FIC: Devil (in a Blue Dress)
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby [Supernatural]
Date Written: February 16-May 3, 2009
Notes: MPREG.
Dean wakes up slowly, blinks, and then groans as his stomach starts churning like the sea during a hurricane. He barely makes it to the toilet and still feels like he's dying, even after what feels like everything he's eaten in the past decade has left the building. Vaguely he remembers a girl in a blue dress and something about a taste of his own medicine before he passes out.
He only wakes up because Sam is poking him in the ribs with his giant feet. The linoleum he's laying on is sticking to his cheek and he really, really just wants to be left on the floor to die. Of course, Sam's not listening to him. He's got his bitch-face on and Dean rolls his eyes before hauling himself to his feet. The room spins a bit and he grabs the edge of the sink to make it stop. It doesn't and he pukes again, even though he's pretty sure there's nothing left.
When he wakes up again, he's in bed. Sam's pulled up a chair and is just watching him with a frown. Dean groans because he's pretty sure that if he moves, he's going to get sick again and that this is the worst case of flu he's ever had. Ever.
"Do you remember anything?"
Sam's voice sounds kind of far away even though he's right there. Dean opens his mouth to speak and ends up coughing instead. A few seconds later, Sam is pressing a bottle of water into his hand and telling him to just sip it. So he does because doing much else doesn't seem like an option at the moment.
"You do know that you've been gone for a month, right?"
"No, I…" Dean shakes his head a bit to clear it because that can't be right. "Just a one-night stand."
"Dean, you disappeared. For a month. Bobby and I tried everything we could think of to find you and then this morning; there you are on the bathroom floor. You don't remember anything?"
"Not anything like that," Dean says as he takes all of that in.
"I'm just going to have Bobby look you over." Sam's eyes flick to the bottled water. "At least it wasn't possession."
Bobby can't find anything wrong with Dean. There are no demonic signs or omens that point to anything suspicious. So Dean lost a month; stranger things have happened.
A little more than three months later and Dean is still throwing up what seems like every five minutes. His favorite food has suddenly become pickles dipped in chocolate and his nipples hurt like a bitch. Plus he seems to be gaining weight at an exponential rate.
"Don't you think we should take you to a doctor?" Sam asks from the doorway while Dean throws up the pint of Ben and Jerry's he eat for breakfast. "You have the worst case of the flu ever. Or…"
"Or what?" Dean moans as he spits bile into the toilet.
"Well, umm, are you pregnant?"
Dean whips his head around and glares at Sam. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Think about it, Dean." Sam gets into excited scholar mode and starts ticking things off his fingers. "The throwing up, the truly hideous food cravings, having to stop every two miles for you to piss, the weight gain--"
At that Dean, bursts into tears. "I'm so fat and ugly. Just say it. I disgust you."
Sam blinks, taken aback. "I didn't say that, Dean. I, uhh…"
He backs up as Dean stalks into the bedroom portion of the motel room and curls up into a little ball on one of the beds. "I want a cheeseburger. With bananas instead of pickles."
"Err, sure, Dean. I'll be right back."
After the door closes, Dean starts thinking about everything Sam said. Pregnancy does make sense in some sick and twisted way. He just hopes it's not a demon child or something. Groaning, he reaches for his phone and dials Bobby.
"You think you're what?" Bobby asks and he seems torn between laughter and suspicion.
"Pregnant." Dean rattles off his symptoms. "Unless this is some curse you're aware of."
"Not exactly. But I've got a friend that maybe can take a look at you."
Bobby rattles off an address in Evanston, Illinois and Dean scribbles it down on the back of an envelope. When he lies back, he rests his hands over his belly and feels this flutter of movement. Over the panic rising in his throat, he feels this bubble of happiness and finds himself giggling in delight.
This is promptly followed by his fifth trip to the bathroom to piss in the past hour.
The address in Evanston is actually an adoption agency. Dean reflexively places his hands over his belly as Sam walks him to the front counter and wonders what the fuck Bobby sent him here for until a doctor comes out to greet them and casts a knowing glance toward them.
Inside the office, Dean settles into a chair and lets Sam get his geek on explaining the symptoms. There's a lot of nodding and note-taking that Dean doesn't pay much attention to in favor of resting his eyes. He's so tired lately.
"Dean?"
Slowly, Dean opens his eyes to find Sam staring at him in concern. "Huh?"
