SPN fic: Fathers
Title::Fathers
Pairing:None
Word count:6600
Summary:Written for the free for all meme at mpregwinchester which is awesome. Come out and play with us! I choosed 2people2 prompt: Before Sam leaves for Stanford or right after, Dean comes out to John. John doesn't accept that his eldest Son is gay and kicks him out of the motel room where they are staying. A couple of years later, John and Dean cross paths again, but this time Dean is heavily pregnant. I just want a lot of Dean holding his stomach protectively and John feeling guilty for being an asshole to Dean when he needed him the most.
Warnings:NC-17 for mpreg and language.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. No profits made.
Thanks to:disneymagics, who did an amazing beta job on this.
A/N:I always find it extremely difficult to write John Winchester because I'm so conflicted about this character. So, this was a real challenge for me. I hope you like it and that's what you were looking for 2people2
The night before Sam left for Stanford, he and Dean got drunk. Dean told him - again - that he wished he would stay, but that he understood why he needed to leave.
“Come with me,” Sam said - again.
“Nah… Can’t. You know I can’t, dude. Dad needs me.”
Dean’s voice was slurred from the alcohol. The bar was almost empty. It would be closing time soon.
“Dean, you heard him, Dad told me that if I left, I should never come back. Just because I want to go to college. He would’ve punched me if you hadn’t been there.”
“Come on-”
“It’s true. You know it’s true. And when he finds out about you…”
Dean’s shoulders dropped defensively as if he’d been yell at. A painful expression flickered across his face.
“He doesn’t have to find out.” His voice was barely a murmur. He was staring into the bottom of his glass, pouting like a kid. It wasn’t funny. It was heartbreaking.
“You’ll spend your life lying about banging chicks and acting all macho in front of dad? Why the fuck would you do that to yourself? Damn it, Dean, your life isn’t difficult enough for you? We’re not living in the fifties anymore, and you have a right to-“
“Shut up,” Dean growled. “Sammy. Please, just…”
And Sam shut up. For five minutes. Then he asked again. “Come to Stanford with me, Dean.”
Dean laughed as if it was a joke, but he looked like he was about to burst into tears.
::: :::
Sam went to Stanford. For the first two weeks, he and Dean talked on the phone on an almost daily basis. Sam felt more alone and lost than he ever had in his entire life. Dean sounded sad even though Sam could tell he was trying to hide it, telling Sam silly stories about the hunts he’d been on and the bad dinner food he’d eaten. Then, the phone calls became less frequent. Sam was settling into his new life. Dean was going on with their dad’s vengeful quest because that was all he knew.
When Dean knocked on Sam’s door, three months later, they hadn’t spoken to each other in two weeks.
::: :::
Sam’s single efficiency dorm room was small, but at least he didn’t have to share it. It was a Friday evening. He was getting ready to go out with this sexy blond girl in one of his class - Jessica. He didn’t even know her last name, but if everything went well, he would have plenty of time to find out.
It’s funny, thinking back, but he actually recognised the knock on the door. Dean, he thought, then shook his head. What would his brother be doing here in California without calling to let him know he was stopping by first?
“Coming,” he said, and walked the two steps that separated him from the door.
“Yeah, no shit,” he heard as he turned the handle.
“Dean? What the hell are you doing here?” Sam’s growing smile faded as soon as he took in his brother’s appearance. He had seen Dean sporting all kinds of wound and bruises. Hell, he’d even seen him with half an eyebrow missing from a too enthusiastic salt and burn, but this…
Dean wasn’t wounded, not physically, but the devastation on his face was way worse than some cuts and bumps. There wasn’t a trace of cockiness left on his face. Only sadness and confusion. His eyes were swollen as if he’d been crying, and that was the most shocking thing of all. Sam couldn’t ever remember seeing his brother cry. Dean had always been a master at hiding his emotions, bottling them inside and keeping them there.
Now, it was like he wasn’t even trying. His shoulders were hunched, his face pale and his hands shaking slightly. He had dark circles under his eyes. There were no spikes in his hair and the slightly greasy strands hung down in his face in a way that was completely uncharacteristic. Instead of the leather jacket he had always worn from the first day John gave it to him, he had on an old cotton vest that might have been blue a long time ago.
Sam’s mouth dropped open. He felt like a cold hand had wrapped itself around his heart and was squeezing it hard.
“Dad?” He rasped in a tiny voice.
“Dad is fine,” Dean said, voice as dull and lifeless as his hair. “So this… this is where you live, geek boy?”
He took a step toward Sam, then start swaying on his feet. Sam’s reflexes kicked in and he grabbed Dean by the arm, guiding him to the bed. Dean sat there, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. “M’alright. Just a dizzy spell.”
“What happened Dean? Talk to me, man. Are you hurt? Was it a hunt? Is Dad…”
“Please. Just… give me a minute. And some water. I’d kill for a glass of water.”
It took Dean a few minutes to regain some of his color. He drank, took off his boots and settled on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. Sam did his best not to press him, but he was getting more nervous by the minute.
“Dad kicked me out,” Dean finally said, eyes focused on the ugly patterns on Sam’s comforter.
“Oh, shit, Dean.”
Sam sat on his desk chair, thinking of something to say. This wasn’t exactly the time to vomit all the anger and resentment he felt toward their father, not when Dean was so torn up.
“It’s my fucking fault,” Dean added. “I’ve been so damn stupid.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was Hell after you left, Sammy. Dad seemed constantly on the verge of snapping. He drank more. He spent days without talking and then… at some point he got better and things got back to normal. We went on hunts… the usual gigs, ya’ know?”
“Yeah.”
“And Dad was kind of… I don’t know, nicer than usual to me. Kept saying that he could count on me, that I’ve never let him down, that kind of shit. And I thought… I thought… Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”
He thought he could talk to him, Sam realized. He didn’t say it, but it was clear that Dean, who’d always been so sensitive to his father’s praise, who’d always lived in John’s shadow, sought his approval, had thought he could trust him.
“You told him you were gay,” Sam murmured when Dean apparently couldn’t go on.
Dean flinched at that, but nodded slowly. He had a small, bitter smile. His lower lip was trembling. “Yeah… couple of days ago, we’d just finished a hunt - a freaking nasty pagan god - and we’d ended the sonofabitch. Neither one of us got hurt and there were no casualties. We drank that night, Dad and me, and he was in a freakishly good mood, kept patting me on the shoulder and telling me we made a hell of a team. That I was a good son, ya know.”
A tear escaped Dean’s eye at this point, and it broke Sam’s heart. His brother gave an impatient huff and wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“So, I just said it. I said it, Sam. I told him I had something difficult to tell to him and that I was scared of disappointing him and the bastard just smiled and said that I wasn’t you, that I could tell him anything. So, I go like: Okay, I’m gay.”
“How did he react?”
“He laughed. Told me to stop messing with him. And I said: no, Dad, m’serious. I’m gay. I’ve known for a long time.”
“Then what?”
“Then he punched me. Caught me on the chin. We were both sitting and I fell off my chair but it was mainly because I lost my balance. He was too drunk to really hurt me.”
“The fucking bastard.”
Dean snorted. “Well, after that, he yelled for like… an hour straight. The things he said, Sammy… I went from the good son to a fucking fag who didn’t deserve to be in the same room with him.”
“Jesus.”
“He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pushed me into the wall. Told me to leave and never come back.”
Dean wiped his eyes again. “So, I packed my things and took the car and drove two days straight. Didn’t know where else to go, Sammy.” The last sentence was filled with shame, as if, somehow, the fact that he had thought about coming to his brother for some comfort was something he wasn’t allowed to do.
“I’m glad you did.”
Dean shrugged, but then he raised his head and looked Sam straight in the eyes for the first time since the beginning of their conversation.
“I’m tired of being ashamed of myself.”
“You don’t have to be.”
