And Miles to Go Before I Sleep 2/3
Title: And Miles to Go Before I Sleep
Type: fandom, MPreg
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count: ~15000
Rating: NC-17
Author’s Note: This was originally written for this prompt on spn_hardcore : In a post-apocalyptic world where half the population is scrounging to survive and the other half is trying to blow everybody up, Dean searches for a safe haven so that a heavily pregnant Sam can have their baby without them being in danger of getting blown up/attacked by bandits/etc. I'm imagining a world more 'Book of Eli' or 'Fallout' apocalyptic as opposed to actual capitalized Apocalyptic, but whatever suits the author! Basically I just want to see Sam giving birth in a rundown house of some sort with bombs going off in the distance!
Warnings: mpreg, war, graphic labor, incest
Summary: It’s over. The world is ending. Maybe not the way the angels and demons had wanted it to happen, but it’s happening. Little did they know that the humans would eventually get the job done all on their own, destroying everything in a third world war.
Part 1
Sam wakes up hearing first. He can hear a radio on somewhere, filled with static and a voice desperately encouraging people to repent for their sins. He has the urge to turn it off, but he can’t will his body to move. He groans instead.
“He lives!”
A cool wet cloth is placed over his forehead, and Sam forces his eyes open. Jenna enters his line of vision.
“Don’t try to move too fast, Sam,” she cautions. “We moved you to my couch. You have an IV in your arm, and I don’t want you to yank it out. Don’t worry, it’s just some fluids to rehydrate you.”
He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds, and he groggily asks, “Where’s Dean?”
She laughs. “Patching up my roof, actually. I had to practically pry the boy away from you, but when I mentioned how he could repay me for my services, he went and did what I asked. He looked like he was about to come apart for a minute there. Had to keep him busy.”
Sam cracks a smile. That sounded like Dean.
The day comes back to him in a rush, then, and he puts a hand to his stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
Jenna nods slowly. “Yeah, Sam. You’re pregnant.”
Sam feels like he could kick himself. They’d run out of condoms well over a year ago and hadn’t bothered trying to find some since. Everyone was infertile, the radios had said. Babies weren’t being born anymore. Why bother trying to scrounge up condoms if they didn’t have to worry about it?
Pregnant. Fuck.
“You’re turning green again. Here.” Jenna hands him a box of saltines. “Those should make you feel better. And maybe trying to eat regularly. I know that can be hard to do in times like these, but you need to pack on some weight. You’re much too skinny for someone of your height and build, even without being pregnant.”
Sam feels like he should justify his weight, make sure she knows that Dean always worries about how much he’s eating, is always trying to get them more food. He lowers his eyes. “We try our best.”
“That’s all that can be asked, Sam.” She pats his arm reassuringly. “I really do suggest trying to drink more fluids, too. You were very dehydrated, and neither you nor your baby can survive very long that way.”
He nods, pressing his hand a little more firmly to his stomach.
The front door opens, and Dean walks in, swiping the sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt.
“Jenna, I--” He stops upon seeing Sam. He smiles as approaches him and kneels to his level, but he doesn’t look very happy. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”
Sam tries to smile back. “Hey.”
“I’m going to go see what I can scrounge us up for dinner,” Jenna excuses herself quickly, and Sam watches her go as she disappears into what he assumes is the kitchen.
“So,” Dean says after a moment, “are we going to talk about this, or are you going to keep staring at the kitchen and hoping Jenna will come back so we don’t have to?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Sam sighs, finally tearing his eyes from the kitchen door to look at Dean. “I don’t know what there is to talk about. I’m having my brother’s baby. It kind of goes without saying that I fucked up in a major way.”
“Takes two, Sammy,” Dean reminds him. “And Jenna thinks we’re partners, not brothers, so I’d be a little quieter when you say that.”
Sam nods, then heaves a sigh. “What am I going to do?”
Dean shrugs. “Don’t know. We’ll probably head back out on the road when Jenna gives the okay, drive around, have a kid. Maybe somewhere along the way we can find somewhere to raise him. Or her, whatever.”
Sam gives him an odd look. “You want to raise a baby?”
Dean gives him an equally odd look.