"Dr. Squire wants to do an ultrasound."
"Oh."
It turns out that Dr. Squire only consults at the agency so they take a trip across town to his actual office. By the time they get there, Dean feels like his bladder is going to explode, so he practically runs into the place where a nurse smiles and points out the bathroom. His back hurts and as he's washing his hands he wants to cry for some unknown reason.
Everything starts to become startling real when the doctor takes them into a room with stirrups and monitors. Dean backs away from the equipment, shaking his head.
"Oh hell no. I am not getting up on that thing."
"Dean, this is really the only way to find out if you're pregnant since there isn't exactly a stick you can pee on. Besides, if you are, don't you want to make sure it's healthy?"
Sam and his damn logic. Dean grumbles under his breath as he makes his way to the table and lies down on it. This is entirely too humiliating, he thinks, as he follows the doctor's orders to unbutton his jeans and lift his shirt up.
The gel is cold and Dean squirms a bit until a nurse comes in and starts hooking him up to shit. Part of him is hoping he has like cancer that's manifesting itself in random symptoms and part of him really hopes he is pregnant. It's like the emotional apocalypse inside his head and he bites back laughter over the absurdity of it all.
All of them watch the monitors in amazement one monitor blips a heartbeat and the other shows what is clearly a baby. It's about then that Dean passes out.
Bobby, Sam and the doctor all agreed that Dean should stay in the area during the pregnancy so he and Sam rent out an apartment on the same block above an Italian deli. The smell of marinara sauce makes Dean want to puke so Sam goes out and buys tons of potpourris to cover it up. He also buys an assortment of sweatpants and giant shirts, none of which do much good to hide the ever-growing baby bump.
Due to Dean's "condition," as they all call it, he's not allowed to leave the apartment. The doctor does his check-ups in the living room and Sam takes care of everything else. It's embarrassing how many times he's cried in Sam's arms or begged him to rub his feet or made him go out at three in the morning to buy ice cream.
Sam seems to take it all in-stride like he's a doting husband or something. Dean guesses if things had turned out differently, he and Jess would've had a whole house full of kids by now. It's still disturbing, to say the least, to be the one that needs to be taken care of and watched over. Most days, it's hard for him to let Sam do it, but the settling down, not hunting thing is surprisingly easy.
Six months into it and the baby will not stop kicking. It wakes Dean up in the night, not that he's been getting much sleep anyway, and he's always torn between annoyance and delight. Like he has maternal instincts or some shit.
He has nothing better to do than read the baby books Sam not-so-subtly has left on the coffee table so he tries to follow what they say. Eating right and getting a bit of exercise. He even has Sam buy better headphones and puts that stupid iPod to use so that the baby can get some real taste in music right from the start.
"Okay," he says as he puts on some Metallica. "Maybe you're a little young for this but there're some good messages in the lyrics. Stuff about peace, even. Uncle Sammy would be proud."
The baby kicks through the whole song and Dean can't help but grin. "Maybe I'll name you Lars."
Except Dean doesn't know the sex of the baby, officially. He's refused to hear any gory details about his pregnancy; although he once heard the doctor saying something about his appendix and surgery. Sam has already started to buy baby stuff but it's all in gender-neutral yellow so that's no help. Part of him knows it's a boy though.
"You know you're kind of glowing, man," Sam says with amusement in the middle of their desperate attempt to read the instructions on how to put the crib together.
"Shut up." Dean blushes hard. "Or you can put this together yourself."
Besides the back pain and the swollen ankles and the gas and the mood swings and the nausea, there's one other problem that Dean's been trying to ignore for weeks now: he's horny. All the damn time. No amount of spanking the monkey or bustyasianbeauties.com seems to satisfy him. It's frustrating and his mood swings have proven that.
"Hey." Sam holds up his hands. "It was a compliment."
Dean grunts and then squints at the directions. "Next you're supposed to screw post S into joint D."
Bad choice of words. At least his circus tent of a top does a good job of hiding his hard on. This is awkward enough as it is.
Two weeks before his due date, the woman from nine months ago shows up in his room. She's wearing the same blue dress as before and she's smirking at Dean's baby bump. He tries to cover it up with his hands; not because he's ashamed but because he's afraid and is trying to protect the baby.
"So, Dean, like my little gift?"
