Born of Ill Intent.
Please read warnings from chapter one.
Chapter Nine.
After an hour had passed by unnoticed, William itched to wipe the sweat from his brow before it rolled into his eyes. The blood loss hadn't been as bad as it looked, and some of it actually came from the child. He wasn't entirely sure why that should be the case, but William theorised that there was a reservoir of blood held somewhere during the pregnancy in case the surrogate parent fell on hard times and there was a shortage of food. When birth was imminent, that reservoir was no longer needed and hence released through the parent's gut, and ejected via the mouth. Sam wouldn't expire from haemorrhaging at least, but there was still the birth to come and the threat of shock and infection.
William had cut into the existing tears in Sam's stomach, managed to stem the blood loss temporarily, and could now see the shape of something squirming around inside. The intestines were bunched up, squeezed to one side to make room for the child, and William was amazed Sam hadn't been in more pain and discomfort from that alone. The fact that he was even alive at this stage was pretty astonishing, in fact.
It appeared that the poly's growth had altered the structure of Sam's insides a little, but there was no way of knowing if this was a temporary adjustment or if it was permanent. Even more astonishing was the lack of a placenta to speak of, just a tiny sac over the poly's mouth and nose, apparently filled with blood, connected to Sam's large intestine via a long purple tube. If he had to guess, the sac was there to oxygenate and feed the child, and the tube acted much like an umbilical cord. He also suspected it was the tube that contained the reservoir Sam had vomited up earlier.
Which all meant that the child was directly breathing blood. Perhaps the lungs developed differently to human infants, though it was hard to imagine anything human-like about this whole fiasco.
It was astounding to say the least, and William could have easily written over a hundred papers for various medical journals all over the world.
He grunted and smoothed away more blood, fingers brushing lightly over the facial sac. Now he could see the child's face.
And it was indeed a child, no mistaking it.
William gaped in astonishment, realising that he hadn't been entirely sure what to expect. Some monster with an asshole for a face, a giant sphincter for a nose, teeth like a Doberman–vampire lovechild, and perhaps a pair of horns thrown in for good measure, but it wasn't this...
"Oh my God..." he whispered in amazement.
"What is it?" asked Dean, urgently, shifting his position to try and see what William was dealing with.
It was a little boy, by the looks of things. A beautiful, healthy, baby boy with blood darkened curly hair, and teeny, tiny hands, and teeny, tiny feet.
It might have been fascinating.
It might even had been cute, if not for those teeny, tiny hands, with teeny, tiny fingers, flailing around with equally teeny, tiny lethal Freddy Krugers morphed onto the end of each one, a heartbreaking reminder that this child was a danger and a menace, and at some point would have to be dealt with.
And then, the baby's eyes opened, fully developed and fully aware by the looks of things.
Eyes that were a stunning forest green. The child was breathtaking.
"It's a monster," William told Dean, without further hesitation. Instinct told him that Bobby would approve of his decision to withhold the facts. "A hideous monster. Don't look at it, Dean, and for God's sake don't let Sam look!"
Dean, for once, didn't argue, but did his best to comfort Sam and keep him from looking over his shoulder.
The doc felt a moment's guilt, but held fast to his burden.
Dean didn't need to know the truth right now, if ever. How would either boy handle knowing that their 'off-spring' not only appeared perfectly human, but also bore an uncanny resemblance to the both of them. For as sure as eggs were eggs, with Sam's hair colour and cheek bones, and Dean's eye colour and jaw line, the child would grow up as devastatingly handsome as his fathers, if he were allowed to live.
It was too much to expect from the brothers. They'd been through enough, and this would break them.
The baby's muffled cooing through the facial sac, and those little innocent eyes staring up at him made William almost falter. It was just too surreal for words.
The wondrous moment was broken when the baby began squirming again, and Sam moaned softly in pain. The meds hadn't affected the infant at all, not in the slightest. And, it seemed, were already wearing off for poor Sam.
But now it was time, William was pretty sure. All the signs were there.
He grimaced, got a good hold on the slippery child and began to pull.
"Snowing again," Patch murmured.
