Dean's face rapidly succumbed to an array of emotion, landing on amused disbelief. "Pregnant? What do you mean, pregnant?"
Sam was at a loss for words. What did Dean think pregnant meant?
Dean gently smoothed his hands down Sam's stubbled cheeks. "That doesn't make any sense. You can't get pregnant. You're a man."
Sam shook his head, mouth agape, "I was pregnant, Dean. My stomach was bloated and...and I could feel them. I could feel them inside me."
Dean could hear Sam's heartbeat. It sounded like a hummingbird batting hysterically at a window pane. Candlelight flickered across Sam's anguished face. The blood drippling from his nose was almost black. Dean ached to clean the blood from his skin, to calm that racing, panicked heartbeat.
"Sammy, listen to me," Dean whispered soothingly, shifting his body to curl his snake half around Sam's back. He pretended to ignore the way Sam's muscles tensed at the contact. "It's not possible, dude. You're not a chick. You don't have the parts."
Sam wasn't listening, though. He was staring down at his bare belly, his fingers slipping across the firm ridges of his abs, the juts of his ribs. Dean couldn't even begin to imagine Sam's stomach looking soft and round. It wasn't possible. Dean grabbed for Sam's imploring digits. Sam tore away from his grasp.
"No," Sam's head whipped up. "I was pregnant."
Dean studied Sam's face: the anguished tilt of his head, the pained expression in his foxlike eyes, the scrunch of his broad nose. Sam shook, his hand splayed over his stomach in both a strange gesture of protection and wild contempt. Dean was momentarily brought back to that scene from Alien. Sam was looking at himself with horror, as if something inhuman and deadly was inside him, threatening to burst out of him at any second.
Dean sobered up, his expression becoming intense and even a little frightened. "Sam...I don't think I can get you knocked up."
Sam's eyes darted up to his face, wild and a little unhinged.
"You don't think?" Sam spat. "You didn't know it was an option, is that it? Well, you should've told me that before you fucked me!"
Sam shoved Dean's chest, his teeth bared in a silent snarl. The older Winchester pressed back, his snake half tensing where it pressed against Sam's back. "What did you do to me?!"
Dean flinched, startled by the ferocity of Sam's wrath. Did Sam believe Dean would get him pregnant on purpose? Did Sam believe Dean would risk Sam's wellbeing like that? Dean's brow furrowed, a deep seed of anger rising from his chest. He opened his mouth to snap back, but the retort died in his throat. Dean studied Sam. Sam wasn't angry, he realized.
He's scared.
"I didn't do anything. I swear to God." Dean said evenly.
Sam pushed up on his knees, yanking his hands away from where they'd clutched like talons into Dean's chest. With quivering fingers, Sam jabbed experimentally at his stomach, lips pressing into a tight, white line, barely suppressing the scream threatening to burst forth. He couldn't have those things inside him. He couldn't be carrying Dean's hungry, vile offspring. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe Dean's sperm wouldn't take. Maybe the vision was just one option of his future. It was not set in stone. Maybe it didn't have to be like that. Maybe, maybe, maybe...
Dean's voice was soft now, tentative. Sam felt Dean's hands on his shoulders, digits running down the lengths of his arms to rest, almost tenderly, at the crooks of his elbows. "Breathe. Sam, breathe."
"I am breathing," Sam said, his strong tone deteriorating, replaced by anxiety and fear. "I just need a minute."
"Okay," Dean said, balling his hands into fists, battling with his urge to pull Sam to him, to comfort him, to take his pain away. Sam gulped audibly, dragging a hand down his face. Blood smeared down his chin, coating his throat. Sam paused, glanced down at his hand, and grimaced.
"Let me clean you."
Sam blinked, glancing up.
"Please," Dean whispered.
Sam's shoulders deflated and he nodded silently.
Dean dived down, darting out his wet, pink tongue, lapping at Sam's bloody chin and throat, curling the appendage underneath his nose. Sam suppressed the urge to squirm. He wrapped his hands around Dean's forearms, fingernails biting into the veiny, hard muscle and leaving half moons. Dean's tongue dragged up Sam's throat with slow, lingering swipes. Sam wondered if Dean could feel his hammering pulse, taste his ripe terror.
"There," Dean's breath ghosted against his face, warm and oddly sweet, "All cleaned up."
"Dean," Sam blinked, peering into Dean's eyes. Candlelight flickered across his face. "I know what I saw."
"How?" Dean began, reaching up and brushing his bangs away from his forehead. "How could I have gotten you pregnant, Sam? Think about that."
