In the Arch of the Door - part one

[littleghost]

He whistled the first bars of Smoke on the Water.

The sound bounced off the walls and high ceiling. It echoed through the abandoned house, only adding to the already eerie atmosphere. He stood at the foot of a cracked and dusty stairwell, shotgun clenched to his chest while he listened to the heavy tread of John’s boots against the floor above.

Dean was under strict instruction to stay put in the lower corridor. He was on standby tonight while John handled the spirit alone. It was understandable. He hadn’t been feeling well this week and certainly wasn’t at the top of his game.

His stomach churned. He shifted a little, foot to foot, and as another wave of nausea swept his body he wondered if there was a good spot to hurl.

Then he froze.

Because that was-well, different. For lack of better words.

He shifted again.

There was an odd sort of squelching in his jeans and he could feel wetness begin to trickle down his thighs as if he’d pissed himself. Only he was sixteen years old and had full control of his bladder, thank you very much. No, this was something else. Curious, he reached around back and pressed a couple fingers to the seat of his pants. Liquid soaked the denim and his hole clenched at the pressure. If he hadn’t been in the middle of a hunt right then, he might have dropped his pants and pressed those fingers right up inside himself. It wasn’t something that normally crossed his mind, but at the moment it seemed like the best idea ever.

His hole clenched again at the thought. White, hot heat curled through his abdomen and he shuddered volatility. Suddenly, he was very aware of how hard he was. Achingly so, cock straining inside his jeans.

Huffing lightly, he thought, screw it.

He set the shotgun down and hastily undid his belt. Jeans shoved partway down his hips, he slipped one hand down the back of his boxers. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d experimented with anal play before, but it had been out of mild curiosity. Never had he needed it the way he needed it right now. Those times had been vaguely uncomfortable, as he’d circled his tight hold and tried to loosen himself up. This time it wasn’t an issue. He was already loose, wet, and ready. He easily slid one digit in and then another. Probably could have gotten a third in there without batting a lash, too, but there was no need to show off. He wasn’t looking to impress anyone right now; all he needed was to get off.

He groaned a little at the sensation, and then pumped his fingers in and out a couple times. He tried to find the sweet spot, to position them just so, and then he scissored them.

“Fuck,” he gasped.

He stumbled forward a couple steps and caught himself on the bannister. Lowering his free hand, he began to palm hotly at his cock. His boxers were wet with pre-come and he dipped his hand inside. He wrapping his eager fingers around his length and stroked himself a few times. Light gasps escaped his lips, and while he was no stranger to jerking off it had never felt quite like this. It was amazing and overwhelming, all bundled into one sharp sensation. Every nerve in his body seemed to be firing at once and it only took a few more pulls before he came violently inside his boxers. He turned his head and sank his teeth into the fabric of his jacket to help muffle the strangled cry that escaped his throat.

His fingers were slick as he pulled them from his hole. His chest heaved and slowly he began to recover from what might have been the most intense orgasm anyone had ever experienced. In his opinion, of course.

As he began to tug his jeans back up, John’s voice cut through the air.

“Dean!”

He jumped half a foot off the floor and began to scramble.

John’s boots stomped down the stairs. “We’re finished here,” he called. “Get in the car.” When he reached the bottom step and laid eyes upon his son, he came to an abrupt halt. His gaze narrowed and he asked, “What are you doing?”

Dean’s hands were trembling as he redid his belt.

“I was-it’s just-“ He fumbled over the words, then heaved a quiet sight. “It happened,” he answered weakly.

The satisfied calm that had sated his body moments ago vanished, replaced with worry and embarrassment. It didn’t help that his cock was twitching with interest at round two, either.

“You pop your knot?”

There was a huff of pride in John’s voice. The corners of his eyes crinkled and god, he was smiling. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his dad smile. A lump formed in his throat and it was almost enough to make him lie. He could hear it, even-the simple yes rolling off his tongue and how John might have patted him on the shoulder or even hugged him.

But, he couldn’t.

Instead, he frowned and shook his head. Still trembling, he stretched his hand out in front of himself. The slick glinted in the moonlight, and instantly the satisfaction was gone from John’s face, replaced only with quiet ire.

“You’re in heat,” he said.

Dean nodded.

It was rare, but not unheard of for a first-born son to be an omega. Once upon a time, male omegas were a dark mark upon a family, but times had changed. Acceptance was widespread, but it didn’t change the fact that they were submissive. They were still weak, in John’s eyes at least, and in Dean’s as well, because that was how he’d been raised to think.

And now he was one of them.

His gut churned with a mix of anger and disappointment.

John didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked toward the door.

The ride back wasn’t any better. They sat in silence, John’s eyes trained straight ahead while Dean tried to ignore the bulge in his jeans and the soaked seat of his jeans. When they arrived back at the motel, Dean got his own room and was told to stay put until his heat was through.

He spent the next three days alone, jacking himself silly and fingering himself to no end. While it got the job done, it wasn’t exactly satisfying. His body yearned to be fucked properly and no amount of denial could repress his desire for an alpha’s knot.

“What’s wrong with you?” He heard Sam ask shortly after he emerged.

“Nothing,” he shot back.

“Dad’s mad at you.”

“Whatever,” he huffed.