Bobby looked up from his newspaper and scowled. "Dammit. It's already four feet deep in places, and if the wind gets up the drifts could easily block the road."
Patch glanced over at him for a moment. "Don't worry. He's on his way. Probably already at the cabin with the boys," he snorted, a little amused. "It's us we should be worried about. S'gonna get feckin cold tonight, and I don't fancy spending it in here cuddled up wi'd you."
Bobby shot him a narrow eyed, furious glare. "Not that the prospect holds much joy for me either, but what's that s'posed to mean, exactly?"
Patch shrugged and didn't even bother to smother his grin. "No offence, Bobby, but you're a tad ripe, if you're understanding me, not to mention your farts could scare off a bad tempered skunk."
"It's called working man's sweat, ya Irish Idgit," Bobby retorted with a huff. "Comes from wielding an axe just to keep you assholes warm at night!"
Patch chuckled. "Sam did most of that for us, and besides: there are shower room facilities at the cabin. You know that, right?"
Bobby grumbled under his breath and then pointed at the road ahead. "Make a left just up here."
The Irishman didn't bother to argue that he already knew the way, but let Bobby think he'd won this round. The two men had spent most of the journey engaged in some harmless, good natured snarking and Patch was up by a few points.
Bobby stared out at the wintry landscape, unable to appreciate the beauty of trees laden with snow and red breasted robins hopping about as though it was Christmas.
Smug little bastards.
Another half hour and the cabin's snow covered roof was just about visible against the backdrop of the surrounding forest and foothills.
"See?" said Patch, pointing out a dark blue Porsche Cayenne parked alongside the veranda. "Told you he would be here."
"Good enough for me," said Bobby, already clambering out of the passenger seat. He slammed the door shut and headed straight to the cabin. As soon as he pushed the front door open he halted abruptly and stared.
"Jesus!" he exclaimed, loudly, then began shrugging out of his jacket and striding directly inside.
Hearing Bobby's shout, Patch hurried in after him, leaving the groceries out in the truck. The outside air temperature was low enough to freeze the testicles off an angry bison, so the food wasn't likely to spoil.
He was met with chaos, blood and panic, and a scene straight out of a horror movie.
Sam looked sick, pale and barely conscious, his stomach cut open, William's hands fishing around inside him, pulling on something. Dean was trying his best to comfort Sam and shield him from the grisly sight of his own intestines by leaning over the kid's upper body. He also looked rather ill and his face was whiter than the snow lining the windowsill right then, but his words of encouragement never ceased, muttering "Just hold on." and "Nearly done, kiddo."
William appeared… well, stunned and dishevelled was the closest way to describe it. If not for the natural colour of his skin, Patch was certain he'd have been as white as a priest's cassock.
Bobby was clearly shell shocked. Patch had seen that expression before, on hunters coming home from a particularly harrowing case, or soldiers following a bloody battle, the terrible loss of good friends heavy on their hearts.
On top of all this, there was the noise. Sam's pained keening and moaning accompanied the slick sounds of blood and flesh as William pulled harder.
"Ok, get ready!" said William, suddenly. "Bobby, pass me that towel," he gestured with his chin to a large, fluffy white towel draped over the foot board of the bed. "Here he comes..."
A loud, wet, sucking noise accompanied the kitten-like mewling of the newborn poly as the doc threw all his efforts into one, final tug. The infant came free and was dumped into the waiting arms of Bobby Singer.
Bobby stared down at the tiny bundle, his heart breaking in two.
"My God..." he whispered and glanced up to meet William's sad and anxious gaze.
Patch merely closed his eyes in despair and looked away.
The doc nodded, solemnly. "Do what you have to do, man. Just don't tell me about it," he told him, quietly, then turned back to his patient, effectively dismissing the poly outright.
Bobby swallowed hard, blinked away tears from his eyes and left the cabin before Dean or Sam could see what he carried. Patch made to follow him, but the older hunter stopped him at the door.
"No. Stay with the boys," he looked down into the baby's tiny face, so familiar it physically hurt. "I'll be humane."
Patch nodded, his own eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Oh, and Patch? Do me a favour, huh?" asked Bobby.
"Anything!"