“Hell, Sam, you’re the one who prays everyday or whatever. Maybe this baby is supposed to happen or something. Maybe he’ll save the world, or maybe he’ll just be a badass kid that appreciates Metallica and is smart enough to get a scholarship to whatever college exists a couple of decades from now. Either way, it’s my kid, and you’re my brother, and I’m not abandoning either of you. And you’re an asshole for thinking I would.”
Sam gives a surprised laugh at that and reaches for Dean. Dean’s hands come up, one to bury itself in Sam’s hair, the other to slide under Sam’s shirt and press against his stomach as he leans down and kisses him. The callouses on his palms are rough and familiar against Sam’s skin, and he shivers beneath Dean.
“Ahem,” Jenna clears her throat, breaking them apart. “I’m going to make some spaghetti, if that sounds good to you boys.”
Nothing really sounds good to Sam anymore, but his stomach grumbles at the thought of food. Dean laughs. “I guess the baby says it’s ready to eat. Spaghetti sounds awesome.”
“Good,” she says with a smile. “Did you finish working on that roof earlier?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says, all happy and charming like Sam hasn’t seen him in a long time. “Anything else you want me to do around here?”
She shrugs. “I’ll figure something out later. You boys just get yourselves washed up and get ready for dinner. Bathroom’s right next to the exam room.”
They nod. When she disappears into the kitchen, Dean’s mouth is immediately on his again, and Sam smiles.
*
They leave three days later. Dean fixed Jenna’s roof, got her old, beat up Honda to start working again, and patched up some of the siding of her house that was starting to rot out. In return, Jenna loads them up with crackers for Sam, bottles of water and various cans of things that are more nutritional than meatless chili.
She tells them good luck and that they’re welcome back any time.
As they pull out of town, Sam turns to look out the back window at it. There’s a weird pull at his chest that makes him uncomfortable. He should be used to leaving by now.
Dean takes his hand, runs his thumb over Sam’s knuckles, and there’s no place he’d rather be.
*
Being pregnant really fucking sucks.
Not that it didn’t suck before when he was throwing his guts up all the time, trying to keep it a secret. It sucked in a major way then, too.
But Sam is going to blow a fucking gasket if Dean keeps mothering him.
“Dean,” he finally says, cutting off Dean’s speech about exactly why Sam finishing a second can of chicken noodle soup is just so damn important, “Dean, I am going to throw up if you keep stuffing me with food, and then I won’t have anything in my stomach at all.”
Sam’s weight is finally up, and even though he’s still pretty skinny all around, he’s got a little extra pudge on his belly that he hasn’t had since he hit puberty and lost his baby fat. Dean doesn’t seem to be able to see it, though, and it’s freaking him out that Sam is supposed to be about three months along now and not showing.
Dean gives him a look of frustration and concern. “I just want you to be healthy, Sam.”
“I am healthy.” As healthy as he possibly can be anyway. He’s noticed that Dean has cut back on his food intake to accommodate for how much he’s making Sam eat. Sam’s having none of that. “I’m really not hungry anymore. You should eat the rest.”
Dean tries not to look as hungry as Sam knows he his, looking away from the can Sam extends to him, so Sam adds, “We’re going to have to dump it out if you don’t.”
Dean takes it then, the idea of wasting food too much for his hunger to deal with, apparently.
Dean’s always thought that he was the one taking care of Sam. Sam’s pretty sure it’s never crossed his mind that Sam takes care of him too.
*
Sam ‘pops’ at four and a half months.
Dean rests easier now, glad that he can finally see the result of Sam’s weight gain. Sam’s just glad that his constant nausea is subsiding at last, and he’s finally starting to feel comfortable with the idea that there is a little person growing in him.
They can’t comfortably sleep together in the back of the Impala anymore. It was a tight fit in the first place, and it’s impossible with Sam’s baby belly in the way. They improvise, sleeping on the ground outside or sleeping apart, Dean in the front seat and Sam in the back. Usually, though, they try to find abandoned houses to crash in.
It’s weird, because Dean keeps talking about maybe staying, the things he’d do to fix up whatever house they’re currently living in, how he’d figure out how to build a fireplace to put in the living room of this one, how he’d tack a garage for the Impala onto a different one.
Sam hadn’t even known Dean was capable of thinking that long-term. About anything. Anything except Sam, anyway.