A few hours later, John handed him a couple twenties and told him to take the Impala into town. “For supplies,” he said. “For next time,” he added, not meeting Dean’s eye. Dean grabbed the money and shoved it into his pocket. Stomping toward the car, he pushed Sam out of the way when he tried to scramble in alongside him, thinking John had meant a run for rock salt or something. Dean knew better. His dad would never say the word aloud, but he meant toys. He’d seen the shops-small boutiques that dotted cities on occasion, with ridiculous names like Ohhh-mega. The thought made his skin crawl.

He found one downtown, tucked between a salon and a bookshop. The enthusiastic, middle-aged woman behind the counter commented on what a pretty omega he was and introduced him to a selection for new bloomers.

“I’m not a flower,” he muttered.

“What was that, dear?”

“Nothing.”

He left the store with an absurdly large dildo, complete with a fake knot and a blush on his cheeks so hot he thought he might burst into flame.

After that, heats became a mildly irritating, but routine part of his life.

Sam found it amusing, naturally. He giggled and teased Dean, asking when he was going to find a big, strong alpha to take care of him. In turn, Dean punched him and silently hoped Sam would turn out to be an omega as well. Then who would be laughing.

Unfortunately, fate didn’t work that way and Sam popped his knot three years later.

They were driving through a dusty stretch of farmland, and Dean was drifting in and out of sleep. He’d sensed something different in Sam for the past couple weeks; he could almost feel change on the horizon. Of course, he’d taunted Sam and told him he was about to go into heat. Sam had kicked him and buried his nose deeper in whatever book he’d been reading.

Only now, in the backseat, he could smell the change in his brother.

A strong, alpha scent filled his nose and his body reacted justly. His face flushed, and a thick fog formed across his brain. He could feel the shift in his body; he could feel himself slipping into the submissive haze of heat. It had happened once before, at a bar while he was hustling pool. There had been one too many alphas, all of them trying to hook the pretty little female omegas. He’d become overwhelmed, and had sprinted from the bar before he’d done anything regrettable. He’d never felt weaker or more embarrassed, and now it was happening again.

Only, this was different. He wasn’t surrounded by a dozen or so alphas. There was only John, who had never affected him, and then there was Sam.

A few feet down the bench seat, Sam stared wide-eyed at his crotch. He was clearly at a loss as to what was happening, until he sniffed the air. As Dean had caught Sam’s scent, Sam immediately caught Dean’s. That was all it took.

He turned to Dean there was a visible shift in his eyes. Something predatory took hold of his stare and he scooted closer.

Closer.

His knee bumped against Dean’s thigh.

“Dean, I think-“

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just-“

“Right.”

He fought to form a coherent thought. Everything seemed to come back to how badly he wanted-no, needed-Sam. His hole began to pulse and he could feel himself leaking inside his jeans. Sam swallowed thickly and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His hands made their way to Dean’s hips. He gripped him tight and tugged him forward, then-

That was when John jerked the car onto the side of the road.

Gravel spewed up from behind the tires and he was out of the car and tugging Dean from the backseat within seconds. “Do not touch each other!” He was shouting, but Dean could hardly hear him. All he could think of was Sam, and all he wanted was Sam’s knot.

He kicked against John’s hold, and within a week he was on suppressants.

“It’s for the best,” John said. And while it wasn’t uncommon for siblings to mate, they understood. With the life they led he couldn’t afford to have them constantly going at it, or worse, for Dean to get knocked up.

So Dean began to take them and heats faded from his life.

It was sort of funny; part of him had hated himself ever since he found out he was omega. No amount of training or triumph could convince him that he was anything but weak. The suppressants were his chance to put that facet of his being behind him. No longer would he melt into a submissive puddle of need and desire every other month.

He could pretend he was something else.

Something stronger.

Something worthwhile.

Yet, a part of him missed it.

Sometimes, late at night, he’d envision himself in heat. He’d conjure up the memory of a sweat-slick brow and leaking hole, and then he’d jack himself or fuck himself. An image of Sam’s hand or Sam’s cock was always fixed in his mind, and he’d imagine that thick, alpha scent surrounding him.

It was messed up, obviously, but he couldn’t help it.

Years later, with Sam away at school and absent from Dean’s life, he found himself turning to this tactic increasingly often. He knew what it meant. He knew that part of him would always want to be Sam’s mate-to be his omega, and Sam his alpha.

He’d never admit it or even dwell over it long, but it was a fact he’d accepted, and filed away in the back of his mind.

He woke gradually.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of Sam’s laptop in the corner. Of course he was awake; he was probably busy browsing eBay for a soul or whatever it was he did all night. A glance at the clock told him it was half past three and he drew a slow, steady breath in. There was a dull ache in his lower back. It was a familiar feeling; something he hadn’t experienced in some time, but recognized all the same.

“Sam.” He croaked his brother’s name. “Sammy, you need to go.”

“What?”

Sam’s voice was distant, and as Dean sat up in bed, he could feel how the sheets had began to soak and how wet his boxers were. He was going into heat. He didn’t know how or why because he’d taken his pills. At least, he thought he had. He raked a hand through his damp hair and saw Sam not exiting the room, but crossing it. He caught his scent and it made his head spin.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean clamped his eyes shut and threw a hand toward the door.