Another couple of tears slid down Dean’s pale, freckled cheeks. “But now, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do, Sammy?”
::: :::
They made a life for themselves. They rented a small apartment in town, Sam went on with his studies and Dean went on with hunting. It was all pretty simple in the end.
Bobby Singer, who had been at odds with John since he had pushed Dean away, hooked Dean up with a young hunter named Garth. The guy was downright strange, but he was a good hunter and Dean came to trust him. He would go off on hunts but he always came back to Stanford, to Sam. Sometimes, he would take a job in town and stay for a whole month. Sam’s friends liked him -one of them even went out with Dean a couple of times.
Sam himself, who’d missed his chance with the beautiful and blond Jessica, had a couple of one night stands, then a relationship that lasted three months, but he was in no hurry to settled down. He wasn’t sure he wanted to become a lawyer anymore - he was looking into ancient studies, something that could come in handy in the hunting world. He wasn’t so eager to get away from it anymore, not with Dean by his side, and liberated from their father’s hold on him. He even joined Dean sometimes, if the hunt wasn’t too far from Stanford and he had time. He found that he enjoyed hunting alone with his brother -and sometimes Garth- more than he ever had with John.
One year after Dean’s sudden reappearance into Sam’s life, the brothers learned that John had finally found the creature that had killed their mom. It had been a demon, very powerful. John had destroyed it but he’d lost his friends Caleb and Pastor Jim in the process. Bobby was the one to tell them the news and Sam and Dean mourned for the dead hunters who had been present in their life from as far back as they could remember. Dean didn’t talk for three days. That had always been his defense mechanism.
Dean changed a lot during that year. He dropped his macho act for one thing, and was more open about his feelings, about his sexuality, his sensitivity. To an external eye, they might have been subtle changes, but for Sam, it was everything. For the first time in years, Dean seemed to be at ease with himself. He still missed John - of course he did - the man had been his whole universe since he was a kid, but he seemed happy and content, settled in his new life.
::: :::
About six months after the death of the demon, Sam came home from school early. Some of his friends had asked him to join them for a studying session, but Sam had refused. He was worried about Dean. For the last month or so, his brother had seemed kind of under the weather, like he was fighting a virus that wouldn’t go away. He was pale, had lost some weight, would sometimes throw up when he woke up in the morning. All in all, he’d only been hunting once during that time and had come back completely exhausted, admitting to Sam that if it hadn’t been for Garth, he could’ve been severely injured.
When Sam entered the small apartment they were sharing, he heard a noise coming from the bathroom.
“Dean?”
There was no reply, only a series of hiccups and muffled groans. Sam knocked at the door more firmly.
“Dean, are you okay?”
“It’s open, you moron. Stop knocking and come in.”
The first thing Sam saw was Dean sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against the bathtub with his head in his hands.
“Dean? What’s going on?”
“I…”
Dean couldn’t go on. His hands were shaking badly. Then, Sam’s attention was drawn to the sink where three small plastic sticks were sitting next to each other. He knew what they were, had helped his friend Josie a year ago when she’d thought she could be pregnant.
Contrary to Josie’s result, these three tests each showed a little plus sign.
Positive. Sam gasped in shock. “You’re… you’re a bearer?”
Dean nodded.
“You never told me.”
“Geez, it’s not like I intended to get pregnant at all, Sam! I’ve been on the pill since I was freaking sixteen.”
“What? What happened then?”
“The hell if I know! Must’ve forgotten a dose or something.”
Sam grabbed one of the tests and stared at it in disbelief, as if he could make the plus sign turn into a minus one by sheer will.
“It’s… You know the pill isn’t that effective with male bearers. The statistics prove that-“
“Sam!” Dean raised his head for the first time, looking seriously pissed off. “I don’t need a fucking lecture about hormones and shit. What does it change? I’m already pregnant, damn it!”
“…Yeah.”
Sam sighed and sat on the floor next to Dean. He wished he could say something to comfort him, but he still couldn’t believe the reality of the situation and it left his mind strangely empty.
“Who’s the father?”
“As far as I know, some guy I met in Oregon when we were hunting that black dog. It was a one-time thing. I haven’t… I haven’t been with another guy since.”
“Oregon was more than two months ago, Dean!”
“I know that,” Dean snapped back. “What do you want me to say? It’s not like I have a freaking period every month, you know?”
“But there were other signs…”
“Yeah, there were…” Dean sighed, lowering his head toward his stomach. “Maybe I just didn’t want to know. And now…”
“What are you gonna do?” Sam asked as softly as possible.
“I don’t want to get rid of it,” Dean replied quickly. He blushed and laughed awkwardly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ll find another place to stay and I won’t bother you with-“
“Hey. What the hell are you talking about? Why would you leave? Fuck, if I’m gonna be an uncle, I want to be part of this baby’s life. I wanna help.”
“Yeah?”
Dean’s eyes became soft, with this faraway look that somehow accentuated their color. Sam didn’t think he realised that he’d put a hand on his stomach.
“Wish mom was still alive,” Dean murmured after a while.
“She would have been proud of you.”
“Dude, don’t make me cry,” Dean said, his voice shaking a little. “My hormones are going crazy.”
“I’m going to be an uncle,” Sam repeated, bumping shoulders with his brother.
“I guess so,” Dean smiled at him, his eyes full of unshed tears.
::: :::
Several months later, Dean looked like he was about to burst and there were still three more weeks to go. The pregnancy had gone well, without any complications except some back pain and water retention. The birth canal had extended in time and the baby was now in position. It would be a boy and, by the gynecologist’s measurements and the swell of Dean’s belly, a big baby boy.
Dean had put on around thirty-five pounds, but he didn’t look fat. His face was just barely rounder than before, his hips a bit larger, but that was about it. All of his baby weight seemed to be located solely on his belly.
He and Sam had worked out a plan that allowed Dean to receive a state pension for health reasons. It was legal, even if barely, and with this and Sam’s scholarship they managed to make it work, even though money was tight.
The apartment only had two bedrooms, but they had managed to transform a small corner of Dean’s room into a nursery with an old, but solid crib, a small changing table and a chest of drawers. Sam had bought a mobile with small stuffed cars and had fixed it over the bed. A dressing screen served as sort of a faux wall.
Everything Dean had bought was second hand stuff, except for the clothes, but all in all, Sam thought his nephew would have everything he needed. Stability and love. Yeah, thinking about his big brother giving birth to a brand new human being was transforming him into a sap.
His female friends were all so excited for him and had already offered to baby-sit any time Dean needed them to. Even Garth had come by a month before with some ugly stuffed animal that could be either a bear or a dog, in a bright yellowish color.
They were good. Sam took care of his brother, even if most of the time Dean pretended he didn’t need it. They had friends who accepted Dean as he was, even if male bearers were a rarity. Sam’s studies were going well. They were happy, even if that happiness had come in the most unusual way.
It was a cold autumn night, especially by California standards. Rain was falling hard, hitting the windows. Sam and Dean were in the living room, playing a zombie killing video game, and Sam was kicking Dean’s ass. His brother tired easily these days. He couldn’t sleep for more than three or four hours at a time, couldn’t find a comfortable position and was always short of breath because of the pressure of the uterus on his diaphragm. It was barely eight o’clock, but Dean was having trouble staying awake. Still, he insisted on continuing to play. He had barely complained at all during the pregnancy and was still keeping his stoic façade three weeks before his due date.
“Come on. The baby kicked and it distracted me,” he told Sam. “One more game.”
He winced as he tried to resettle himself. He was sitting on the couch with a cushion under his back and his legs stretched out in front of him, resting on the coffee table. He was barefoot, wearing an old pair of sweats, and the swelling of his ankles was easily visible. Dean’s cheeks were pink, his forehead covered in a fine film of sweat. He was wearing a white paternity t-shirt that was starting to get too tight, showing off the curve of his impressive belly, including the small jut of his navel.
“You sure?”