"I…" Dean trails off because he doesn't know what to say. It's not like he wanted to be pregnant but the thought of losing the baby makes him sick inside.
"You want to keep it, don't you?" She laughs long and hard. "Even better."
Dean struggles to sit up and reach for his gun. "What the fuck, lady? Why did you do this?"
"You've bedded woman across the country and never once did you consider what might happen after you leave."
"I have!" Dean argues as his fingers search out the cool metal. "I've always used protection. It's always consensual and they know I'm leaving town. There're no illusions there."
"Maybe now but not when you were a teenager."
He pauses with his fingers brushing the butt of the gun. "What are you saying?"
"Albany, New York? I'm guessing you were around sixteen." Dean nods as horror creeps up his gut. "I was eighteen."
"No," Dean whispers.
"Yes." She moves closer. "I wasn't beautiful back then but you went after me and I thought that meant something. Then you left. And then I found out I was pregnant."
Dean wants to ask how she knows it was his and where's the baby now and how did she get him pregnant, but he just murmurs an apology instead. She seems to take it as sincere, which is how he meant it, and explains everything. The terror of telling her parents, the tough decision of keeping the baby or not, the abortion, the depression, the guilt and finally her PhD in ancient Egyptian studies which led her to a fertility curse she couldn't help herself from using.
It's a bit much to absorb. His head is reeling with information overload while his hands stay firmly planted over his baby bump.
"I can make it all go away, you know," she says quietly, her eyes on his hands instead of his face.
"No." Dean doesn't even hesitate. "I want to keep the baby."
She smiles and tentatively touches his belly. "I'm glad."
He moves her hand so she can feel the baby kick and smiles back at her. "Me too."
After she leaves, when Sam comes home, Dean tells him about her visit and the decision he made. Part of him is expecting Sam to tell him he's insane, but instead Sam just grins like an idiot at the news.
"I'm really going to be an uncle? This is totally awesome."
The birth is painful and messy and leaves him with a huge scar on his side, but he doesn't care one bit. Little John has his eyes and Sam's nose and Mary's coloring and John's temper and he's perfect. Except when he needs his diaper changed or spits up all over the place or screams through the whole night. But they're Winchesters and there's nothing they can't handle, together.
Date Written: February 16-May 3, 2009
Notes: MPREG.
Dean wakes up slowly, blinks, and then groans as his stomach starts churning like the sea during a hurricane. He barely makes it to the toilet and still feels like he's dying, even after what feels like everything he's eaten in the past decade has left the building. Vaguely he remembers a girl in a blue dress and something about a taste of his own medicine before he passes out.
He only wakes up because Sam is poking him in the ribs with his giant feet. The linoleum he's laying on is sticking to his cheek and he really, really just wants to be left on the floor to die. Of course, Sam's not listening to him. He's got his bitch-face on and Dean rolls his eyes before hauling himself to his feet. The room spins a bit and he grabs the edge of the sink to make it stop. It doesn't and he pukes again, even though he's pretty sure there's nothing left.
When he wakes up again, he's in bed. Sam's pulled up a chair and is just watching him with a frown. Dean groans because he's pretty sure that if he moves, he's going to get sick again and that this is the worst case of flu he's ever had. Ever.
"Do you remember anything?"
Sam's voice sounds kind of far away even though he's right there. Dean opens his mouth to speak and ends up coughing instead. A few seconds later, Sam is pressing a bottle of water into his hand and telling him to just sip it. So he does because doing much else doesn't seem like an option at the moment.
"You do know that you've been gone for a month, right?"
"No, I…" Dean shakes his head a bit to clear it because that can't be right. "Just a one-night stand."
"Dean, you disappeared. For a month. Bobby and I tried everything we could think of to find you and then this morning; there you are on the bathroom floor. You don't remember anything?"
"Not anything like that," Dean says as he takes all of that in.
"I'm just going to have Bobby look you over." Sam's eyes flick to the bottled water. "At least it wasn't possession."
Bobby can't find anything wrong with Dean. There are no demonic signs or omens that point to anything suspicious. So Dean lost a month; stranger things have happened.
A little more than three months later and Dean is still throwing up what seems like every five minutes. His favorite food has suddenly become pickles dipped in chocolate and his nipples hurt like a bitch. Plus he seems to be gaining weight at an exponential rate.