“Can’t be here, Sammy,” he said, but Sam ignored him. He felt the mattress dip beneath Sam’s weight and when Dean cracked an eye, he saw Sam sniff the air. He arched a brow and smiled softly as he registered what was happening.

“You’re in heat,” he said, voice low. Dean nodded and Sam hummed quietly. His gaze darkened with lust and he placed a hand on Dean’s thigh. “What’re we going to do about that?”

“We-we’re going to get you the fuck out of here. We can’t-”

His voice broke as Sam slid his hand higher. He shuddered, and tried to focus on anything but that.

“That doesn’t sound like fun,” Sam mused.

There was something in his voice. Something that was so very obviously not Sam, but still made Dean’s half-hard cock spring to full attention. He groaned and Sam tugged the blankets down, eyes falling to the tent in Dean’s boxers. His tongue wet his lips, and he moved closer. Fingers slipping beneath the band, he gave Dean’s cock an experimental stroke.

“How’s that?” he asked.

“Good,” he moaned, arching his back.

“Thought you didn’t want me here.”

“Need you,” he murmured as he practically melted into Sam’s touch. The part of him dead-set on resisting seemed to disappear.

Sam smirked and began to jack him. Slow at first, in long, fluid strokes from root to tip. “Smell so good,” he murmured as he picked up pace. “Such a sweet omega,” he said, and Dean began to pant. He fell forward and pulled Sam into a messy kiss. His hands tangled in Sam’s hair and he tugged, which evoked a low growl from Sam’s throat.

A minute later, he was coming. He spilled into Sam’s palm and heaved a heavy sigh, head slipping to the side and onto Sam’s shoulder. He knew he’d be hard again soon, but enough about his own cock. What he needed was Sam’s. He needed it buried deep inside him, right now.

The same thought must have crossed his brother’s mind. Sam grabbed him by the thighs and flipped him bodily onto the mattress. He tugged his boxers the rest of the way down and they bunched around his knees.

“This is wrong,” he managed to mumble in a moment of clarity. “You don’t-you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Sam replied. His voice was calm and cool. He removed his own boxers and then asked, “Do you?”

“Want you,” he mumbled. “Always wanted you. But you-you’re not-“

“Shh.” Sam leaned in and butted his nose against his cheek. “I know exactly what I’m doing and exactly what I want. I’m just finally in a place where I can go for it.”

He still knew it was wrong. He was taking advantage of his brother in his soulless state.

Only then he caught Sam’s scent again and was gone. He relaxed into the mattress and a needy whine escaped his throat. Wetness trickled down the backs of his thighs, his hole slick and ready.

“Please,” he whispered. “Do it. Please.”

Sam moved behind him. He traced his shoulder with a fingertip and leaned in. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, lips mere inches from his ear. He briefly nuzzled Dean’s neck and-for a moment-he felt like he had Sam back. His Sam. But it wasn’t. It was a shell; a walking, talking Sam doll that knew how to mimic the mannerisms of his brother, but in the end just wasn’t.

If he weren’t so hazy with lust, his heart might have ached.

Instead, he distantly registered Sam saying, “Going to make you feel so good,” before he pushed inside.

“Sammy,” he heard himself moan.

His head fell forward and his teeth connected with the pillow. He bit down and he felt Sam’s hands move to his hips, gripping him tight as he began to thrust. Sam fucked him hard. Each move was calculated and precise, fulfilling him in every way possible. Faintly, he wondered if this was how Sam fucked or how Soulless Sam fucked. He wasn’t sure which he would prefer and it was better left unanswered. Then his motions slowed. “Almost,” he growled. A sharp gasp escarped Dean’s throat. He felt Sam’s knot grow inside him. It filled him up, and then came the hot pulse as Sam came.

Sam’s grip tightened. His fingertips pressed down into his skin and then he fell forward, flattening himself against Dean’s back. His lips moved against his back and shoulders. He bit and sucked fervently at his skin, peppering him with marks that would be there even after his heat ended.

Tiny reminders of what they’d done.

“Fuck.”

With a dull thunk, his forehead hit the tile wall.

“Dean.” Sam’s knuckles tapped the door twice. “I’m heading down to the station.

“Five minutes, man. I’ll be out.”

They’d gotten another case from Crowley. Businessman with his chest ripped open, probably werewolf. As much as he hated taking orders from that dick, he wasn’t about to skip out any chance he got. Anyway, Dean Winchester did not succumb to a mere stomach bug.

He tried to sit up, but another wave of nausea hit him. He scooted closer to his porcelain savior and christ, he’d already tossed up his entire breakfast and part of his dinner. What else was there?

The door opened with a squeak and Sam’s dress shoes clicked over to where he lay on the floor. “You don’t look well,” he heard him say. He ventured lifting his head, and peered up at Sam.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Sam attempted concern in form of a frown. Or maybe he was trying to look annoyed. Or hungry. Who knew.

He drew a sharp breath in and shakily rose to his feet, gripping the towel rack for support. His Sam might have helped him up, but this Sam took a small step back. Once up, he mustered half a smile and said, “Just gotta throw my suit on, then we can roll.”

“You should stay here and rest.”

He knew the reality was that Sam didn’t want the investigation hindered by whatever illness he was battling, but his word choice could almost be confused for compassion.