“Yeah I’m sure.” Dean said around a muffled yawn.
Sam was about to start the game up again when there was a knock at the door. Both brothers looked at each other, frowning.
“I’ll get it,” Sam said.
“Of course you’ll get it. It takes me about half an hour to stand up from the couch,” Dean joked.
Sam didn’t know what to do, how to react, when he opened the door. He blinked stupidly, thinking maybe he was imagining things. Then the anger rose until all the muscles of his body were so tense it hurt.
“Sammy,” John murmured.
He looked older than in Sam’s memory. Smaller, less… imposing.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Sam, what’s the-“
Sam froze, turning toward Dean who was standing in the kitchen a few feet away from the door. As Sam moved, Dean saw his father in the doorway. All the color drained from his face. He tried to grab a chair to hold onto. Sam was next to him in an instant, helping him to sit. Dean was shaking badly, his pupils were blown and he looked like he was having trouble breathing.
Of course, during this time, John had taken the opportunity to come in and close the door.
“So it’s true,” he said.
Dean flinched and, seemingly by instinct, both of his hands reached around his stomach, as if he wanted to protect his son from John’s voice.
“You should go,” Sam stated firmly. He didn’t like the way Dean had reacted. His brother was close to term. Anything stressful could trigger the start of labor.
“Yeah, you should,” Dean added, rubbing his belly in a constant motion.
“Listen, Dean. I didn’t come here to fight.”
“Oh really? Then why the hell did you come, Dad? Because as far as I know, I’m still a fag - a pregnant fag, as a matter of fact, and I don’t deserve to be your son. Isn’t that right?”
Sam stood between John and Dean, trying his best to shield his brother and control his own anger. After all, this wasn’t about him.
“I didn’t mean that. I was…” John sighed and pointed to a chair. “Can I sit down at least?”
Sam didn’t answer and remained standing in the way, but John bypassed him and dragged a chair out to sit at the table.
Dean stood up as quickly as possible, trying to keep his balance. He backed up slowly until his back hit the wall.
He was scared, Sam realized. His bad-ass stoic older brother was scared of their dad.
“Dean? Want me to throw him out?”
“Come on, Sammy! I’m your father, damn it!”
“No! No you’re not!” Dean yelled, holding his belly with both hands. “You threw us out of your life, both of us! You have no right to say you’re our father.”
“Dean… Listen, son-“
“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” Dean yelled, then froze, a grimace of pain on his face. He held his stomach tighter.
“Dean?” Sam walked the few steps that were separating them. Dean had his eyes closed and was breathing forcefully through his nose.
“Just a false one, Sammy.”
“What’s the matter with him?” John asked, concern clearly present in his voice.
“What’s the matter? Are you honestly asking that?” Sam couldn’t control himself anymore. It was like all the resentment he’d bottled up against their dad since Dean first came to live with him was pouring out of him. His vision sharpened and all he could see was John’s face, John’s expression, a blank mask of confusion.
“The matter is he’s freaking pregnant, Dad! Pregnant and living with his brother because his father is a bastard who used him all of his life! Who turned him into the perfect little soldier and when his son, who had scarified everything for him -when his son turned to him because he needed his support, what did the fucking bastard do? Huh?”
“Sam…” Dean’s voice was more a croak than anything else.
John kept looking Sam straight in the eyes, taking in everything his son had to say. “I let him down,” he finally whispered. “I let the both of you down.”
“This isn’t about me!”
“Sam,” Dean repeated, almost inaudibly, and something in his voice alarmed Sam.
Dean’s face was the color of ashes and he was slowly sliding down the wall, his hand under his belly, his mouth quirked into a grimace of pain.
“Think my water just broke,” Dean added.
Sam took a quick look. Dean’s sweatpants were a light shade of grey, and there was a darker spot around his crotch and on the inside of his thighs. It wasn’t water, though. Couldn’t be. It was blood. The smell of it slowly filled the room.
“Oh. I don’t feel too good,” Dean said as he continued to slide down to the floor, supported by Sam. Only then did he saw the tint of the liquid wetting his thighs. “Sammy?” he asked in a childish voice.
Sam was overwhelmed by everything that was happening. His head was ringing with a feeling of complete helplessness. He realised that his father was speaking on the phone, asking for an ambulance. John looked distraught.
“No, mam, I don’t know what… Could you just send the freaking ambulance and… Yeah. No, wait.”
John practically threw the phone at Sam where he was crouching in front of Dean. “Talk to them. I don’t know anything.”
Sam spoke to the operator, giving as much information as he could. He could see from the corner of his eyes that John was speaking to Dean who had his eyes shut tight, still holding onto his belly for dear life.
John extended a hand to Dean’s shoulder, to which Dean violently reacted, pushing him away. “Don’t you dare touch me! Don’t you dare pity me...”
“Son…”
“SHUT UP!” Dean yelled, then he gave a broken moan and bent his head down.
“Look, I have to hang up. Just… please hurry,” Sam hung up the phone and took his father by the arm, forcing him to stand up.
“Dad, just… get back. Fuck. Can’t you see what you’re doing to him?”
“Sam,” Dean whispered, and Sam went back to him, crouching in front of him, telling him that the ambulance was on the way, that everything would be okay, trying to convince himself at the same time.
John backed off to the door and Sam forgot about him, doing his best to reassure his brother.
The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Everything was a blur. There were questions asked, furniture moved out of the way to get the gurney inside, things done to Dean. As he was finally settled, he asked if Sam could ride with them.
“No problem, sir. Just try to keep as calm as possible.”
“M’not leaving you, Dean,” Sam stated, putting his sneakers on.
John was still standing in the outside hallway when the paramedics pushed the gurney past him.
“If something happens to my baby, I’ll kill you,” Dean growled at him with all the force that was left in him, and it was like something broke in John Winchester at that instant. Sam saw tears in his father’s eyes.
::: :::
After almost an hour of pacing in the emergency waiting room, biting the nails of his thumb until he’d drawn blood, Sam was finally called to the front desk. He hadn’t seen his father at the hospital and, frankly, he didn’t care if he ever saw him again.
The doctor who had seen Dean had good news. He was okay, and the baby was doing fine. He told Sam that some pregnant people, especially male bearers, experienced some bleeding toward the end of their pregnancies. Because of a series of especially strong Braxton-hicks contractions, probably caused by stress, the blood loss had occurred all at once and the mucus plug had been expelled as well.
Dean had to rest, but there were no signs of an early labor so far. They wanted to keep him for the night, to monitor him as well as the baby. Dean had asked if Sam could be allowed in the room, which had been granted although Sam was warned not to disturb him. His blood pressure was a little high and he had been given a light sedative to help him relax.
Sam thanked the doctor and followed a nurse to Dean’s room. He was lying in the dark in a half-sitting position, his belly more protuberant than ever, constricted by the pale hospital sheet and circled by a fetal monitor. Dean himself was hooked to a monitor with electrodes strings sticking out from under his pale blue gown. He smiled at Sam when he saw him, eyelids already drooping.
“Must think I’m a pussy,” he said in a tired voice.
“Why would I think that?”
“Asking for my baby brother to stay the night because I’m fucking scared.”
Dean gently rubbed a hand over his stomach, avoiding Sam’s gaze.
“Hey, I’m glad I’m here.” Sam pulled up a chair and sat as close to the bed as possible. “So that… that’s the heartbeat of my nephew,” he said, looking at the foetal heartbeat on the monitor screen.
“Yeah. Your nephew. I’ll have to come up with a name, ya know.”
“I still love Nicholas.”
“Shut up.” Dean smiled.
“Nikola Telsa was a highly underestimated genius who-“
“Sam. I can barely keep my eyes open. Do you really think I’m listening to you?”
“Okay. Right. I’ll shut up.”
They shared a thoughtful silence for a few minutes. Dean kept yawning and Sam thought he was already half asleep when he suddenly cleared his throat.