Bobby smiled sadly. "Please don't tell 'em."
"Understood," said Patch, in a low voice. "It'll go to the very grave with me"
Bobby sighed, turned and stepped quietly out on to veranda, muttering "With us all."
Patch closed the door and rested his forehead on the cool, wooden surface.
"How much more fucked up can this world get?" he murmured to himself.
The infant poly mewled again; Bobby gently rocked his arms.
"You sure are a cute lil' thing, I'll give you that," he said, softly. "So much like Sam and Dean it's almost unbelievable. All the best parts of each of 'em."
The baby blinked up at him with wide, curious green eyes, and Bobby felt a reluctant smile pulling at his mouth. There was a distinct intelligence in the youngster's gaze, but offered no challenge or threat.
"You don't seem so dangerous, huh, kid?" he told the poly, who gurgled happily in agreement, and blew a large spit bubble. "Healthy enough. Well developed..."
Bobby tilted his head to one side in consideration.
The child hadn't cried at all, even during his traumatic birth, merely made the little sounds of a baby letting everyone know he was finally here, and seemed fully aware of what was going on around him. Before long, however, he would need sustenance, and Bobby began wondering if cow's milk would be ok, or if he needed a special kind of polymorphic milk...
A sudden tearing noise broke the moment of quiet, and Bobby felt a searing pain in his gut. Shocked, he looked down to find the infant had torn a hole in the makeshift blanket, and buried his tiny claws inside Bobby's abdomen.
Being so small, they hadn't gone too deep but the pain was indescribable.
The infant's once cute face was now morphed into an evil scowl, and he opened his tiny mouth to reveal pointy, sharp fangs that glinted horribly in the light from the window.
"Eeeeeeoooooooowww!" the damn thing howled like a banshee, and then hissed and spat, hot saliva landing on Bobby's face.
"Holy shit!"
Bobby gritted his teeth, dragged the tiny claws from his gut and threw the little monster as far away as he could manage.
The poly landed some feet away, face down and furiously spitting snow.
Bobby reached for the silver loaded Glock in his back waist band, mind made up that the child... thing, no longer a he, more an it... was going out, one way or another.
It suddenly hopped onto its' tiny feet, little fists clenched at its' sides and actually growled at the hunter, before launching itself into a speeding sprint and leaping high in the air, aiming for Bobby's face...
A single shot rang out and the poly dropped to the snow, blood pulsing from the hole straight through the centre of its head.
Bobby sighed, rubbed his wounded gut and closed his eyes for a second to regain his composure. Big mistake, as it happened, because when he opened his eyes again the polymorphic was gone, leaving behind a red, wet patch of melting snow.
"Balls!"
Backing away, carefully watching his surroundings, Bobby kept his weapon at the ready, both hands gripping it so hard the knuckles showed white, arms sweeping from side to side, and occasionally glancing nervously up towards the roof. He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of the entrance to the cabin. Then he drew a breath, counted down from three and bolted inside, slamming the door shut behind him.
William's smile trembled only a little, which was a miracle really. He felt fairly sure he was close to freaking out completely, and was surprised nobody else had noticed. But then, they were all busy having freak-outs of their own, he guessed.
"It's over now, boys," he said. "Time to close up."
Sam's eyes were glassy in his pale face, his breathing slow and laboured, but he managed a nod. Dean gripped the kid's hands in both of his and grinned weakly.
"M'proud of you, Sammy," he told his brother. "You made it through. Everything's gonna be ok now."
Sam's mouth opened a few times before he voiced a question.
"Wha... what did it look like?" he asked, panting with the effort. "I-I din't getta see. W-was it a b-baby?"
Dean noted the worried glance shared between Patch and William, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
When nobody answered him, Sam managed to raise his head, gaze sweeping the room.
"Where is it? Where's my kid?" He glanced up at the doc, eyes narrowed to pin points, and lowered his voice. "Where's my child, William? I want my baby! Now!"
"Calm down Sam," said Dean, feeling uneasy and trying not to show it. "Bobby had to take it. Remember? We talked about this."
Sam's head snapped round, ready with a biting reply, but he caught the look on Dean's face and simply stared at his brother, tired eyes welling up.