“Told you,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”

Only then his stomach rolled one more time and he paused mid-step. His lips pursed and Sam gave him a pointed look. After a long moment, it passed. His shoulders sagged in defeat and he sighed. “Fine,” he said. He fell heavily onto the edge of the mattress. “I’ll stay here.”

“I’ll be back in a couple hours. Do you need me to bring you anything?”

He shook his head and Sam nodded. Before he left, however, he stretched an arm out and patted Dean on the shoulder. The two awkward thumps made him wince.

“See you later,” Sam said, and then he crossed the room and disappeared out the door.

Dean fell backwards onto the bed. He tried to shake the feeling of Sam’s hand on his shoulder. He hated it when this Sam tried to imitate the real Sam. That was all it was, after all: an imitation. He couldn’t care. He couldn’t love. All he could do was pretend. He missed his little brother and hated to see this thing walking around his skin.

He raked a hand across his features and what he could use right now was a drink.

Half a bottle of whiskey resided in the bottom of his duffle, but he didn’t dare. Partly because he’d probably throw it up, partly because…

Well.

He pressed a palm to his stomach and his mind drifted back to his heat. He thought of how Sam had fucked him into the mattress and repeatedly filled him up; he thought of how Sam hadn’t worn a condom. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d taken sex-ed and John had given him a half-assed version of ‘the talk’. He knew what it could mean.

Christ.

His life was messy enough without that added to the mix.

He buried himself in the covers, and that was where he remained for the next two days. He only got up a handful of times, once to shower, once to venture to the soda machine, and once to run across the street to the drug store. Sam finished the investigation on his own. He quickly and efficiently took out a sleeper cell of skin walkers, and was barely in the door before he began to chatter about another case Crowley had clued him in on. Dean nodded his head vaguely and got his stuff together.

Shoving the last of his clothing into his duffle, he headed for the door. “We need to hit the laundromat, man. Everything I’ve got is gnarly,” he shouted.

He carried on as naturally as possible. He didn’t think of the pregnancy tests he’d taken the day previous, and he certainly didn’t think of how each had told him the same thing. He was pregnant-pregnant with his soulless brother’s baby, no less.

He knew he had options. He knew the best option might be to just take care of the situation.

Except. Well.

Soul or no soul, it was still technically Sam.

The baby would be part Sam.

He slammed the door behind him and walked toward the Impala.

“How’s he doing?”

The last month had been a whirlwind, and the intense glow faded as Castiel extracted his hand from Sam’s chest.

“His soul is in place.”

“That’s good, right?”

Cas didn’t respond. Not immediately, at least. He took his time rolling his sleeve down and then looked toward Dean. “I’m not happy that you shoved that thing back inside him,” he said. “It’s battered and torn, like nothing I’ve felt. I hope the wall is strong enough to conceal him from the damage.” He paused, and turned his gaze back to Sam’s unconscious body. “If he wakes up, that is. And that is a big if.”

“Always appreciate the positivity, Cas.”

“I just want your expectation to remain realistic.”

Dean didn’t reply. He just turned back to his brother, who was pale and hooked up to an IV.

“It was stupid, I know,” he said quietly.

“It was selfish,” Cas supplied, and while Dean rolled his eyes, he knew Cas was right. It had been selfish.

Sam might never wake up, and even if he did, he would be in constant peril. He’d also put the baby in danger. Reckless hadn’t even begun to describe his state, but once his head cleared he’d gone to a free clinic. He’d found out he was thirteen weeks along and that the baby was fine, surprisingly. He’d given the kid a silent nod of approval because it was a Winchester, all right-tough as nails.

Now, he raked a hand over his features and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“What was I supposed to do,” he asked. “Leave his soul to be torn apart in hell ‘til the end of time?” And when he looked back up, Cas was watching him. “Stop judging me,” he barked, anger bubbling up in his chest. “I just wanted him back. I saw my chance and I took it.”

A tense silence followed, and when Cas finally spoke, he changed the subject. “And how are you doing?” He asked.

“Peachy,” he replied, flashing a sarcastic smile.

“I mean, how are you coping with your… condition.”

“Great,” he muttered, because of course Cas would know about that and bring it up. His smile fell and he looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Does Sam know that you’re with child?”

“Sure, I had tea with his unconscious body and broke the news. What’a you think, Cas?”

“It wasn’t my intent to upset you. I meant prior to-to this,” he said, gesturing to Sam’s body.

“How is this any of your business, again?”

He held Cas’s gaze for a long moment, until Cas finally backed down. He looked away, and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said. “I should be going. Contact me if there’s any change and… take care of yourself.”

With that he vanished, fluttering off to god-knows-where.

“Nice talking to you,” Dean muttered.

Shifting his gaze from where Cas had stood a few seconds prior, he looked back to Sam. “Angels, huh?” He said, shaking his head. He kicked his boots up onto the edge of the cot and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t know if you heard that or not, but uh-I’m going to be a dad,” he said. He kept his gaze trained on Sam’s face, as if speaking with him. “You too, but I guess I can’t tell you that. Not that you weren’t a good lay because, man.” He let out a low whistle. “That was something. But uh, if you’d had a soul you wouldn’t have-you never would have-well. You know.”

He swallowed thickly.

“I’m sorry, man.” He paused, and then added, “For everything.”