“So. The elephant in the room,” he whispered, looking out the window.
“I don’t know where he went. Honestly, Dean, I don’t care.”
“Why did he have to come, huh? We were alright, you and me. Everything was fine. I felt fine and then he has to pop up out of nowhere to see his gay son knocked up and ready to burst.”
“Dean. Don’t think about that now.”
Dean’s heartbeat had started to pick up as soon as he had started talking about John. Sam didn’t like it.
“The bastard had to come and freak the hell out of me,” Dean added almost as an afterthought.
“Hey. You’re tired. You need to rest. The baby needs you to rest. We’ll talk some more tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, but only because I can’t keep my eyes open,” Dean groaned. “Not because I’m giving in to your mother henning.”
“Of course not.”
Dean was asleep less than five minutes later and Sam managed to fall asleep as well in his too small, uncomfortable plastic chair.
Whispers woke him up sometime during the night. He blinked, winced as he felt the ache in his back and, as his eyes got accustomed to the darkness balanced by the soft light over Dean’s bed, he saw that John was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. He was talking to Dean in a soft, low voice. Sam’s first impulse was to drag him out of the room by the collar of his worn out shirt, but then he realised that Dean was speaking as well.
“I don’t want to hear it, Dad.”
“I know, Dean. I know, and you have every right to be angry.
“Damn straight.”
“Listen, just say it and I’m out of this room. I swear. I won’t bother you, or your brother, ever again.”
Dean’s hands cradled his stomach, but he kept silent. It seemed to Sam as though maybe… just maybe, even if he denied it, he needed to hear what John had to say to him.
“You know, thinking back to all those years on the road with you boys, I realize what a lousy father I was. I… damn, this is hard. I thought that I had good reasons for raising you the way I did. I thought I was doing it so that you boys would be able to face whatever came your way… But that was a lie. Something I kept telling myself to be able to look myself in the mirror each morning.”
“Dad. If you wanna talk about yourself, there are shrinks for that. Don’t lay your crap on me,” Dean said coldly and Sam repressed a smile, thinking that Dean had come a long way from a young man desperate for his father’s approval, to a man more confident in himself, in his own strength and dreams and personal goals.
“You’re right,” John said. This isn’t about me. It’s about what I did to you. Dean… It’s like… you were an extension of myself, like I couldn’t understand that you could exist out of my eyesight. After Sam left, I was in a bad place and… when you told me about your… difference…”
“Fuck, dad, I’m gay. You won’t turn into one just by saying the word.”
John cleared his throat. “When you told me you were gay, all I could feel was betrayal. I’ve always known Sammy was different from me, that he wouldn’t stick with me forever, but you… Once I found out, I felt like you’d never been the son I thought I had, the son I could count on. And I thought there was no way a… gay person could be an effective hunter, that they weren’t manly enough.”
“Geez, you’re like a caveman.”
“Yeah and, at the time, I was also a selfish bastard because as much as I pounded it into your head that family came first and that we needed to be there for each other, the most important thing to me - the only important thing - was to get my revenge on the thing that killed Mary. And that, that made me a very short-sighted man, a very bad father.”
There was a pause and Sam thought he heard John sniffing, but with his head bent Sam couldn’t see if he was really crying.
“The year after you left is kind of a blur, ya know? I didn’t let myself think about you, or about Sam, and all the energy I had, I used to track the thing that killed your mom. And then… and then suddenly the demon was dead and I found myself without a goal, my life held no meaning.”
“Hey. Get to the point. I’m tired, Dad. I’m so, so tired…”
“It didn’t bring your mother back-“
“Yeah, no shit.”
“It didn’t feel like a victory. There I was, with my friends dead and my kids estranged and it didn’t even felt like I’d accomplished anything. And I suddenly got how cruel I’d been to you, how horrible. You were always there for me, Dean. Sam is right, ya know? You sacrificed everything and I pushed you away the first time you found the courage to tell me about yourself. You needed me back then, so much, and I wasn’t there for you. I never really was, as a matter of fact.”
It was Dean’s turn to muffle a sniff and a hiccup. Sam almost spoke then. He hated hearing his brother’s distress.
“I kept hunting because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I missed you guys so much. I missed my sons, but I couldn’t go to you and hope that you would just forget how I’d treated you. But then, then I heard some hunters talking about your… condition.”
“Pregnancy,” Dean cut in, his voice harsh. “I’m having a baby, Dad.”
“Yeah well… I thought about you, couldn’t get it out of my mind. I heard pregnancies were difficult for male bearers and I needed to make sure you were okay, needed to tell you how sorry I am, Dean. I can’t even… there is nothing I can say or do that will fix what I’ve broken. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.
There was a long pause. Dean lowered the sheets around his belly and resettled his hospital gown. John’s gaze was drawn to his son’s swollen stomach, and a maelstrom of inexplicable emotions passed over his face.
“I… okay, you’ve said what you wanted to say,” Dean whispered, turning his head away from John. “What now? What do you want from me, Dad?”
“I want…” John scratched the back of his head, a gesture that reminded Sam so much of Dean it was actually painful.
“I want to be part of your life. I want to get to know my grandchild. I wanna make amends for all the wrong I’ve done to you.”
Dean sighed and rubbed his belly once more. “You know, one year ago, I think I would have run back to you if you’d wanted me to. Yeah, that’s how screwed up I was. But fuck, I’m different now. You’ve hurt me so bad. You’ve let me down… I can’t even begin to think what I want to do with your freaking apologies. One thing’s certain though. Right now, I don’t have any energy to spend on you. I’m about to give birth, you get that? I’m going to have a son. My kid. And that’s all that matters for now.”
Dean swallowed loudly, but he kept his composure. He was holding his own. “I don’t know… maybe later, maybe one day I’ll be ready to forgive you. But not now. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
There wasn’t anything left to say after that. John slowly stood up and he had the stance of an old man: shoulders stooped, trying to get his balance. He dropped a piece of paper on the nightstand. “It’s okay, Dean. You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” he said in a gentle voice. “This is my current number and I swear to God you and Sam will be able to reach me anytime, if you need to - or want to. Just… maybe ask Sam to call me when your baby is born, so that I know you’re both alright.”
“I can’t promise he will.”
“I know. Take care of yourself, Dean. Your mother would be so fucking proud of you.”
With those words, John left the room. Dean cleared his throat a couple of time and shifted on the bed so that he was lying on his side, facing Sam.
“I know you’re awake, dude.”
“M’sorry. I didn’t mean to listen to your conversation. How the hell did he get in?”
“He’s a freaking Winchester. No nurse is going to forbid him to do something,” Dean said in a voice full of sarcasm.
“Are you okay, Dean?”
“No. Damn it, I’m not okay! Not okay at all. Why did he have to come back?”
“He’s our father. I mean, like it or not, he is.”
“Well, I didn’t need that.”
“I know, dude. And I think he knows now too. You were awesome, Dean. The way you spoke to him…”
Dean bit his lips, hard. His chin was wobbling and his eyes were getting wet. He groaned in exasperation.
“Now, could you go get a coffee or something, so that the freaking pregnant wuss can cry in peace?”
Dean smiled at Sam. Sam smiled back. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”
::: :::
Two weeks later, Dean gave birth to a healthy boy who weighed eight pounds ten ounces. It was a long labor. Dean yelled at the nurse, yelled at Sam, and swore on his mother’s grave that he would never, ever have sex again. Still, he behaved like the incredibly courageous man he’d always been.
The boy was named James, in honor of Jimmy Page - who, Dean pointed out to Sam, was as much a genius as that Tulsa guy. Still, he let Sam have his way when it came to the middle name.
James Nicholas Winchester had arrived into the world. Sam didn’t know if he’d get to know his grandfather one day, but Dean’s new mantra was to take it one day at a time, and Sam thought that was a good enough attitude to live by.