And now the baby, he supposes.
Sam is still skeptical about that last. The idea that Dean was comfortable enough with the baby’s existence to talk about how he’d teach him--or her--everything he knows about cars, how the baby would know every lyric to every AC/DC song ever made by five, it just doesn’t sit right with Sam.
“It’s weird,” he says one night as they’re lying in the middle of what would be this current house’s living room, curled together under their quilt.
“What?” Dean mumbles. He’s warm and sleepy against Sam, nuzzling just a little bit closer. His hands are in their now-customary place under Sam’s shirt, curving over his slightly rounded belly.
“You seem,” Sam hesitates, trying to find the right word, “excited.”
“I seem tired,” Dean corrects. “Go to sleep, Sam. I can hear the little hamster in your brain running on full speed.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I mean about the baby.”
Dean sighs at that, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.
“Sam, are we seriously having this conversation at,” he looks out the window at the moon, high in the sky, “ass-o’clock in the morning?”
Sam looks down at where his shirt is riding up, revealing a large expanse of skin. He’s starting to get too big for his clothes now. He smooths his shirt down and tries not to think about how they’re going to need to get new clothes for him soon. “I guess not.”
Dean is quiet for a moment before he touches Sam’s shoulder, nudging him onto his back. Sam can barely make out his face in the darkness. “Sam, I’m only going to say this one more time. I want you. I want the baby. Now go to sleep.”
Dean says it like it’s so simple, like there doesn’t need to be an explanation. But there has to be one, and Sam just can’t let it go. “But why?”
“How can you come up with these kinds of questions so late, Sam? Shit, I can barely think of my name right now.” Dean scrubs his hand through his hair. “I just do. The baby is this little person that’s going to be a part of you and a part of me. And I think that’s pretty damn awesome. And I want it. Understand?”
Sam nods, and Dean releases his shoulder, spooning up behind him.
“Go to sleep, Sam.” Dean’s hands return to Sam’s belly, pressing in just a little bit, like he’s trying to feel the baby.
“Dean,” Sam says softly, hands moving to cover his, “I love you.”
Dean presses his chapped lips to Sam’s shoulder. “Love you too, Sammy.”
They’re not usually all hung up about telling each other ‘I love you’. It’s always kind of gone without saying. Dean forces Sam to go to the doctor. I love you. Sam worries that Dean isn’t eating properly. I love you. Dean entertains Sam’s emotional crisis at an ungodly hour in the morning. I love you.
But it’s good to hear it every once in a while too.
In the morning, Dean will tease Sam about turning into an emotional girl, and Sam will blame it on the hormones. Dean will use his knife to open up some cans of fruit cocktail for breakfast, and Sam will bandage his hand when he brilliantly manages to slice it open.
I love you.
*
Sam is a week shy of six months when they crash in an abandoned house on the edge of a small settlement. They tend to pick places further away from other people, but they were both too exhausted to look for something else.
The settlement is quiet anyway, with only a few people scampering around on the streets, so Dean parks the car behind the house, and they drag themselves inside, just bringing their blanket with them. They’re too tired to think about making dinner or pulling out changes of clothes or anything like that.
They’re surprised to find that the house is fully furnished. There’s a fine dust over everything, indicating that it hasn’t been used in a long time, but there are couches, chairs, a kitchen table, and even a bed in the master bedroom.
Out of curiosity, Dean opens the master bedroom’s closet to find a bunch of clothes. He pulls a sweatshirt out, pleased to see that it’s extra extra large, and he tosses it to Sam. “Look, Sam. Pregnant person-sized.”
Sam snorts but gladly discards the now much too small t-shirt he’d been wearing for the sweatshirt. It’s warm, which is awesome because Sam is always cold anymore. It’s too big, even for him, going all the way down to his mid-thighs and covering his hands, but he kind of likes it. Besides, he’s still got a few months to go before the baby comes, and he’ll need the extra room for his belly to grow.
“We can take all this stuff with us when we leave. You’ll have a whole new baby-friendly wardrobe, Sammy.” Dean sounds delighted.
Sam’s too exhausted to care. “C’mon, Dean.” He crawls onto the bed, yawning and patting beside him. “Bedtime.”