“Wonder what your daddy would’ve said,” Bobby mused.

He tipped his glass back and drained the remaining whiskey, then reached for the bottle. Dean beat him to it and poured him a little more.

“Hell if I know. Probably would’ve acted like it wasn’t happening; you know how he was with me being an omega.”

“He was a bit old fashioned in his thinking,” Bobby replied. He took a sip from the fresh glass and then asked, “What’s the plan, then?

“The what?”

“Your life ain’t got much room for a kid, and I sure ain’t playing babysitter while you travel the country.”

“Got plenty of time to come up with one.”

“Less than you think. And I’m not trying to push you in any which direction. I just don’t want you popping a baby out in my panic room with no idea of what comes next. Understand?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I understand.”

And while Bobby didn’t look convinced, at least he looked a little less irate.

“Good,” he said, and then brought the glass back to his lips.

Idly, Dean ran a palm over his stomach. He wasn’t showing, but would be soon enough. He’d had time to adjust, and had gone from horrified to pretty okay with the fact he was pregnant. He’d always sort of wanted a kid. And while that year with Lisa and Ben hadn’t panned out, he’d taken to pseudo-fatherhood quickly. He knew he had it in him.

“Think I might check on Sam,” he mused after a few minutes. He sat forward in his seat, and that was when he noticed Bobby’s gaze frozen on something over his shoulder.

“Don’t think you’ll need to,” he said slowly.

Dean turned his head and saw Sam standing in the center of the kitchen.

He was awake

He was alive.

After several long astonished seconds, Dean let out the breath he hadn’t realized he‘d been holding. He quickly jumped to his feet and crossed the room. His arms were around his brother in an instant, wrapping him in the tightest hug he could muster. Sam sank into his hold and let out a quiet oof of surprise.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said as he pulled back, smiling. “Been out for a while.”

“Last thing I remember is dropping into the pit and then… nothing.”

Fear edged Sam’s tone, and while a smile remained fixed on Dean’s face, his heart plummeted.

He didn’t remember anything.

He didn’t remember-

Well.

He patted Sam on the arm and said, “It’s okay, man. What matters is that you’re back and-well, we got plenty of time to talk about it.”

They exchanged another warm smile and then Sam moved across the room, toward Bobby.

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in the kitchen.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Sam said around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Yeah.”

“So, I was running around without a soul? I mean, what was that even like?”

He shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. “Weird,” he answered. Now that Sam was back, he’d rather not think about it. Although one tiny, but growing, reminder made it difficult to forget entirely.

“Huh.”

Sam took another bite of his sandwich. He chewed messily, and Dean kind of loved it. Everything about Soulless Sam had been so neat and precise. This, though-this was his big oaf of a brother for sure, hair flopping into his face and spilling crumbs across the table.

His heart warmed, and a few minutes later he heard Sam ask, “What comes next, then? Got a hunt we can handle or…”

“I’m not even thinking about that,” he said, shaking his head. “We need to take it easy. Get you up and running again, huh?” He winked and Sam rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine, man. I can hunt.”

“Yeah, well.” He turned his gaze away. “Don’t want to see anyone push themselves too hard.”

“I swear, Dean. I’m fine.”

“I’m just saying, does a break sound so bad?”

“Hunting is what doesn’t sound so bad,” Sam said. “Whatever you put in my head might be fragile, but I’m not. I don’t want to be treated like I’m about to break any minute.”

“We don’t know that, though.” The words came out as a shout, and then he quickly sank back in his seat. He lowered his voice and added, “I just want you to be safe, okay?”

Sam’s lips curled, and then the look morphed into a frown. He didn’t respond, though; instead he just looked away and took another bite of his sandwich. He chewed slowly, and the topic was as good as dropped.

For the time being, at least.

It didn’t come up again for a few days.

He was spread out on one of the couches, half asleep, when he felt the springs dip beneath somebody’s weight. When he opened his eyes he saw Sam sitting at the opposite end, smiling.

“Nap time?” He asked.

Dean blinked a few times and sat up. “Guess so,” he muttered.

“I was looking at some websites,” Sam said. He lifted a stack of papers in his hands. “Apartments and stuff.”

“Apartments?” He asked, puzzled. Sam set the stack on his lap and nodded.

“I mean, if you’re serious about wanting a break and for me to take it easy.”

“Right, right,” he said, nodding.

He hadn’t really thought about what he wanted, exactly. They’d been crashing at Bobby’s for a few days now and it was fine, but definitely not a long-term solution. Not to mention, Sam hadn’t even agreed to a break. He’d obviously been thinking it over though, and Dean took the papers from him. He began to flip through and saw listings from across the region: South Dakota, North Dakota, and Minnesota. Close enough to Bobby, but far enough to give them some space. To separate themselves from The Life a little, he supposed.

“The Winchesters with a lease,” he commented. “Who would have thought.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I thought about what you said, you know. And I guess you’re right. We don’t know what’s going on in my head. This might be for the best.”

He shifted a little in place, and guilt began to itch at the back of his mind.

“Look Sammy,” he said after a moment. He set the papers down on his knee and turned to his brother. “I got something to tell you.”

“What?”

“When I said I wanted to take a break, for your sake? I do want that, but uh-I should take it easy too. I guess.”