The End
Pairing:None
Word count:6600
Summary:Written for the free for all meme at mpregwinchester which is awesome. Come out and play with us! I choosed 2people2 prompt: Before Sam leaves for Stanford or right after, Dean comes out to John. John doesn't accept that his eldest Son is gay and kicks him out of the motel room where they are staying. A couple of years later, John and Dean cross paths again, but this time Dean is heavily pregnant. I just want a lot of Dean holding his stomach protectively and John feeling guilty for being an asshole to Dean when he needed him the most.
Warnings:NC-17 for mpreg and language.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. No profits made.
Thanks to:disneymagics, who did an amazing beta job on this.
A/N:I always find it extremely difficult to write John Winchester because I'm so conflicted about this character. So, this was a real challenge for me. I hope you like it and that's what you were looking for 2people2
The night before Sam left for Stanford, he and Dean got drunk. Dean told him - again - that he wished he would stay, but that he understood why he needed to leave.
“Come with me,” Sam said - again.
“Nah… Can’t. You know I can’t, dude. Dad needs me.”
Dean’s voice was slurred from the alcohol. The bar was almost empty. It would be closing time soon.
“Dean, you heard him, Dad told me that if I left, I should never come back. Just because I want to go to college. He would’ve punched me if you hadn’t been there.”
“Come on-”
“It’s true. You know it’s true. And when he finds out about you…”
Dean’s shoulders dropped defensively as if he’d been yell at. A painful expression flickered across his face.
“He doesn’t have to find out.” His voice was barely a murmur. He was staring into the bottom of his glass, pouting like a kid. It wasn’t funny. It was heartbreaking.
“You’ll spend your life lying about banging chicks and acting all macho in front of dad? Why the fuck would you do that to yourself? Damn it, Dean, your life isn’t difficult enough for you? We’re not living in the fifties anymore, and you have a right to-“
“Shut up,” Dean growled. “Sammy. Please, just…”
And Sam shut up. For five minutes. Then he asked again. “Come to Stanford with me, Dean.”
Dean laughed as if it was a joke, but he looked like he was about to burst into tears.
::: :::
Sam went to Stanford. For the first two weeks, he and Dean talked on the phone on an almost daily basis. Sam felt more alone and lost than he ever had in his entire life. Dean sounded sad even though Sam could tell he was trying to hide it, telling Sam silly stories about the hunts he’d been on and the bad dinner food he’d eaten. Then, the phone calls became less frequent. Sam was settling into his new life. Dean was going on with their dad’s vengeful quest because that was all he knew.
When Dean knocked on Sam’s door, three months later, they hadn’t spoken to each other in two weeks.
::: :::
Sam’s single efficiency dorm room was small, but at least he didn’t have to share it. It was a Friday evening. He was getting ready to go out with this sexy blond girl in one of his class - Jessica. He didn’t even know her last name, but if everything went well, he would have plenty of time to find out.
It’s funny, thinking back, but he actually recognised the knock on the door. Dean, he thought, then shook his head. What would his brother be doing here in California without calling to let him know he was stopping by first?
“Coming,” he said, and walked the two steps that separated him from the door.
“Yeah, no shit,” he heard as he turned the handle.
“Dean? What the hell are you doing here?” Sam’s growing smile faded as soon as he took in his brother’s appearance. He had seen Dean sporting all kinds of wound and bruises. Hell, he’d even seen him with half an eyebrow missing from a too enthusiastic salt and burn, but this…
Dean wasn’t wounded, not physically, but the devastation on his face was way worse than some cuts and bumps. There wasn’t a trace of cockiness left on his face. Only sadness and confusion. His eyes were swollen as if he’d been crying, and that was the most shocking thing of all. Sam couldn’t ever remember seeing his brother cry. Dean had always been a master at hiding his emotions, bottling them inside and keeping them there.
Now, it was like he wasn’t even trying. His shoulders were hunched, his face pale and his hands shaking slightly. He had dark circles under his eyes. There were no spikes in his hair and the slightly greasy strands hung down in his face in a way that was completely uncharacteristic. Instead of the leather jacket he had always worn from the first day John gave it to him, he had on an old cotton vest that might have been blue a long time ago.
Sam’s mouth dropped open. He felt like a cold hand had wrapped itself around his heart and was squeezing it hard.
“Dad?” He rasped in a tiny voice.
“Dad is fine,” Dean said, voice as dull and lifeless as his hair. “So this… this is where you live, geek boy?”
He took a step toward Sam, then start swaying on his feet. Sam’s reflexes kicked in and he grabbed Dean by the arm, guiding him to the bed. Dean sat there, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. “M’alright. Just a dizzy spell.”
“What happened Dean? Talk to me, man. Are you hurt? Was it a hunt? Is Dad…”
“Please. Just… give me a minute. And some water. I’d kill for a glass of water.”
It took Dean a few minutes to regain some of his color. He drank, took off his boots and settled on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. Sam did his best not to press him, but he was getting more nervous by the minute.
“Dad kicked me out,” Dean finally said, eyes focused on the ugly patterns on Sam’s comforter.
“Oh, shit, Dean.”
Sam sat on his desk chair, thinking of something to say. This wasn’t exactly the time to vomit all the anger and resentment he felt toward their father, not when Dean was so torn up.
“It’s my fucking fault,” Dean added. “I’ve been so damn stupid.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was Hell after you left, Sammy. Dad seemed constantly on the verge of snapping. He drank more. He spent days without talking and then… at some point he got better and things got back to normal. We went on hunts… the usual gigs, ya’ know?”
“Yeah.”
“And Dad was kind of… I don’t know, nicer than usual to me. Kept saying that he could count on me, that I’ve never let him down, that kind of shit. And I thought… I thought… Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”
He thought he could talk to him, Sam realized. He didn’t say it, but it was clear that Dean, who’d always been so sensitive to his father’s praise, who’d always lived in John’s shadow, sought his approval, had thought he could trust him.
“You told him you were gay,” Sam murmured when Dean apparently couldn’t go on.
Dean flinched at that, but nodded slowly. He had a small, bitter smile. His lower lip was trembling. “Yeah… couple of days ago, we’d just finished a hunt - a freaking nasty pagan god - and we’d ended the sonofabitch. Neither one of us got hurt and there were no casualties. We drank that night, Dad and me, and he was in a freakishly good mood, kept patting me on the shoulder and telling me we made a hell of a team. That I was a good son, ya know.”
A tear escaped Dean’s eye at this point, and it broke Sam’s heart. His brother gave an impatient huff and wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“So, I just said it. I said it, Sam. I told him I had something difficult to tell to him and that I was scared of disappointing him and the bastard just smiled and said that I wasn’t you, that I could tell him anything. So, I go like: Okay, I’m gay.”
“How did he react?”
“He laughed. Told me to stop messing with him. And I said: no, Dad, m’serious. I’m gay. I’ve known for a long time.”
“Then what?”
“Then he punched me. Caught me on the chin. We were both sitting and I fell off my chair but it was mainly because I lost my balance. He was too drunk to really hurt me.”
“The fucking bastard.”
Dean snorted. “Well, after that, he yelled for like… an hour straight. The things he said, Sammy… I went from the good son to a fucking fag who didn’t deserve to be in the same room with him.”
“Jesus.”
“He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pushed me into the wall. Told me to leave and never come back.”
Dean wiped his eyes again. “So, I packed my things and took the car and drove two days straight. Didn’t know where else to go, Sammy.” The last sentence was filled with shame, as if, somehow, the fact that he had thought about coming to his brother for some comfort was something he wasn’t allowed to do.
“I’m glad you did.”
Dean shrugged, but then he raised his head and looked Sam straight in the eyes for the first time since the beginning of their conversation.
“I’m tired of being ashamed of myself.”
“You don’t have to be.”
Another couple of tears slid down Dean’s pale, freckled cheeks. “But now, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do, Sammy?”