Dean yawns too, stretching his arms up and popping his back before unfolding their quilt, draping it over Sam. Sam snuggles beneath the warm covers, more than a little excited that maybe his back won’t be killing him tomorrow morning now that he’s sleeping on a real mattress, and Dean slides in behind him.
When Sam concentrates, he can feel Dean’s heartbeat against his back, strong and steady. Over the years, that sound has become almost a lullaby, and Sam quickly falls asleep to it.
He’d expected to wake up slowly, just lie next to Dean for a little while, maybe slowly kiss him awake if Sam happens to wake up first. They’d both been too tired to think about sex more than just fleetingly, but fucking in an actual bed for once? That would be nice.
Or it would’ve been.
Instead, Sam wakes up ready to fight, even though he doesn’t know why yet. He quickly finds out though, because he can’t breathe, and there’s a hand around his throat, cutting off his airway.
He’s staring into the face of a ghost whose eyes are just bottomless pits of black. Her face is cut up and bloody, her mouth ragged and torn, and she’s whispering in Sam’s ear, mumbling, “You took my baby. I want my baby.”
Of course. Of fucking course they trotted their sleepy asses into a nice house with a vengeful spirit who wants Sam’s baby.
Sam tries to move, kick her off of him, but she’s holding him down with her body, feels like she weighs a ton. He’s wheezing, mouth forming Dean, Dean but unable to actually say it.
His vision is starting to gray around the edges, and he’s still staring into her face when she puts her free hand to his swollen stomach. She starts pushing in, her hand slowly disappearing into Sam’s body, and the pain is insane. He tries to scream, but it only comes out as cracked, broken wheezing.
From the corner of his eye, he sees movement, and the ghost suddenly shatters right in front of him. Sam shoots up as soon as her weight leaves his body, and he’s gasping for air, his hands clutching his stomach where echoes of the formerly excruciating pain are radiating through him.
And then Dean is grabbing his arm, urging him to get up. “Come on, Sam, before she manifests again.”
Sam struggles to get off the bed, the quilt still wrapped tightly around him, and Dean snatches a wrought iron lamp from where it had landed on the floor as they bolt out of the room.
They make it to the living room, ironically enough, before they run into her again. Sam is still coughing for air, but he can’t help but gasp in horror at the ghost’s appearance now that he can see her entire body.
She’s cut up everywhere, blood patching her torn dress. She’d been thin once, her frame small, but her middle was distended, and there was a deep gash straight across her stomach.
Realization hits Sam like a ton of bricks. Someone had literally ripped this woman’s baby out of her body.
And she’d tried to do the same to him.
He feels like throwing up, but Dean is pulling him forward, swinging the lamp at the ghost to get her out of the way.
The air outside is cold when it hits Sam’s face, but he can barely feel it past the adrenaline racing through his veins.
Dean throws the lamp to the ground and shoves Sam into the Impala, dropping himself into the driver’s seat and slamming his foot to the gas as soon as the car roars to life.
“You okay, Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the rearview mirror to make sure the ghost isn’t following. She’s not, probably too attached to the house to leave it.
Sam nods, still breathing heavily. “Yeah,” he croaks, his neck sore. “I’m okay.”
“Shit, Sam. Sorry I wasn’t there.”
Sam coughs, trying to clear his throat. “It’s okay.”
“I just. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, thought I'd make myself useful, put the clothes in the car, get everything ready to go in the morning.” Dean hits the heel of his palm against the steering wheel angrily, obviously feeling stupid. “The house gave me the creeps, and I didn’t want to stay too long, but. I thought it was just that we were close to other people, not that the damn house was haunted. Thought you’d be okay by yourself for a few minutes. Fuck.”
“I’m fine, Dean. Seriously.” His stomach is still aching, and his hands press down into it, praying that the baby is fine, still relatively safe and alive inside him.
Dean cuts him a glance without looking directly at him. “Is the baby okay?”
Sam ducks his head. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and it’s driving him crazy.
And that’s when he feels it. It’s an odd sensation, like a popcorn kernel had just popped inside him, but he immediately knows what it is.
He grabs Dean’s hand off the driving wheel without thinking, putting it to his stomach.