Sam’s gaze flicked to concerned. “You okay?” He asked.

“Fine. It’s just-I’m pregnant.”

There was silence for several, long seconds. He anticipated Sam’s reaction, and the longer the silence drew on, the more uncomfortable he became. “Say something, man,” he finally muttered, and Sam seemed to snap out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.

“Sorry,” he said. “That’s just-wow. You’re serious?”

“Course I am.”

“Huh.” He sat back against the couch. “Can’t say I saw that coming. I never really expected you to-it’s just, you’ve always been so careful. I can’t even remember the last time you went into heat.”

“Must’ve screwed my pills up. I don’t know.”

“Who’s is it?”

“Some guy,” he answered, averting his gaze. “Felt like I hardly even knew him.”

Sam didn’t seem fazed, much to his relief. He didn’t pursue the topic any further.

“You definitely shouldn’t be hunting, then. Man, you should have told me right away.” He leaned over and patted him on the knee.

“Wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he replied.

“I think it’s great.”

“Right,” he said. “Great.”

Guilt churned in his gut, because Sam still only knew the half of it.

He managed a smile anyway, however, and Sam mirrored it.

A week later found them in Jeffrey, Minnesota.

They’d agreed on Minneapolis, and Jeffery was a small suburb. It was the best of both worlds, close enough to the action, but without the hassle of traffic and inflated rent prices.

The landlady’s keys jingled as she fit them into the lock to the apartment. “It’s a lovely starter home for you and your omega,” she said with a nod toward Dean.

“Oh,” Sam said with a laugh. “He isn’t my omega. Just my brother.”

She opened the door and hummed lightly, clearly not convinced. “There’s actually another male alpha and omega couple in the building. It’s a very progressive area.”

“Erm. Good,” Sam said, not wanting to argue. He gestured for Dean to follow him inside.

“Have a look around,” she said. “Everything was upgraded last year. Granite countertops and hardwood floors throughout.”

“It’s nice,” Sam said quietly, looking around.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

It was a modest two bedroom, one bath that opened into a spacious combo living area and kitchen. They walked down the short hall and Dean stepped inside one of the bedrooms. His eyes caught the closet and he shook his head. “Check this out, man,” he called. He nudged the door open to reveal a walk-in. Sam appeared at his side and let out a low whistle.

“Think we could fit both our wardrobes in there,” he commented. “And Bobby’s.”

“I know, right?” He laughed a little, and then headed back toward the kitchen. “Think we’ve definitely got enough space. I won’t be bumping into your gigantor ass every minute, that’s for sure.”

They came to a stop back in the kitchen and Sam dipped forward at the waist. “What about you?” He asked, directing his attention to Dean’s stomach. “What do you think?”

“Dude.”

He grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shoved him upright. He cast a glance back at the landlady, who was still smiling at them, and his ears began to burn. Wait, was he blushing? He didn’t blush. The baby had him out of whack, and it was more than a little frustrating.

He took his hands off of Sam, and quickly brushed his fingers across either cheek, as if to alleviate the blush. “You ever do that again, you’re dead,” he said.

Sam chuckled quietly and then called toward the landlady, “We like it. Could we fill out an application?”

“Of course!” She clapped her hands together. “Let’s go down to the office.”

They followed her out, and within a week they were moving in.

It was maybe a week after they moved in that they met Greg and Jack.

They lived on the first floor of the building, and stopped by one evening to introduce themselves, along with their three-month-old daughter, Cecelia. They also brought cookies, which gave Dean something to do while Sam talked with them.

“We saw you two move in last week and thought we’d give you a little time to settle before saying hello,” Greg explained. “And we heard you were expecting. Is that right?”

“We are,” Sam said and Dean arched a brow at the word we but didn’t say anything.

“How exciting,” Jack said.

“It is,” Greg agreed. “How far along are you?”

Dean chewed at his lower lip a little and glanced at Sam before he said, “Fifteen weeks, I guess.”

“Have you seen a doctor yet?” Greg asked.

“Um. Yeah.” He looked at Sam again, and saw the flash of surprise. He quickly looked away, but Sam must have gained his composure quickly enough. A moment later he spoke.

“And we’ve actually been looking for a doctor in the area,” Sam supplied.

It was complete bullshit, but enough to keep them from asking more questions about what they’d been up to prior to moving to Jeffrey. Greg immediately began to praise the doctor they’d used during Jack’s pregnancy, and Dean shoved another cookie into his mouth to keep from rolling his eyes too hard. He didn’t like doctors. He didn’t like how they shook their heads quietly over broken bones that hadn’t healed quite right, or silently judged the number of scars that peppered his skin. Part of him had hoped the visit he’d already paid was the only one he’d be subject to; if Sam had anything to say about it, however, he knew he’d be going again, and often.

The visit with their neighbors wore on, and an hour and a half later, they said their goodbyes.

Sam closed the door behind them and Dean carried the mostly empty package of cookies into the kitchen.

“Did you seriously eat most of those?” He heard him ask.

“The baby likes ‘em,” he replied. In truth, he felt a little sick. The baby did not like them, which sort of blew. If anything, he was craving fruit, which was just weird because he never wanted fruit unless it came in the center of a pie.

He set the cookies down on the counter, and then grabbed one of Sam’s bananas from the counter. “Happy?” He asked, holding it up for his brother to see.

