can move on and forget about this."
Sam opened his eyes and stared at Dean in disbelief. "You really think... seriously?!"
He sat upright. "Forget? Move on? Jesus Christ Dean! Do you not understand what's going on here? I'm fucking impregnated with your seed!"
"Whoa, ok, just take it easy, Sammy," said Dean, trying to placate his angry brother, but Sam wasn't having any of it. The kid's emotions were all over the place, being pushed and pulled any which way, much like a fart in a hurricane.
Sam's eyes were red with anger and fatigue, and any sense of humour had long since faded.
"Stop telling me to take it easy!" he all but screamed, and raised a shaky finger to poke at Dean's chest. "I've been kidnapped and butt raped by polymorphic shifters, and now I'm a guy who's fucking pregnant... you try taking it fucking easy, you insufferable fucking moron..."
When a large, gentle hand reached in through the bathroom door and descended onto Sam's head, he instantly went limp, head lolling on his shoulders.
Patch, leaning in through the doorway, smiled apologetically at Dean, who was looking rather stunned in the wake of Sam's outburst.
"Take no notice, boyo," he said, kindly. "It's just the hormones and general panic talking. Chances are he'll be right as rain again when he wakes up."
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "Great," he muttered. "And this is before all the real fun begins."
The next two or three days saw a few more surprising changes in Sam, not least of which was a completely bruise-free face. A dumper truck's worth of food administered at just the right time diverted the course of a possible major bitch fit, but mostly the kid was fairly content in between the bouts of panic related vomiting.
Just less than a week after that, following a long, peaceful, nightmare-free slumber, he awoke bright eyed and bushy tailed. He hopped out of bed, pulled out all the IV lines that Bobby had carefully reattached just after Patch had sent him to sleep, and began stretching his hamstrings.
"Sammy, get back in bed!" Dean growled in annoyance, for the fourth time. "I mean it! You're not well enough to be up and about!"
"I'm fine, Dean!" Sam answered, excitedly, and started jogging on the spot. "See?"
"You puked your guts up again yesterday!" Dean's glared intensified when the kid dropped and started doing sit ups. "Stop that shit right now! You've got broken ribs, for Christ sake!"
"But I feel ok, now," said Sam, and flipped over for a set of push-ups.
In fact, after declaring that all his aches and pains, swellings, bruising and, even more surprisingly, broken ribs and arm, had all melted away, Sam went for a staggering twenty mile sprint through the mountains, all the while ignoring the multiple shouts of "You shouldn't be doing that in your condition!"
Dean, wanting to keep an eye on his brother, had given up after the first eight miles, figuring the kid was obviously enjoying a fresh batch of bitch-hormones that morning, and headed back to the cabin. He collapsed in front of the fireplace, almost comatose, feet blistered up, red-faced and out of breath.
"What the hell?" he panted and desperately pawed at Bobby's arm when a large steaming mug of coffee was extended his way. "Seriously! What the hell? He's at death's door for days, and now he's Steve fucking Austin? Shit, dude! Kid's gonna kill me!"
Patch wandered on over and sat on the opposite sofa, looking somewhat sheepish.
"Yep," he said. "I've been going through some ancient hunter journals, and there's a few more things I found out about this kind of pregnancy..."
Bobby covered his eyes, already dreading the worst.
Dean listened in growing astonishment to Patch's claims.
"Fuck me!" he exclaimed, not for the first since they'd arrived in the mountains.
Bobby scratched his head, feeling equally bewildered. "What you're saying is, so long as Sam provides enough nutrients to the polymorphic growing inside him, he will also benefit from the relationship. Those hormones making him hungrier than a grizzly bear, and helping him heal, get stronger and faster? Those aren't his, are they?"
"Nope. All polymorphic hormones," said Patch, rubbing his chin. "It's in the best interests of the foetus to keep its surrogate healthy and able to defend him or herself, especially since the birth can be quite harrowing. It needs Sam to survive at least that far, but after the infant is removed from him? All bets are off. Any bond that might have developed, any feelings of affection towards Sam will likely be severed, as far as the books say, and it will turn on him. It's what makes polymorphics so dangerous, as well as excellent at combat and survival; from the very moment they're born they have the ability and instinct to attack and eat the human surrogate, leaving no trace behind and effectively covering its tracks."
Dean stared at him. "Shit."
Bobby quirked an eyebrow. "You mentioned 'bond', and 'feelings'," he leaned forward, face filled with concern. "Are you saying that Sam could bond with that damn thing? Could develop sentiment towards it? Come to care about it?"
Patch looked troubled.
"It's never been proven, like most of these rarities, but I suspect it's more than possible," he finally answered, but Dean had news for him.
"It's already happened," he said, sadly. "That's partly why Sammy's so happy and energetic right now." He glanced at Bobby. "It's not just the hormones. He's already fallen in love with it."
"Which is understandable," said Patch, softly. "Most parents do, under normal circumstances. And Sam seems to be further along than the literature suggests he should be at this stage, so his 'feelings' will be more developed."
Dean closed his eyes in despair, instantly regretting what he'd said to Sam during his first few vomit marathons.
Bobby scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "Well, shaft me sideways with an eggplant if this ain't the weirdest fucking case I've ever come across."
As predicted, on return from his expedition into the mountains, Sam proclaimed he was hungry, and his appetite was certainly something to behold. With a wide eyed Bobby and Dean watching on in amazement, Sam consumed six packs of grilled bacon, three stacks of chocolate chip pancakes, an eight-egg cheese and ham omelette, and a whole loaf of toasted bread.
Then, after guzzling a gallon of milk, he chomped away at an entire tree of oranges and three whole pineapples.
Patch was gazing mournfully into the now empty fridge. "Well, I'd best head off for more supplies or there'll be no breakfast for the rest of us."