“What the hell, Sam, you can’t just--”
There’s the feeling again, a gentle push just below Sam’s navel, and it shuts Dean’s bitching up fast.
Sam smirks, letting go of Dean’s hand, though it stays in place on his stomach. “The baby is fine.”
Dean snakes his hand beneath Sam’s shirt, gently rubbing over the soft skin of his belly. The baby doesn’t kick again, but Dean’s face breaks out into a slow smile. “Well, shit. Baby’s resilient as hell.”
“Baby’s a Winchester,” Sam says simply, shrugging.
Dean’s smile only widens.
“Damn right the baby’s a Winchester.” He looks so ridiculously proud, still running his hand over Sam’s stomach.
His rush of adrenaline quickly waning, Sam’s eyelids start feeling heavy, and each time he blinks, it takes longer to open his eyes again.
Dean lifts his hand from his stomach, smoothing his hand over Sam’s hair. He doesn’t say anything, but Sam knows he’s telling him to go to sleep.
“Aren’t you tired?” Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head. “Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna let you drive looking like you’re about to pass out any second.”
Sam just nods and closes his eyes, too drained to argue.
*
They come upon a city that seems to be a legitimately functioning place. A tidy little sign just outside the settlement proclaims WELCOME TO LAKE LAWNING despite Sam not seeing a lake anywhere in sight. There are children playing on the streets, neighbors are chatting as they stroll down the sidewalks, and no one seems to be afraid of anyone else.
Dean wants to just drive on by it, too spooked by suddenly having so many people around them, but Sam reminds him that he’s seven months along, and they need to start thinking about buying things for the baby, formula, clothes, bottles, that kind of thing. Not to mention they need to stock up on more food and supplies for themselves.
So Dean grudgingly pulls into Lawning, stopping in front of what looks like a little open marketplace.
Unfortunately for them, Lawning apparently has a gambling ban that everyone seems pretty strict about maintaining. They’re reduced to bartering with people for various things, offering Dean’s handy-man services and what few goods they have left and don’t necessarily need for things that they do. Sam’s mostly not paying attention other than when Dean pulls the sympathy card and introduces him as his pregnant partner to push someone into giving them an incredibly steep discount. Dean always puts his hand on Sam’s lower back, holding him close, and Sam lowers his lashes and smiles softly, playing the part of a blushing bride or whatever.
That’s actually what Sam is doing when he notices what looks like a table covered in books out of the corner of his eye. He can’t remember the last time he saw a book, even just to do research for a case. They don’t do as many hunts as they used to, but the hunts they still do are generally done with interviews and the rare town newspaper. “Dean,” he says, cutting him off mid-bargain, “I’m gonna go over there.” He waves toward the books and doesn’t wait for the look of annoyance he knows Dean is going to give him before he trots off.
He picks up an old copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls and leafs through it, remembering how his own copy had been ridiculously dog eared, the binding fraying around the edges.
“Are you going to have a baby?”
Sam jumps at the voice but quickly recovers, smiling when he sees an elderly woman standing on the other side of the table. “Yes, ma’am.”
She grins. “Thought so. Your face is absolutely glowing. Do you have a name picked out?”
Sam shakes his head. “Haven’t thought about it yet.”
The baby kicks like it knows Sam is talking about it, and he automatically shifts, pressing up under his belly to readjust its position.
“Got a mover?” she asks, laughing when he nods. She bites her lip thoughtfully then grabs a book from the corner of the table, pushing it into his hands. “Here you go. 15000 Baby Names. Can’t go wrong with that many options at your disposal.”
“Thank you, but,” Sam looks at Dean, knowing that there’s no way in hell he’d agree to trade something for a book of baby names, “we really can’t afford this right now.”
“A young pregnant couple can’t afford anything, honey,” the woman tells him, patting the back of his hand. “Especially not in these times. Think of it as a gift for the baby.”
He smiles, then laughs when he has to shift because the baby decided to start kicking again. “I think the baby says thank you.”
“Sam!”
Sam looks up to see Dean with his arms overloaded with various baby things, like bottles and tiny clothes. He rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I have to go save the father of my child.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Sounds like you’re used to it. You make sure he takes good care of you, okay?”
Sam smiles. “He’s always taken really good care of me, ma’am.”