Sam just blinked, and then changed the subject. “You saw a doctor?” He asked.

“Yeah.” He took a bite of the banana and as he chewed, asked, “Why?”

“Surprised, that’s all.”

He didn’t exactly want to admit to what prompted the visit, so he steered conversation elsewhere. “Yeah, well-wanted to make sure everything was okay. Anyway, what was with that ‘we’ bullshit back there?”

“What?”

“We’re expecting. We’re looking for a doctor.”

“Oh. I don’t know. I mean, we sort of are. I want to be there for you throughout this whole… thing. You know?”

He took another bite and studied Sam as he chewed. He knew the guy better than anyone else in the world, and he knew when he was lying. As he swallowed he said, “Bullshit,” and Sam’s shoulders dropped.

“Fine,” he said. “I was thinking it might be easier this way.”

“What way? Acting like you’re my alpha? That we’re mates?”

“Well, yeah.” Sam lifted his shoulders in a shrug and then said, “I mean, we’re two dudes with virtually no history to speak of. You’re pregnant and it’s-it’s just prime territory for gossip. I know this isn’t exactly a small town, but we don’t need people sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”

“You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?”

“I guess,” he answered. “Are you mad?”

“Not really. Would’ve been nice to run it by me, though.”

“Right. Sorry.” He pushed a hand back through his hair, and then looked up again. “You’d be okay with it, though? I mean, relationships are about the furthest thing from my mind right now, but I don’t want to step on your toes if-“

He cut Sam off with an indignant snort. “Damaged goods, Sammy,” he said, patting his stomach. “Doubt anyone would want me even if I was out there scenting for ‘em.” Then he popped the last bite of banana into his mouth and added, “And I’m not, by the way, so it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Sam said slowly. A frown turned his lips, but he didn’t comment on the self-deprecating comment. “It’s a plan, then.”

“Sure is.”

He forced a smile in his brother’s direction, and then headed down the hall. As he disappeared into his bedroom, he closed the door behind himself, and only then did he allow himself to breathe. He slumped against the frame momentarily, and shook his head.

“Great,” he muttered.

Just great.

By mid-February, they’d been in town a little over a month

Both had managed to find work and had fallen into a routine that was so far removed from normal for them, but was sickening so by any other standards.

Dean exited the bookshop he worked at part-time. Prologue was its name. He’d stumbled upon the shop one day, and had thought he’d check out their section on local lore and legend. Turned out the owner had a soft spot for the subject, and was eager to make recommendations for him. As they’d discussed the spirit of John Moshik, who supposedly haunted city hall in downtown Minneapolis, he’d noticed the help wanted sign. It was a flexible, low-stress position and, while he’d been eyeing a couple garages in the area, this made more sense.

He hung a left out the door and headed toward Grand Avenue. It was a familiar route, and three blocks up, he reached The Roost, a coffee shop owned by Greg. Snow was just beginning to fall, and he stepped inside as a cool wind swept the air.

“Hey, Dean,” he heard Marissa-one of the baristas-call. He lifted a hand in greeting, and spotted Sam a few feet away, at the register and counting change for a customer.

It was a little ridiculous, when you thought about it-one of them at a bookshop, one of them at a coffee shop. If assimilation were a subject in school, they’d have aced it.

He took a seat at the counter and accepted a cup of hot cider from Marissa. She gave his forearm a quick squeeze and flashed him a smile before walking away. As she passed Sam, she bumped her hip against his and he smiled in her direction.

Dean took a sip of his cider and listened as they chatted.

“How’re you two doing?” He heard her ask. She nodded her head in his direction and added, “How’s the baby?”

“Good and good,” Sam replied. “We saw the doctor a couple weeks ago. Heard the heartbeat and she scheduled an ultrasound for our next appointment.”

“Exciting,” she said happily.

“I know, right?”

The awe was still evident in his voice. He’d squeezed Dean’s shoulder throughout the appointment and periodically flashed him this goofy grin. Supposedly a couple or not, it’d made Dean roll his eyes and elbow Sam in the stomach. “You’re the alpha here,” he’d reminded him. “Act like it.”

“C’mon,” Sam had said, lowering his voice so only the two of them could have heard. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat. How cool is that.”

Your baby.

Sometimes he liked to pretend. Pretend that this was real. Pretend that Sam knew the baby really was his, and that they actually were mates. It was easy, what with the lies they were telling. Only then moments like that came along, and ripped him back to reality. At the end of the day, Sam thought of the baby as Dean’s and that was all. Not his own, because why would he? Moments like that reminded him that they were not only lying to everyone they’d met, but he was lying to Sam as well. And that was the one that trumped them all.

He took a long sip of cider and really wished he could still carry a flask around.

Down the counter, he heard Marissa ask Sam, “How’s Dean doing?”

“Fine.”

“He looks tired.”

“Well, h-”

“Maybe you should ask Dean how he’s doing since Dean’s sitting right here,” he called as he looked up from his cup. They fell silent and Marissa flashed him an apologetic smile. He saw Sam mouth the word moody when she looked back to him, and while it was a lighthearted jab it still made his darkening mood even fouler.

“Haha, Sammy,” he barked. “Thanks a lot.”

Sam raised both hands in surrender, and he turned back to his cider.