"Yeah," he said, brokenly after a brief silence. "Yeah, I remember." He looked down at his bloody hands but his question was again directed to his doctor. "So... uh... was it a baby? A human looking baby, I mean?"
Dean held his breath, waiting for the answer and hoping it wouldn't break anyone's heart.
William, who was busy stitching Sam's insides, cleared his throat and shot Patch another nervous look before answering. "No, it had taken the form of a young wendigo, Sam. You're well rid of it."
He saw Dean stiffen up out the corner of his eye and knew for certain that there'd be some searching questions asked. He inwardly kicked himself. The older brother had clearly heard the worried quaver in the doc's voice and knew something wasn't right, here. Fortunately, depending on how one perceived it, the sound of a gunshot from outside broke up the pending interrogation, and was instantly followed by booted feet clomping hurriedly across the veranda.
"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed, shifting closer to Sam.
"Sounds like Bobby didn't sing it a nursery rhyme and now it's pissed," said Patch, drawing a Magnum .45 from a leather holster under his jacket.
Dean tilted his head admiringly. "Nice piece."
Patch grinned. "I'm a big Dirty Harry fan," he said. "Though, I doubt he ever carried silver ammo."
"Probably not," said William, working on Sam's surgical wounds as quickly as he could. He nearly dropped the damn needle right inside his patient's guts when the door swung open; Bobby Singer emerged like a whirlwind, and slammed it closed again.
He leaned against the door.
"Give ya three guesses," he wheezed out, and if Dean didn't know better he'd have said the poor guy nearly shit himself when something from outside slammed into the cabin wall right by his head.
Before anyone could breathe, it happened again, only louder; a deep, earth shattering boom as though something was trying to head butt its way inside.
"Jesus Christ!" the doc shouted in panic. "What the fuck was that?!"
Bobby shook his head and shimmied along to the nearest window, his back to the wall. "Meet the newest addition to the Winchester clan. Interesting kid. Don't say a lot. Got one helluva temper on 'im!"
"Keep on patching him up," Dean told the doc, then quickly cupped Sam's jaw. "Sammy, you stay here and don't move, ok?"
Sam shuddered and whimpered in pain. William nodded and carried on, trying his best to keep the stitches neat and straight, which wasn't easy given how badly his hands were shaking. The gashes in Sam's stomach were still bleeding, and there was still some way to go.
Another boom, this time from the roof, sent a shower of dust down on Patch's head. The Irishman choked and coughed, brushed a hand over his hair and patted down his clothes. He scowled up at the rafters, all good naturedness gone.
"If that little shite damages any of my books..." Patch muttered and aimed his weapon upwards, eyes scanning for movement.
"I missed and shot 'im in the head. Need to get the little bastard in the heart," said Bobby, just about audible over the next loud bang. "Dean, stay with Sam and William. They need protecting. Patch and I will take care of this."
Another loud, eardrum bursting slam resounded round the cabin, followed by creaking and splintering. Broken wood beams and journals suddenly rained down on Patch, knocking him to the floor, and leaving him with a bloody gash down the side of his head. But that wasn't all that came down.
Though bells, buzzers and claxons were going off in his ears, Patch had enough presence of mind to roll behind one of the sofas and scramble back to the breakfast bar. He was just in time, because the roof completely gave way and, amid yet more wrecked journals, dust and roof beams, something landed in the room.
All hunters stared up at it, eyes wide with horror and astonishment.
"Holy snowballs!" Bobby gasped.
It was around ten feet tall, covered in soft, white fur, a long muzzle filled with snarling fangs, and paws the size of serving platters, which went straight through the floorboards and shattered the wood into splinters.
"What the fuck is that?!" screamed the doc, suddenly released from his jaw dropping, pant wetting fear and catapulted straight into sheer, unadulterated bowel-moving terror.
"That, my friend," replied Dean, in a shaky voice and desperately trying to keep his shit together, "is the biggest fucking polar bear I have ever seen. Though, truth be told, I ain't seen many average ones."