She hums approvingly, then places the copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls he’d been looking at earlier on top of the book already in his hands. “I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone touch this book like that. No one appreciates Hemingway anymore. Go ahead and take it, too.”
Sam wants to protest, but Dean calls for him again, and he’s got to go or Dean will drop everything he’d just bought. “Thank you again, ma’am.”
She shoos him off, and he clutches the books to himself as he runs after Dean, catching a onesie and a baby blanket before they hit the ground. He plucks a few items out of Dean’s hands. “Why’d you get so much stuff? We still have a few months to go. We didn’t need everything right this second.”
Dean shrugs. “Got a really good deal from a lady who thought you were just so cute with your little baby belly. What’re the books for?”
“It’s just a bunch of baby names and something to read,” Sam says. At Dean’s pointed look, he quickly adds, “She just gave them to me. I didn’t spend anything, I swear.”
Dean arches a brow. “Really?”
Sam nods. “Yeah. She was really nice.”
The baby lands a swift kick to Sam’s kidney, and he winces, hissing in a breath.
Dean’s brow furrows. “You okay?”
“Yeah. The baby is just really excited today, which translates to assaulting my insides.” He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “I’m fine.”
Dean gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t press. “We’re going to have to stay here a few days so I can pay for all this stuff. I rented us a room out of some guy’s house in exchange for us cleaning the rest of it up a little. Wanna go check it out?”
‘Checking it out’ probably means more like ‘I’m about to force you into taking a nap’, but the thought of sleeping in a bed again, especially one that isn’t in a haunted house, sounds too good to pass up. “Sure. I kind of wanted to take a nap anyway.”
Dean seems pleased to hear this, and they dump all of their newly acquired stuff in the trunk of the Impala before heading for the house.
*
It’s actually a really nice house, especially considering the fact that they usually squat in houses that look like they’re about one good gust of wind from collapsing. Dean tries his best to find them decent places to stay, but there are only so many abandoned houses that aren’t falling apart, and Winchesters just don’t seem to be able to find any of them.
Dean is going to paint it and other little odd jobs for the owner in return for their rented room. It’s supposed to be a hotel of sorts once it’s fixed up, but no one else is living in any of the other rooms at the moment. They have it all to themselves, so it’s kind of like they’re renting the whole house even though they’re technically only renting the one room.
But, yeah, despite the peeling paint on the outside and some general cleaning that Sam plans to take care of on the inside, the house is really nice.
The only downside is that Dean is usually out all day performing various favors to work off the credit people have given them for all the supplies they’ve been needing. He always comes home exhausted and covered in grease or paint, but they have running water now and an actual shower, and Dean moans like an eight dollar whore every time he gets under the spray. Sam snickers about that--mostly to himself though, because after a nice, hot shower, Dean is usually in the mood for some nice, hot sex.
While Dean goes out and works all day, Sam is usually cooking and cleaning. He talks to the baby now, because the baby book that Rose, the lady who had given him the other books, let him borrow says that the baby can hear him. He’s pretty sure it can hear Dean too, because every single time Dean walks through the door covered in whatever brand of grime that day called for and jokingly calls out, “Honey, I’m home,” the baby does a little flip in Sam’s belly.
It doesn’t really hit Sam until they’ve been there three weeks that it’s sort of like they’re actually living there. Like they own the house or something. Dean goes out and works, Sam stays home and does housework. Sam makes dinner every night and asks Dean how work was that day. Dean asks how the house was, if Sam went and borrowed another book from Rose, and then unironically asks the baby how it’s doing. They’re constantly talking about ways to fix up the house a little more, what would make the home more presentable to guests.
Well, shit, Sam thinks. It’s like they’re fucking homeowners now, a normal family with a white picket fence, working on getting the 2.5 kids, and they didn’t even realize it was happening. Smack in the middle of the god damn Apocalypse, they find normalcy.
It’s such a hilarious, ironic, ridiculous Winchester-type situation to find himself in, and Sam starts laughing because he just can’t help himself. He’s a fucking housewife, pregnant with his and his blue collared partner’s first child, and how did this even happen?
He’s still laughing when Dean gets out of his shower, a pair of sweats sitting invitingly low on his hips as he towels his hair dry. Dean rolls his eyes fondly. “Baby find a tickle spot again?”