::: :::
They made a life for themselves. They rented a small apartment in town, Sam went on with his studies and Dean went on with hunting. It was all pretty simple in the end.
Bobby Singer, who had been at odds with John since he had pushed Dean away, hooked Dean up with a young hunter named Garth. The guy was downright strange, but he was a good hunter and Dean came to trust him. He would go off on hunts but he always came back to Stanford, to Sam. Sometimes, he would take a job in town and stay for a whole month. Sam’s friends liked him -one of them even went out with Dean a couple of times.
Sam himself, who’d missed his chance with the beautiful and blond Jessica, had a couple of one night stands, then a relationship that lasted three months, but he was in no hurry to settled down. He wasn’t sure he wanted to become a lawyer anymore - he was looking into ancient studies, something that could come in handy in the hunting world. He wasn’t so eager to get away from it anymore, not with Dean by his side, and liberated from their father’s hold on him. He even joined Dean sometimes, if the hunt wasn’t too far from Stanford and he had time. He found that he enjoyed hunting alone with his brother -and sometimes Garth- more than he ever had with John.
One year after Dean’s sudden reappearance into Sam’s life, the brothers learned that John had finally found the creature that had killed their mom. It had been a demon, very powerful. John had destroyed it but he’d lost his friends Caleb and Pastor Jim in the process. Bobby was the one to tell them the news and Sam and Dean mourned for the dead hunters who had been present in their life from as far back as they could remember. Dean didn’t talk for three days. That had always been his defense mechanism.
Dean changed a lot during that year. He dropped his macho act for one thing, and was more open about his feelings, about his sexuality, his sensitivity. To an external eye, they might have been subtle changes, but for Sam, it was everything. For the first time in years, Dean seemed to be at ease with himself. He still missed John - of course he did - the man had been his whole universe since he was a kid, but he seemed happy and content, settled in his new life.
::: :::
About six months after the death of the demon, Sam came home from school early. Some of his friends had asked him to join them for a studying session, but Sam had refused. He was worried about Dean. For the last month or so, his brother had seemed kind of under the weather, like he was fighting a virus that wouldn’t go away. He was pale, had lost some weight, would sometimes throw up when he woke up in the morning. All in all, he’d only been hunting once during that time and had come back completely exhausted, admitting to Sam that if it hadn’t been for Garth, he could’ve been severely injured.
When Sam entered the small apartment they were sharing, he heard a noise coming from the bathroom.
“Dean?”
There was no reply, only a series of hiccups and muffled groans. Sam knocked at the door more firmly.
“Dean, are you okay?”
“It’s open, you moron. Stop knocking and come in.”
The first thing Sam saw was Dean sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against the bathtub with his head in his hands.
“Dean? What’s going on?”
“I…”
Dean couldn’t go on. His hands were shaking badly. Then, Sam’s attention was drawn to the sink where three small plastic sticks were sitting next to each other. He knew what they were, had helped his friend Josie a year ago when she’d thought she could be pregnant.
Contrary to Josie’s result, these three tests each showed a little plus sign.
Positive. Sam gasped in shock. “You’re… you’re a bearer?”
Dean nodded.
“You never told me.”
“Geez, it’s not like I intended to get pregnant at all, Sam! I’ve been on the pill since I was freaking sixteen.”
“What? What happened then?”
“The hell if I know! Must’ve forgotten a dose or something.”
Sam grabbed one of the tests and stared at it in disbelief, as if he could make the plus sign turn into a minus one by sheer will.
“It’s… You know the pill isn’t that effective with male bearers. The statistics prove that-“
“Sam!” Dean raised his head for the first time, looking seriously pissed off. “I don’t need a fucking lecture about hormones and shit. What does it change? I’m already pregnant, damn it!”
“…Yeah.”
Sam sighed and sat on the floor next to Dean. He wished he could say something to comfort him, but he still couldn’t believe the reality of the situation and it left his mind strangely empty.
“Who’s the father?”
“As far as I know, some guy I met in Oregon when we were hunting that black dog. It was a one-time thing. I haven’t… I haven’t been with another guy since.”
“Oregon was more than two months ago, Dean!”
“I know that,” Dean snapped back. “What do you want me to say? It’s not like I have a freaking period every month, you know?”
“But there were other signs…”
“Yeah, there were…” Dean sighed, lowering his head toward his stomach. “Maybe I just didn’t want to know. And now…”
“What are you gonna do?” Sam asked as softly as possible.
“I don’t want to get rid of it,” Dean replied quickly. He blushed and laughed awkwardly, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ll find another place to stay and I won’t bother you with-“
“Hey. What the hell are you talking about? Why would you leave? Fuck, if I’m gonna be an uncle, I want to be part of this baby’s life. I wanna help.”
“Yeah?”
Dean’s eyes became soft, with this faraway look that somehow accentuated their color. Sam didn’t think he realised that he’d put a hand on his stomach.
“Wish mom was still alive,” Dean murmured after a while.
“She would have been proud of you.”
“Dude, don’t make me cry,” Dean said, his voice shaking a little. “My hormones are going crazy.”
“I’m going to be an uncle,” Sam repeated, bumping shoulders with his brother.
“I guess so,” Dean smiled at him, his eyes full of unshed tears.
::: :::
Several months later, Dean looked like he was about to burst and there were still three more weeks to go. The pregnancy had gone well, without any complications except some back pain and water retention. The birth canal had extended in time and the baby was now in position. It would be a boy and, by the gynecologist’s measurements and the swell of Dean’s belly, a big baby boy.
Dean had put on around thirty-five pounds, but he didn’t look fat. His face was just barely rounder than before, his hips a bit larger, but that was about it. All of his baby weight seemed to be located solely on his belly.
He and Sam had worked out a plan that allowed Dean to receive a state pension for health reasons. It was legal, even if barely, and with this and Sam’s scholarship they managed to make it work, even though money was tight.
The apartment only had two bedrooms, but they had managed to transform a small corner of Dean’s room into a nursery with an old, but solid crib, a small changing table and a chest of drawers. Sam had bought a mobile with small stuffed cars and had fixed it over the bed. A dressing screen served as sort of a faux wall.
Everything Dean had bought was second hand stuff, except for the clothes, but all in all, Sam thought his nephew would have everything he needed. Stability and love. Yeah, thinking about his big brother giving birth to a brand new human being was transforming him into a sap.
His female friends were all so excited for him and had already offered to baby-sit any time Dean needed them to. Even Garth had come by a month before with some ugly stuffed animal that could be either a bear or a dog, in a bright yellowish color.
They were good. Sam took care of his brother, even if most of the time Dean pretended he didn’t need it. They had friends who accepted Dean as he was, even if male bearers were a rarity. Sam’s studies were going well. They were happy, even if that happiness had come in the most unusual way.
It was a cold autumn night, especially by California standards. Rain was falling hard, hitting the windows. Sam and Dean were in the living room, playing a zombie killing video game, and Sam was kicking Dean’s ass. His brother tired easily these days. He couldn’t sleep for more than three or four hours at a time, couldn’t find a comfortable position and was always short of breath because of the pressure of the uterus on his diaphragm. It was barely eight o’clock, but Dean was having trouble staying awake. Still, he insisted on continuing to play. He had barely complained at all during the pregnancy and was still keeping his stoic façade three weeks before his due date.
“Come on. The baby kicked and it distracted me,” he told Sam. “One more game.”
He winced as he tried to resettle himself. He was sitting on the couch with a cushion under his back and his legs stretched out in front of him, resting on the coffee table. He was barefoot, wearing an old pair of sweats, and the swelling of his ankles was easily visible. Dean’s cheeks were pink, his forehead covered in a fine film of sweat. He was wearing a white paternity t-shirt that was starting to get too tight, showing off the curve of his impressive belly, including the small jut of his navel.
“You sure?”
“Yeah I’m sure.” Dean said around a muffled yawn.