Sam's face reddened. "Sorry, guys," he said, guiltily, and hung his head. "I didn't think..."
Patch thumped him heartily on the back, almost dislodging him from the stool.
"Not to worry, laddie," he said and winked at the others. "You need to eat. Got to keep your strength up."
But he threw a grim nod Dean's way when Sam wasn't looking. He and Bobby were heading out for groceries, while Dean was going to have a little talk with his brother about parenthood in general and baby-shifters in particular.
Dean watched Sam shovelling huge handfuls of grapes and raspberries into his mouth, and grimaced when some of the juice squirted out over the kitchen counter.
"Hey Sammy?"
"Hmmm?"
"Why don't we go sit down by the fire for a bit, huh?"
Sam shot him an instantly suspicious glance and Dean wondered, sadly, if the kid even noticed how his hands moved to cover and protect his bump.
"Why?" Sam asked, eyeing Dean in the same way he'd eye a potential baby snatcher.
Dean held out his hands, hoping he'd appear harmless enough that Sam would trust him, just for a little while.
"I think we need to talk, ok? Nothing more." He moved a little closer, slow and non-threatening, keeping his voice soft and gentle. "Can we do that, Sammy? Please? I'm worried about you."
Patch had been quite specific in his advice before he and Bobby left on their supply run. Keep calm at all times; don't give the kid any reason to get angry or scared. Nobody believed that Sam would harm Dean at all if he got too riled or felt threatened, but it paid to be cautious. Sam's emotions were incredibly fragile right now, with the pregnancy speeding along at an unnatural rate, but his physical strength and dominance was getting damn scary.
There was an Empire State Building's worth of chopped pine logs outside the cabin to prove it.
Sam stared at Dean, eyes so wary of him that another tiny little crack seemed to make its way into the older brother's heart.
But then Sam nodded, and shuffled awkwardly over to the sofas. Dean felt himself relax a little, and breathed out. The first small hurdle taken.
Only another big fucking bastard sonofabitch hurdle to try and leap over now!
The brothers sat next to each other, both a little nervous in their own way, and Dean took another breath.
"Sam..."
"Stop," said Sam, softly, gazing down at his hands. "I know what you're going to say. And I agree."
Dean's double take was so fast his head nearly twisted right off his neck. "Huh?"
Sam glanced up at him, eyes now sad and scared. "It has to die, I know that."
The ensuing silence was filled with the shifting of logs in the fire place, but the crackling of sparks soon died as it settled into a steady burn once more.
Dean gazed back at him helplessly. "I'm sorry, dude. I know how hard this is gonna be for you."
Sam sighed, heart heavy with deep regret. "No matter how I feel about this... being inside of me, we can't afford to let it live." He blinked rapidly and pulled himself up to his full height while sitting down. His voice suddenly became strong and uncompromising. "I know that, technically, it's my... our child, but it's also a dangerous shifter. We can't allow our sentiments over rule and let it loose on the world. I understand what needs to be done."
Dean regarded him for a second, eyes now narrowed. "Do you, Sam? I mean, really? You know that as soon as that child is born, Bobby is gonna take it away, deal with it, and we'll never see it again. You're ok with that?" He leaned in, head tilted inquiringly. "'Cos somehow I find that very hard to believe. I know you, kid. This has to be killing you, but if you can't be honest with me, then I can't help you."
Sam flinched.
And there he is, Dean thought with some relief.
"Don't." Sam whispered on a sob. "Pl-please don't make this a-any harder..."
"And that's the last thing I'm trying to do to you," said Dean, quickly. "I mean it. Don't do what I did after Dad died. Don't bottle things up and try to pretend you feel nothing."
Sam shuddered and bowed his head. "I'm scared, Dean," he whispered, fearfully, sounding small and lost. "I'm so scared I'm gonna crack when I see it, that I'll fight to keep the child and end up hurting you, Bobby, Patch... I already feel that way. I figured by blocking it, pretending I didn't feel anything... I could overcome it somehow. But," he raised his head and met Dean's concerned gaze. "I don't think I can. I need help, Dean. Please help me!"
Dean didn't hesitate. He shifted round, gently grasped Sam's shoulders and turned, forcing them both face to face.
"I nearly lost you 'cos of those fucking shifters," he rasped, fiercely. "I'm not gonna lose you to this one. I'm not gonna let them win. Are we clear on that? No matter what happens, we all come out of this in one piece."
Sam regarded him with wet, terrified eyes. "How? Patch told us what would happen once... once it's born. It'll try to kill us all."
Dean shook his head and grinned, that lopsided, cocky Dean Winchester grin that normally sent women's hearts a fluttering, and Sam's eyes a rolling. But this time Sam took comfort from it.
"It's a baby," he said, and then uttered the terrible words often spoken by Top Gear presenters especially to tempt the gods, fate, and providence all in one: "How hard can it be to subdue a baby?"
As though the polymorphic had been eaves dropping, a sudden violent kick from inside had Sam gasping out loud.
How hard can it be?
He scowled deeply at his brother. "You just had to say it, didn't you?"
"Sorry, dude," Dean replied, sheepishly. "You..."
A loud knocking at the front door interrupted whatever he was about to say, and a familiar, deep voice called out to them.
"Hello? Anybody home?"
Sam gulped.
Dean got to his feet. "Yup, just coming," he called back, then winked at Sam. "Now the doc's finally here, you ready for this?"
Sam looked anxiously towards the door. His hands were sweaty and shaky, and a few beads of perspiration rolled down the side of his face. No. He wasn't ready. But did he have any choice?
TBC.
What will the Doc have to say? Can he even help the boys?
Or is it too late for Sam?
More to come very soon, just show me some love…
Cheers guys!
Love and hugs,
ST xxxx