“No,” Sam gasps, trying to compose himself. “No, and shut up. I don’t laugh that hard when the baby finds a tickle spot.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean says disbelievingly. He reaches for a spot just below Sam’s ribs, and he shies away. “Yeah, you’re not really that ticklish at all.”
“Shut up,” Sam says again, though he’s still smiling. “I was just thinking about the situation we’ve found ourselves in.”
Dean tosses the towel near the little hamper their dirty laundry goes in now, sitting beside Sam on the bed. “Situation?”
Sam’s smile widens, and he suppresses the urge to start laughing again.
“I mean, look at us, Dean. It’s like we turned into the Brady Bunch or something overnight. Or at least the beginning of the Brady Bunch.” He rests his hand on his stomach. “You go off to work every day, and I stay home and cook and clean for you. Hell, we even have a house with a literal white picket fence, since you painted it the other day.”
Dean cracks a smile at that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
He sounds vaguely amused, but he’s not nearly as amused by it as Sam, and Sam’s face falls a little. “You okay?”
Dean just nods, looking down at his hands.
Sam could just kick himself. They’re not going to stay like this forever, he knows. They’ll finish working off their debt in a few more days, and then they’ll be leaving again, driving off into the wild blue yonder. And Dean knows how important the normal life used to be to Sam. He probably thinks that Sam wants to stay and feels guilty that he doesn’t want that, can’t want it, because he’s Dean, and he’s never wanted it.
“Not that I don’t know we’ll be leaving soon,” he tries. “I mean, the house is great and all, but I’m getting restless being trapped inside all day with only Rose to talk to. I was just thinking that it’s funny, you know? Us living like normal people. It’s funny.”
“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean says softly. “It’s funny.” He reaches out, his hand sliding on top of Sam’s, still resting against his stomach. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
Sam’s brow furrows. “About what?”
Dean takes a deep breath. “How would you feel about maybe staying in Lake Lawning?”
To say the question shocks Sam would be an understatement.
“Staying?” Sam asks, his voice almost foreign to his own ears. “But we don’t stay anywhere.”
“We’re about to have a baby, Sam,” Dean says, all reasonable and calm, like he hadn’t just flipped Sam’s world on its head. “Staying is what most people do when they have a family to take care of. Most families aren’t like ours was. We could stay in this house, make it more baby proof before the baby actually gets here, and we’d be good to go.”
“But,” Sam stammers, head whirling. “But, I mean. Dean, we can’t stay here. We can’t even afford to.” There’s literally nothing they own that could ever be worth what the house is worth. No one is going to trade clothes full of holes and a few knives edged in silver for a fucking house. Maybe if they sold the-- “No.”
“Sam--”
Sam brushes Dean’s hand off his stomach, and he struggles to get up off the bed. He finally manages by putting his hands behind himself and pushing up, and it’s probably the least graceful thing he’s ever done, probably takes all the seriousness out of the situation, but Sam is pissed and he doesn’t care. “No. Because if that thick head of yours is thinking what I think it’s thinking, and I know it is because I have been around your stupid ass our entire lives, I will end you, Dean.”
Dean looks up at Sam, annoyance and frustration settling into the lines of his face. “The guy who owns this house, he offered it to me for the Impala. Sam, we can’t raise a kid out of the back of a car.”
“I was raised out of the back of a car. That car, actually,” Sam shoots back.
“And you were miserable!”
“I was miserable for a lot of reasons, Dean.” Sam crosses his arms. “The car wasn’t one of them.”
“Damn it, Sam.” Dean looks tired, his shoulders slumped, purple under his eyes like bruises. “I just--I don’t know. I don’t want my kid to hate me.”
Sam scoffs at that. “The kid adores you, dumbass. It practically starts dancing on my bladder every time you talk.”
His back is starting to ache with his rigid, aggressive posture, so Sam hunches down a little, rubbing the small of it.
“Yeah?” Dean asks, smiling a little. He looks so broken, even with the smile, and it makes Sam angry that even after all this time, he hasn’t managed to fix Dean’s insecurities. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to.