Sam did think about that. He thought about the wetness he'd felt between his legs in the waking moments after Dean had sunk his fangs into his throat. He thought about how insane he'd been once he'd woken, how much he'd wanted Dean to breed him. Sam had heard of some supernatural creatures infecting human women with their saliva, making them passive and eager to mate with a monster that could just as easily have them for dinner. Had Dean's bite changed his body? Was he transformed on the inside? Was his body fertile and receptive to his brother's advances, making him even eager and excited to be bred and kept?
Sam felt sick. He had to break away from Dean's hold. Sam twisted and began to crawl over Dean's fat snake half. Dean froze, caught off guard by Sam's rapid movement. Dean's fingers twitched and a dark part of him thought how easily it would be to grab Sam and hold him down. But just as the thought occurred, Dean knew he had to let his brother have his space. Sam was frightened and Dean didn't know what he could do to help. One thing Dean knew for certain was that there was no way in fuck Sam was pregnant. Sam was a man for God's sake. Whatever Sam had seen had to have been a nightmare, not a vision.
Sam grimaced as climbed over Dean and felt the tips of his toes grace the cold stone floor. His ass ached, but not nearly as much as Sam thought it should after taking a dick the size of Dean's. One would think the lack of discomfort would be a great thing, a blessed thing, but Sam suspected it was only another sign that his body had been changed, had adapted, to make itself accessible to Dean's biological needs. Once his feet touched the floor, Sam backed away from Dean and turned to face the wall. He caught sight of the two slaves in the cage. They had the identical blank expressions of domesticated animals. Sam frowned and rubbed his arm. He could feel Dean uncurling behind him. Sam's eyes focused onto the other wall. He simply breathed. Goosebumps rose on his flesh. He rubbed at his bare, trembling thigh.
After a moment, Dean's voice echoed against the walls, "Sammy?"
Sam suddenly grabbed his belly, panic flashing through him again, and desperately tried not to imagine what might be taking place inside him. His heart hammered in his ears. His palms were sweaty. How could he allow more monsters to roam the earth? How could he, in good faith, let the bloodthirsty predators most certainly budding in his new womb survive, to take their first squalling, grotesque breaths?
Dean's tone dipped into concerned territory, "Hey, are you okay? Talk to me, dude."
Sam forced the emotion from his voice and tore his hand away, "What is it?"
"Come back to bed, okay?" Dean said. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"No," Sam shook his head. "I'm...I'm hungry." Once he said it, Sam realized he was, in fact, famished. He supposed it was being unconscious for so long and the wild, intense sex with Dean had burned a lot of calories.
Without another word, Dean rose up and slithered past him. His sensual scales burst with sharp blots of color.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
"I'm hungry, too," Dean said simply, and slithered to the cage. Just then, Sam heard Dean's serpentine stomach grumble.
Sam watched him in silence. Dean tore the door open, whispered something harsh and quick to the slaves and they rose obediently. They filed out of their prison, dull eyed and robotic.
"What did you say to them?" Sam asked, although he didn't really want to know. After being knocked out for five days and passing out after sex, Sam never felt more awake. Painfully, frightfully awake. Those slaves...he had to find a way to make Dean let them go. It wasn't right. It was beyond cruel to manipulate them, to use them.
"They're going out to get some food for you and," Dean's face darkened, "something for me, too."
Sam watched Dean watch him. In the background, a slave snatched Dean's wallet from the table, walking over a hastily scribbled devil's trap. His companion followed and before Sam knew it, they were alone once more. The mens' retreating footsteps were deafening opposed to the wet, dripping near silence of their underground home.
"Do you want me to get your shirt and pants?" Dean said after a moment.
Sam peered down at his naked body. He'd forgotten his nudity. "Yeah, that would be good."
Dean sashayed over to the floor and found a bundle of Sam's clothes. He slithered to his brother, shoving them into his outstretched arms. Sam pulled on his clothes, wincing as the fabric brushed against bruises, love bites, and overworked muscles. Once dressed, Sam turned to find Dean leaning against the wall, impossibly imposing, impossibly worried. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth pinched tight.
"You aren't gonna let this go, are you?" Dean asked after a minute.
"I know what I saw, Dean." Sam said calmly.
"Is there anything I can do to convince you otherwise?"
Sam shook his head. "No."
Dean's shoulders deflated and he pushed from the wall, slithering over to the mattress, and picked up the comforter. He began making the bed.
He'll see in due time, Sam thought, clutching his stomach.
Even though he really, really hoped he was wrong.