"Don't you think we should take you to a doctor?" Sam asks from the doorway while Dean throws up the pint of Ben and Jerry's he eat for breakfast. "You have the worst case of the flu ever. Or…"
"Or what?" Dean moans as he spits bile into the toilet.
"Well, umm, are you pregnant?"
Dean whips his head around and glares at Sam. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Think about it, Dean." Sam gets into excited scholar mode and starts ticking things off his fingers. "The throwing up, the truly hideous food cravings, having to stop every two miles for you to piss, the weight gain--"
At that Dean, bursts into tears. "I'm so fat and ugly. Just say it. I disgust you."
Sam blinks, taken aback. "I didn't say that, Dean. I, uhh…"
He backs up as Dean stalks into the bedroom portion of the motel room and curls up into a little ball on one of the beds. "I want a cheeseburger. With bananas instead of pickles."
"Err, sure, Dean. I'll be right back."
After the door closes, Dean starts thinking about everything Sam said. Pregnancy does make sense in some sick and twisted way. He just hopes it's not a demon child or something. Groaning, he reaches for his phone and dials Bobby.
"You think you're what?" Bobby asks and he seems torn between laughter and suspicion.
"Pregnant." Dean rattles off his symptoms. "Unless this is some curse you're aware of."
"Not exactly. But I've got a friend that maybe can take a look at you."
Bobby rattles off an address in Evanston, Illinois and Dean scribbles it down on the back of an envelope. When he lies back, he rests his hands over his belly and feels this flutter of movement. Over the panic rising in his throat, he feels this bubble of happiness and finds himself giggling in delight.
This is promptly followed by his fifth trip to the bathroom to piss in the past hour.
The address in Evanston is actually an adoption agency. Dean reflexively places his hands over his belly as Sam walks him to the front counter and wonders what the fuck Bobby sent him here for until a doctor comes out to greet them and casts a knowing glance toward them.
Inside the office, Dean settles into a chair and lets Sam get his geek on explaining the symptoms. There's a lot of nodding and note-taking that Dean doesn't pay much attention to in favor of resting his eyes. He's so tired lately.
"Dean?"
Slowly, Dean opens his eyes to find Sam staring at him in concern. "Huh?"
"Dr. Squire wants to do an ultrasound."
"Oh."
It turns out that Dr. Squire only consults at the agency so they take a trip across town to his actual office. By the time they get there, Dean feels like his bladder is going to explode, so he practically runs into the place where a nurse smiles and points out the bathroom. His back hurts and as he's washing his hands he wants to cry for some unknown reason.
Everything starts to become startling real when the doctor takes them into a room with stirrups and monitors. Dean backs away from the equipment, shaking his head.
"Oh hell no. I am not getting up on that thing."
"Dean, this is really the only way to find out if you're pregnant since there isn't exactly a stick you can pee on. Besides, if you are, don't you want to make sure it's healthy?"
Sam and his damn logic. Dean grumbles under his breath as he makes his way to the table and lies down on it. This is entirely too humiliating, he thinks, as he follows the doctor's orders to unbutton his jeans and lift his shirt up.
The gel is cold and Dean squirms a bit until a nurse comes in and starts hooking him up to shit. Part of him is hoping he has like cancer that's manifesting itself in random symptoms and part of him really hopes he is pregnant. It's like the emotional apocalypse inside his head and he bites back laughter over the absurdity of it all.
All of them watch the monitors in amazement one monitor blips a heartbeat and the other shows what is clearly a baby. It's about then that Dean passes out.
Bobby, Sam and the doctor all agreed that Dean should stay in the area during the pregnancy so he and Sam rent out an apartment on the same block above an Italian deli. The smell of marinara sauce makes Dean want to puke so Sam goes out and buys tons of potpourris to cover it up. He also buys an assortment of sweatpants and giant shirts, none of which do much good to hide the ever-growing baby bump.
Due to Dean's "condition," as they all call it, he's not allowed to leave the apartment. The doctor does his check-ups in the living room and Sam takes care of everything else. It's embarrassing how many times he's cried in Sam's arms or begged him to rub his feet or made him go out at three in the morning to buy ice cream.
Sam seems to take it all in-stride like he's a doting husband or something. Dean guesses if things had turned out differently, he and Jess would've had a whole house full of kids by now. It's still disturbing, to say the least, to be the one that needs to be taken care of and watched over. Most days, it's hard for him to let Sam do it, but the settling down, not hunting thing is surprisingly easy.