Sam was about to start the game up again when there was a knock at the door. Both brothers looked at each other, frowning.
“I’ll get it,” Sam said.
“Of course you’ll get it. It takes me about half an hour to stand up from the couch,” Dean joked.
Sam didn’t know what to do, how to react, when he opened the door. He blinked stupidly, thinking maybe he was imagining things. Then the anger rose until all the muscles of his body were so tense it hurt.
“Sammy,” John murmured.
He looked older than in Sam’s memory. Smaller, less… imposing.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Sam, what’s the-“
Sam froze, turning toward Dean who was standing in the kitchen a few feet away from the door. As Sam moved, Dean saw his father in the doorway. All the color drained from his face. He tried to grab a chair to hold onto. Sam was next to him in an instant, helping him to sit. Dean was shaking badly, his pupils were blown and he looked like he was having trouble breathing.
Of course, during this time, John had taken the opportunity to come in and close the door.
“So it’s true,” he said.
Dean flinched and, seemingly by instinct, both of his hands reached around his stomach, as if he wanted to protect his son from John’s voice.
“You should go,” Sam stated firmly. He didn’t like the way Dean had reacted. His brother was close to term. Anything stressful could trigger the start of labor.
“Yeah, you should,” Dean added, rubbing his belly in a constant motion.
“Listen, Dean. I didn’t come here to fight.”
“Oh really? Then why the hell did you come, Dad? Because as far as I know, I’m still a fag - a pregnant fag, as a matter of fact, and I don’t deserve to be your son. Isn’t that right?”
Sam stood between John and Dean, trying his best to shield his brother and control his own anger. After all, this wasn’t about him.
“I didn’t mean that. I was…” John sighed and pointed to a chair. “Can I sit down at least?”
Sam didn’t answer and remained standing in the way, but John bypassed him and dragged a chair out to sit at the table.
Dean stood up as quickly as possible, trying to keep his balance. He backed up slowly until his back hit the wall.
He was scared, Sam realized. His bad-ass stoic older brother was scared of their dad.
“Dean? Want me to throw him out?”
“Come on, Sammy! I’m your father, damn it!”
“No! No you’re not!” Dean yelled, holding his belly with both hands. “You threw us out of your life, both of us! You have no right to say you’re our father.”
“Dean… Listen, son-“
“STOP CALLING ME THAT!” Dean yelled, then froze, a grimace of pain on his face. He held his stomach tighter.
“Dean?” Sam walked the few steps that were separating them. Dean had his eyes closed and was breathing forcefully through his nose.
“Just a false one, Sammy.”
“What’s the matter with him?” John asked, concern clearly present in his voice.
“What’s the matter? Are you honestly asking that?” Sam couldn’t control himself anymore. It was like all the resentment he’d bottled up against their dad since Dean first came to live with him was pouring out of him. His vision sharpened and all he could see was John’s face, John’s expression, a blank mask of confusion.
“The matter is he’s freaking pregnant, Dad! Pregnant and living with his brother because his father is a bastard who used him all of his life! Who turned him into the perfect little soldier and when his son, who had scarified everything for him -when his son turned to him because he needed his support, what did the fucking bastard do? Huh?”
“Sam…” Dean’s voice was more a croak than anything else.
John kept looking Sam straight in the eyes, taking in everything his son had to say. “I let him down,” he finally whispered. “I let the both of you down.”
“This isn’t about me!”
“Sam,” Dean repeated, almost inaudibly, and something in his voice alarmed Sam.
Dean’s face was the color of ashes and he was slowly sliding down the wall, his hand under his belly, his mouth quirked into a grimace of pain.
“Think my water just broke,” Dean added.
Sam took a quick look. Dean’s sweatpants were a light shade of grey, and there was a darker spot around his crotch and on the inside of his thighs. It wasn’t water, though. Couldn’t be. It was blood. The smell of it slowly filled the room.
“Oh. I don’t feel too good,” Dean said as he continued to slide down to the floor, supported by Sam. Only then did he saw the tint of the liquid wetting his thighs. “Sammy?” he asked in a childish voice.
Sam was overwhelmed by everything that was happening. His head was ringing with a feeling of complete helplessness. He realised that his father was speaking on the phone, asking for an ambulance. John looked distraught.
“No, mam, I don’t know what… Could you just send the freaking ambulance and… Yeah. No, wait.”
John practically threw the phone at Sam where he was crouching in front of Dean. “Talk to them. I don’t know anything.”
Sam spoke to the operator, giving as much information as he could. He could see from the corner of his eyes that John was speaking to Dean who had his eyes shut tight, still holding onto his belly for dear life.
John extended a hand to Dean’s shoulder, to which Dean violently reacted, pushing him away. “Don’t you dare touch me! Don’t you dare pity me...”
“Son…”
“SHUT UP!” Dean yelled, then he gave a broken moan and bent his head down.
“Look, I have to hang up. Just… please hurry,” Sam hung up the phone and took his father by the arm, forcing him to stand up.
“Dad, just… get back. Fuck. Can’t you see what you’re doing to him?”
“Sam,” Dean whispered, and Sam went back to him, crouching in front of him, telling him that the ambulance was on the way, that everything would be okay, trying to convince himself at the same time.
John backed off to the door and Sam forgot about him, doing his best to reassure his brother.
The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. Everything was a blur. There were questions asked, furniture moved out of the way to get the gurney inside, things done to Dean. As he was finally settled, he asked if Sam could ride with them.
“No problem, sir. Just try to keep as calm as possible.”
“M’not leaving you, Dean,” Sam stated, putting his sneakers on.
John was still standing in the outside hallway when the paramedics pushed the gurney past him.
“If something happens to my baby, I’ll kill you,” Dean growled at him with all the force that was left in him, and it was like something broke in John Winchester at that instant. Sam saw tears in his father’s eyes.
::: :::
After almost an hour of pacing in the emergency waiting room, biting the nails of his thumb until he’d drawn blood, Sam was finally called to the front desk. He hadn’t seen his father at the hospital and, frankly, he didn’t care if he ever saw him again.
The doctor who had seen Dean had good news. He was okay, and the baby was doing fine. He told Sam that some pregnant people, especially male bearers, experienced some bleeding toward the end of their pregnancies. Because of a series of especially strong Braxton-hicks contractions, probably caused by stress, the blood loss had occurred all at once and the mucus plug had been expelled as well.
Dean had to rest, but there were no signs of an early labor so far. They wanted to keep him for the night, to monitor him as well as the baby. Dean had asked if Sam could be allowed in the room, which had been granted although Sam was warned not to disturb him. His blood pressure was a little high and he had been given a light sedative to help him relax.
Sam thanked the doctor and followed a nurse to Dean’s room. He was lying in the dark in a half-sitting position, his belly more protuberant than ever, constricted by the pale hospital sheet and circled by a fetal monitor. Dean himself was hooked to a monitor with electrodes strings sticking out from under his pale blue gown. He smiled at Sam when he saw him, eyelids already drooping.
“Must think I’m a pussy,” he said in a tired voice.
“Why would I think that?”
“Asking for my baby brother to stay the night because I’m fucking scared.”
Dean gently rubbed a hand over his stomach, avoiding Sam’s gaze.
“Hey, I’m glad I’m here.” Sam pulled up a chair and sat as close to the bed as possible. “So that… that’s the heartbeat of my nephew,” he said, looking at the foetal heartbeat on the monitor screen.
“Yeah. Your nephew. I’ll have to come up with a name, ya know.”
“I still love Nicholas.”
“Shut up.” Dean smiled.
“Nikola Telsa was a highly underestimated genius who-“
“Sam. I can barely keep my eyes open. Do you really think I’m listening to you?”
“Okay. Right. I’ll shut up.”
They shared a thoughtful silence for a few minutes. Dean kept yawning and Sam thought he was already half asleep when he suddenly cleared his throat.