Sam had a point.

He might be a little a moody.

These days, he could bounce from giddy to pissed to panting with desire in twenty minutes flat. The lack of control frustrated him, and the whole Sam situation only made things worse.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the Impala, on their way home. The ride was quiet, as was dinner. He was tired and cranky, and the urge to drink hadn’t passed. It was an itch beneath his skin that he couldn’t quite shake; only he wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it, so instead he took his frustration out on Sam.

“Your next appointment’s in a week,” Sam said, looking at the calendar.

Dean nodded. “Got it written down,” he said. “You don’t have to come, you know.”

“I like going,” he replied. “Plus, you know. I’m your alpha.” A smile played at his lips, but Dean didn’t return it. He’d spent most of his life wishing Sam was his alpha, and now the notion had been reduced to a joke.

“No, you aren’t,” he snapped.

Sam’s smile fell. “Sorry, man. I was ju-“

“Maybe this was a stupid idea,” he muttered, not quite able to meet Sam’s eye. “I mean, what’s in it for you? You’re missing out, here. All these cute girls. Marissa? She’d be perfect for you.”

“I told you, I don’t want a relationship right now. I don’t want Marissa.”

“Well, whatever. I don’t know what you want, but it can’t be this.”

Sam stared at him for a long moment, then looked away.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” he muttered.

Before Dean could respond, Sam walked away. He disappeared down the hall and his bedroom door closed with a loud click a few seconds later.

He went to bed shortly after, but sleep didn’t come.

For over an hour, he tossed and turned while his mind raced around what a disaster this was turning into. It was supposed to be a break. A rest from the life, and he thought things would be easier. Only, he was failing.

He’d failed with Lisa.

He was failing with Sam.

At this rate, he’d fail with the baby too.

It was shortly after midnight that a quiet knock on the door caused him to sit up. He wasn’t any closer to sleep, and he clicked the nightstand light on. A moment later, the door opened and Sam peaked his head inside.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “What’s up?”

Sam didn’t respond, just padded over to the bed. He was dressed in plaid sleep pants and a white t-shirt. His hair was mussed, and Dean might have made fun of him if it weren’t for the look on his face. It was a cross between confusion and terror, neither of which sat right with him.

He patted the mattress next to him and Sam took a seat.

“What’s wrong?” He asked again.

Sam sat with his back to him, shoulders hunched and chin angled toward the floor. Dean studied him for a moment, and then stretched a hand out. His fingertips brushed Sam’s lower back, and Sam flinched. He instantly drew his hand back. “Sammy?” he asked.

Sam heaved a quiet sigh and turned. He folded a leg up under himself and muttered, “Bad dream.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Except… I don’t know. It didn’t really feel like a dream. It felt-it felt real. Fuzzy, and just out of reach-like something half-remembered. And then there were these noises and smells and-” He stopped, voice breaking.

“Was it hell?” he asked lowly. The thought made him shiver and Sam shrugged. The notion hit a little too close to home.

“I don’t know,” he said. “And I don’t want to. Don’t scratch the wall, you know?”

He nodded, and silence fell between them.

On the nightstand, his clock ticked quietly as its hands made their way toward one a.m. He yawned. His arms stretched above his head and Sam looked down just as his t-shirt rose. Something shifted in his eyes. The panic was replaced by curiosity and he asked, “Can I?” He reached out, hand hovering over Dean’s stomach.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Lying back against the pillows, he allowed Sam to push his t-shirt up. He exposed the light curve of his stomach and a smile touched the corners of his mouth.

“You’re showing,” he said.

“Yep.”

He’d started to show around seventeen weeks-shortly after their first appointment with the doctor. Now, at nineteen, his regular clothing was getting a little tight and more uncomfortable by the day. He needed to go shopping soon, but could still make do.

“I’ve felt it move a couple times. I mean, it might just be gas but uh-it’s kind of cool.”

“Very cool,” Sam said. He ran his palm over his stomach and he looked-well, he looked happy. Content.

The touch sent a chill up his spine, and after a few seconds he broke the quiet by saying, “Look, man. About earlier-“

“Sorry for storming off,” Sam said, cutting him off.

“Dude. That was all me. Sorry for taking out all my hormonal crap on you.” Sam chuckled a little at that and Dean continued. He said, “I’d like it if you kept coming to my appointments. You’re the one who asks all the right questions, anyway.”

“You’d be lost with out me,” Sam commented idly as his hand came to a rest atop his stomach. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with their proximity at the moment, but he didn’t object.

Instead, he smiled and said, “No argument there.”

“You know, I haven’t really asked you, but uh-after all this… you’re keeping it, right? I mean, I’m over here talking about you being a dad and all but-“

“Yeah, Sammy,” he said. “I’m keeping it.”

“Oh.” He ducked his head a little. “Well, good.”

Right then might have been the time to tell him. Somehow, they’d slipped into sharing and caring mode, so it was on topic. Only, he was scared. Scared of how Sam would react. Scared of how it might upset this life they’d started to build.

And when Sam lifted his head, he saw the smile that played at his lips. In that moment there was no confusion over whatever was happening in his mind. There was no worry over what came next. There was only a goofy sort of smile that was so very Sam, and he’d do anything to keep it there.

So he kept his mouth shut.

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