Six months into it and the baby will not stop kicking. It wakes Dean up in the night, not that he's been getting much sleep anyway, and he's always torn between annoyance and delight. Like he has maternal instincts or some shit.
He has nothing better to do than read the baby books Sam not-so-subtly has left on the coffee table so he tries to follow what they say. Eating right and getting a bit of exercise. He even has Sam buy better headphones and puts that stupid iPod to use so that the baby can get some real taste in music right from the start.
"Okay," he says as he puts on some Metallica. "Maybe you're a little young for this but there're some good messages in the lyrics. Stuff about peace, even. Uncle Sammy would be proud."
The baby kicks through the whole song and Dean can't help but grin. "Maybe I'll name you Lars."
Except Dean doesn't know the sex of the baby, officially. He's refused to hear any gory details about his pregnancy; although he once heard the doctor saying something about his appendix and surgery. Sam has already started to buy baby stuff but it's all in gender-neutral yellow so that's no help. Part of him knows it's a boy though.
"You know you're kind of glowing, man," Sam says with amusement in the middle of their desperate attempt to read the instructions on how to put the crib together.
"Shut up." Dean blushes hard. "Or you can put this together yourself."
Besides the back pain and the swollen ankles and the gas and the mood swings and the nausea, there's one other problem that Dean's been trying to ignore for weeks now: he's horny. All the damn time. No amount of spanking the monkey or bustyasianbeauties.com seems to satisfy him. It's frustrating and his mood swings have proven that.
"Hey." Sam holds up his hands. "It was a compliment."
Dean grunts and then squints at the directions. "Next you're supposed to screw post S into joint D."
Bad choice of words. At least his circus tent of a top does a good job of hiding his hard on. This is awkward enough as it is.
Two weeks before his due date, the woman from nine months ago shows up in his room. She's wearing the same blue dress as before and she's smirking at Dean's baby bump. He tries to cover it up with his hands; not because he's ashamed but because he's afraid and is trying to protect the baby.
"So, Dean, like my little gift?"
"I…" Dean trails off because he doesn't know what to say. It's not like he wanted to be pregnant but the thought of losing the baby makes him sick inside.
"You want to keep it, don't you?" She laughs long and hard. "Even better."
Dean struggles to sit up and reach for his gun. "What the fuck, lady? Why did you do this?"
"You've bedded woman across the country and never once did you consider what might happen after you leave."
"I have!" Dean argues as his fingers search out the cool metal. "I've always used protection. It's always consensual and they know I'm leaving town. There're no illusions there."
"Maybe now but not when you were a teenager."
He pauses with his fingers brushing the butt of the gun. "What are you saying?"
"Albany, New York? I'm guessing you were around sixteen." Dean nods as horror creeps up his gut. "I was eighteen."
"No," Dean whispers.
"Yes." She moves closer. "I wasn't beautiful back then but you went after me and I thought that meant something. Then you left. And then I found out I was pregnant."
Dean wants to ask how she knows it was his and where's the baby now and how did she get him pregnant, but he just murmurs an apology instead. She seems to take it as sincere, which is how he meant it, and explains everything. The terror of telling her parents, the tough decision of keeping the baby or not, the abortion, the depression, the guilt and finally her PhD in ancient Egyptian studies which led her to a fertility curse she couldn't help herself from using.
It's a bit much to absorb. His head is reeling with information overload while his hands stay firmly planted over his baby bump.
"I can make it all go away, you know," she says quietly, her eyes on his hands instead of his face.
"No." Dean doesn't even hesitate. "I want to keep the baby."
She smiles and tentatively touches his belly. "I'm glad."
He moves her hand so she can feel the baby kick and smiles back at her. "Me too."
After she leaves, when Sam comes home, Dean tells him about her visit and the decision he made. Part of him is expecting Sam to tell him he's insane, but instead Sam just grins like an idiot at the news.
"I'm really going to be an uncle? This is totally awesome."
The birth is painful and messy and leaves him with a huge scar on his side, but he doesn't care one bit. Little John has his eyes and Sam's nose and Mary's coloring and John's temper and he's perfect. Except when he needs his diaper changed or spits up all over the place or screams through the whole night. But they're Winchesters and there's nothing they can't handle, together.