“So. The elephant in the room,” he whispered, looking out the window.
“I don’t know where he went. Honestly, Dean, I don’t care.”
“Why did he have to come, huh? We were alright, you and me. Everything was fine. I felt fine and then he has to pop up out of nowhere to see his gay son knocked up and ready to burst.”
“Dean. Don’t think about that now.”
Dean’s heartbeat had started to pick up as soon as he had started talking about John. Sam didn’t like it.
“The bastard had to come and freak the hell out of me,” Dean added almost as an afterthought.
“Hey. You’re tired. You need to rest. The baby needs you to rest. We’ll talk some more tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay, but only because I can’t keep my eyes open,” Dean groaned. “Not because I’m giving in to your mother henning.”
“Of course not.”
Dean was asleep less than five minutes later and Sam managed to fall asleep as well in his too small, uncomfortable plastic chair.
Whispers woke him up sometime during the night. He blinked, winced as he felt the ache in his back and, as his eyes got accustomed to the darkness balanced by the soft light over Dean’s bed, he saw that John was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. He was talking to Dean in a soft, low voice. Sam’s first impulse was to drag him out of the room by the collar of his worn out shirt, but then he realised that Dean was speaking as well.
“I don’t want to hear it, Dad.”
“I know, Dean. I know, and you have every right to be angry.
“Damn straight.”
“Listen, just say it and I’m out of this room. I swear. I won’t bother you, or your brother, ever again.”
Dean’s hands cradled his stomach, but he kept silent. It seemed to Sam as though maybe… just maybe, even if he denied it, he needed to hear what John had to say to him.
“You know, thinking back to all those years on the road with you boys, I realize what a lousy father I was. I… damn, this is hard. I thought that I had good reasons for raising you the way I did. I thought I was doing it so that you boys would be able to face whatever came your way… But that was a lie. Something I kept telling myself to be able to look myself in the mirror each morning.”
“Dad. If you wanna talk about yourself, there are shrinks for that. Don’t lay your crap on me,” Dean said coldly and Sam repressed a smile, thinking that Dean had come a long way from a young man desperate for his father’s approval, to a man more confident in himself, in his own strength and dreams and personal goals.
“You’re right,” John said. This isn’t about me. It’s about what I did to you. Dean… It’s like… you were an extension of myself, like I couldn’t understand that you could exist out of my eyesight. After Sam left, I was in a bad place and… when you told me about your… difference…”
“Fuck, dad, I’m gay. You won’t turn into one just by saying the word.”
John cleared his throat. “When you told me you were gay, all I could feel was betrayal. I’ve always known Sammy was different from me, that he wouldn’t stick with me forever, but you… Once I found out, I felt like you’d never been the son I thought I had, the son I could count on. And I thought there was no way a… gay person could be an effective hunter, that they weren’t manly enough.”
“Geez, you’re like a caveman.”
“Yeah and, at the time, I was also a selfish bastard because as much as I pounded it into your head that family came first and that we needed to be there for each other, the most important thing to me - the only important thing - was to get my revenge on the thing that killed Mary. And that, that made me a very short-sighted man, a very bad father.”
There was a pause and Sam thought he heard John sniffing, but with his head bent Sam couldn’t see if he was really crying.
“The year after you left is kind of a blur, ya know? I didn’t let myself think about you, or about Sam, and all the energy I had, I used to track the thing that killed your mom. And then… and then suddenly the demon was dead and I found myself without a goal, my life held no meaning.”
“Hey. Get to the point. I’m tired, Dad. I’m so, so tired…”
“It didn’t bring your mother back-“
“Yeah, no shit.”
“It didn’t feel like a victory. There I was, with my friends dead and my kids estranged and it didn’t even felt like I’d accomplished anything. And I suddenly got how cruel I’d been to you, how horrible. You were always there for me, Dean. Sam is right, ya know? You sacrificed everything and I pushed you away the first time you found the courage to tell me about yourself. You needed me back then, so much, and I wasn’t there for you. I never really was, as a matter of fact.”
It was Dean’s turn to muffle a sniff and a hiccup. Sam almost spoke then. He hated hearing his brother’s distress.
“I kept hunting because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I missed you guys so much. I missed my sons, but I couldn’t go to you and hope that you would just forget how I’d treated you. But then, then I heard some hunters talking about your… condition.”
“Pregnancy,” Dean cut in, his voice harsh. “I’m having a baby, Dad.”
“Yeah well… I thought about you, couldn’t get it out of my mind. I heard pregnancies were difficult for male bearers and I needed to make sure you were okay, needed to tell you how sorry I am, Dean. I can’t even… there is nothing I can say or do that will fix what I’ve broken. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.
There was a long pause. Dean lowered the sheets around his belly and resettled his hospital gown. John’s gaze was drawn to his son’s swollen stomach, and a maelstrom of inexplicable emotions passed over his face.
“I… okay, you’ve said what you wanted to say,” Dean whispered, turning his head away from John. “What now? What do you want from me, Dad?”
“I want…” John scratched the back of his head, a gesture that reminded Sam so much of Dean it was actually painful.
“I want to be part of your life. I want to get to know my grandchild. I wanna make amends for all the wrong I’ve done to you.”
Dean sighed and rubbed his belly once more. “You know, one year ago, I think I would have run back to you if you’d wanted me to. Yeah, that’s how screwed up I was. But fuck, I’m different now. You’ve hurt me so bad. You’ve let me down… I can’t even begin to think what I want to do with your freaking apologies. One thing’s certain though. Right now, I don’t have any energy to spend on you. I’m about to give birth, you get that? I’m going to have a son. My kid. And that’s all that matters for now.”
Dean swallowed loudly, but he kept his composure. He was holding his own. “I don’t know… maybe later, maybe one day I’ll be ready to forgive you. But not now. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
There wasn’t anything left to say after that. John slowly stood up and he had the stance of an old man: shoulders stooped, trying to get his balance. He dropped a piece of paper on the nightstand. “It’s okay, Dean. You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” he said in a gentle voice. “This is my current number and I swear to God you and Sam will be able to reach me anytime, if you need to - or want to. Just… maybe ask Sam to call me when your baby is born, so that I know you’re both alright.”
“I can’t promise he will.”
“I know. Take care of yourself, Dean. Your mother would be so fucking proud of you.”
With those words, John left the room. Dean cleared his throat a couple of time and shifted on the bed so that he was lying on his side, facing Sam.
“I know you’re awake, dude.”
“M’sorry. I didn’t mean to listen to your conversation. How the hell did he get in?”
“He’s a freaking Winchester. No nurse is going to forbid him to do something,” Dean said in a voice full of sarcasm.
“Are you okay, Dean?”
“No. Damn it, I’m not okay! Not okay at all. Why did he have to come back?”
“He’s our father. I mean, like it or not, he is.”
“Well, I didn’t need that.”
“I know, dude. And I think he knows now too. You were awesome, Dean. The way you spoke to him…”
Dean bit his lips, hard. His chin was wobbling and his eyes were getting wet. He groaned in exasperation.
“Now, could you go get a coffee or something, so that the freaking pregnant wuss can cry in peace?”
Dean smiled at Sam. Sam smiled back. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”
::: :::
Two weeks later, Dean gave birth to a healthy boy who weighed eight pounds ten ounces. It was a long labor. Dean yelled at the nurse, yelled at Sam, and swore on his mother’s grave that he would never, ever have sex again. Still, he behaved like the incredibly courageous man he’d always been.
The boy was named James, in honor of Jimmy Page - who, Dean pointed out to Sam, was as much a genius as that Tulsa guy. Still, he let Sam have his way when it came to the middle name.
James Nicholas Winchester had arrived into the world. Sam didn’t know if he’d get to know his grandfather one day, but Dean’s new mantra was to take it one day at a time, and Sam thought that was a good enough attitude to live by.
The End