They all gaped stupidly as the beast rose up on its hind legs and roared, its front paws waving and clawing at the air like an animal possessed. The terrifying moment was ruined somewhat when more books rained down and smacked it on the snout.
The bear's roar turned into a sharp yelp. It blinked in confusion, and virtually crossed its eyes trying to stare down at its bruised nose.
Resisting the irrational urge to laugh hysterically, Dean took advantage of the distraction by throwing aside Sam's blankets and sliding his arms under the kid's back and knees. The doc was still suturing, but soon gave up and roughly taped some sterile gauze and bandages in place over the wounds as quickly and tightly as he could. William regretted that he didn't have time to be gentle, knew he had to be hurting the poor kid, and muttered his apologies, even as Dean started lifting Sam from the bed.
"Dean!" Sam struggled weakly against his hold. "What the hell are you doing? You can't carry me like this!"
"Watch me. Now, c'mon," Dean nodded to the doc. "I've just about had enough of Jumanji. Let's go!"
William grabbed his medical bag and, miracle of miracles, they made it away from the bed just in time because, seconds later, a large paw descended and smashed it to pieces. Bobby ducked a flying bed knob the size of his head, and raced to safety by the bathroom on the far side of the cabin.
Dean began to shuffle back and round the sofas, intending to make for the rear exit in the kitchen area.
Guessing Dean's plan, Bobby began firing on the bear, trying to lure it away from the cabin's kitchen door, but Patch had a better idea.
"Dean, head to the fireplace," he called out from behind the breakfast bar. "Press the third brick in from the left, fourth up from the floor!"
The polar-poly heard that, and swivelled its head in Dean's direction, growling angrily. It landed awkwardly back on its massive front paws, shattering more wooden boards, and lumbered a step closer.
"Oops," said Patch. "Sorry!"
Just as the bear showed it's fangs in another bladder juddering roar, Patch opened fire on it, plugging two rounds in its large, fury rump.
The beast paused, and swung its huge head round to face him.
Patch gulped and stared, feeling stupidly unsure of what to do now.
Large, intelligent eyes, filled with more malice than the Irishman had ever seen on a land mammal, gazed back.
To his amazement, the poly-bear suddenly winked at him and, with one last roar, the damn thing... morphed.
Dean blinked. "Now that I wasn't expecting."
Patch and Bobby gulped in unison.
"Sonovabitch!"
"Bugger me!"
All tactics went out the window as the two older men scrambled over journals, broken beams and dislodged furniture, and made for the fireplace.
Dean backed towards the stone hearth; Sam still slumped in his arms and, after a quick count up the left hand side, thumped on the brick with an elbow. He instantly regretted his hastiness.
"Ow, ow, ow!" he complained.
"Dean?" Sam whispered, anxiously gazing up at his brother's face.
"Funny bone... funny bone!" Dean hissed, angrily, but before he could say anything more, the entire back of the fireplace slid sideways, taking the log fire with it. A low, stone passageway was revealed, with steps spiralling downwards.
Patch peered over William's shoulder and gaped in astonishment.
"Uh, normally that's just a wine cellar, but sometimes it's just a storage room," he said, and scratched his head in bewilderment. "First time it's ever turned into that."
They all hesitated.
A flaming torch, fixed to a roof support strut just by the top step, lit the way, casting creepy looking shadows on the walls and ceiling. Several more torches blazed away further down.
No one liked the look of this, but the mysterious destination of the passageway was infinitely more preferable to the hissing and slithering coming from behind.
William followed Dean and Sam into the unknown, wondering what his chances of survival actually were, and then decided that he didn't really want to know.
Why ruin the surprise?
Bobby and Patch barrelled into the passageway behind the doc, and only just managed to seal the entrance in time. But Bobby would be forever haunted by the image of a giant snake, mouth gaping, fangs dripping with venom, and beady, unblinking eyes mere inches from his own.
It was almost enough to make a grown man defecate in his own pants all over again.
TBC.
So where do they go from here? Ah, yes. Down...
Hope you all enjoyed the action in this rather silly chapter, of an extremely silly story. And it's about to get far, far sillier...
I just hope you all love 'silly'!
Cheers everyone!
Love and hugs,
ST xxx