“Yeah,” he confirms. “So we’re leaving ASAP, and I don’t want to hear anymore bullshit about selling the Impala. You don’t get to be a martyr, Dean.” He nudges Dean’s legs apart a little further with his knee until he can comfortably step between them. “I’m not gonna let you.”
Dean nods once, resigned, and his hands coming up to bracket Sam’s belly as he presses a soft kiss to it. Sam thinks it’s probably the most intimate thing Sam has ever seen Dean do.
He rests his hand on Dean’s head, fingers gliding through his hair. He feels the baby move, and Dean smiles against him, resting his cheek against the place he’d felt the movement.
Sam sighs. The idea of the white picket fence had been entertaining while it had lasted, comfortable to think about. But this is all Sam needs, and he knows it. Dean and their baby. Anything after that is just a bonus.
Part 3
Type: fandom, MPreg
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Word Count: ~15000
Rating: NC-17
Author’s Note: This was originally written for this prompt on spn_hardcore : In a post-apocalyptic world where half the population is scrounging to survive and the other half is trying to blow everybody up, Dean searches for a safe haven so that a heavily pregnant Sam can have their baby without them being in danger of getting blown up/attacked by bandits/etc. I'm imagining a world more 'Book of Eli' or 'Fallout' apocalyptic as opposed to actual capitalized Apocalyptic, but whatever suits the author! Basically I just want to see Sam giving birth in a rundown house of some sort with bombs going off in the distance!
Warnings: mpreg, war, graphic labor, incest
Summary: It’s over. The world is ending. Maybe not the way the angels and demons had wanted it to happen, but it’s happening. Little did they know that the humans would eventually get the job done all on their own, destroying everything in a third world war.
Part 1
Sam wakes up hearing first. He can hear a radio on somewhere, filled with static and a voice desperately encouraging people to repent for their sins. He has the urge to turn it off, but he can’t will his body to move. He groans instead.
“He lives!”
A cool wet cloth is placed over his forehead, and Sam forces his eyes open. Jenna enters his line of vision.
“Don’t try to move too fast, Sam,” she cautions. “We moved you to my couch. You have an IV in your arm, and I don’t want you to yank it out. Don’t worry, it’s just some fluids to rehydrate you.”
He feels like his head weighs a thousand pounds, and he groggily asks, “Where’s Dean?”
She laughs. “Patching up my roof, actually. I had to practically pry the boy away from you, but when I mentioned how he could repay me for my services, he went and did what I asked. He looked like he was about to come apart for a minute there. Had to keep him busy.”
Sam cracks a smile. That sounded like Dean.
The day comes back to him in a rush, then, and he puts a hand to his stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
Jenna nods slowly. “Yeah, Sam. You’re pregnant.”
Sam feels like he could kick himself. They’d run out of condoms well over a year ago and hadn’t bothered trying to find some since. Everyone was infertile, the radios had said. Babies weren’t being born anymore. Why bother trying to scrounge up condoms if they didn’t have to worry about it?
Pregnant. Fuck.
“You’re turning green again. Here.” Jenna hands him a box of saltines. “Those should make you feel better. And maybe trying to eat regularly. I know that can be hard to do in times like these, but you need to pack on some weight. You’re much too skinny for someone of your height and build, even without being pregnant.”
Sam feels like he should justify his weight, make sure she knows that Dean always worries about how much he’s eating, is always trying to get them more food. He lowers his eyes. “We try our best.”
“That’s all that can be asked, Sam.” She pats his arm reassuringly. “I really do suggest trying to drink more fluids, too. You were very dehydrated, and neither you nor your baby can survive very long that way.”
He nods, pressing his hand a little more firmly to his stomach.
The front door opens, and Dean walks in, swiping the sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt.
“Jenna, I--” He stops upon seeing Sam. He smiles as approaches him and kneels to his level, but he doesn’t look very happy. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”
Sam tries to smile back. “Hey.”
“I’m going to go see what I can scrounge us up for dinner,” Jenna excuses herself quickly, and Sam watches her go as she disappears into what he assumes is the kitchen.
“So,” Dean says after a moment, “are we going to talk about this, or are you going to keep staring at the kitchen and hoping Jenna will come back so we don’t have to?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Sam sighs, finally tearing his eyes from the kitchen door to look at Dean. “I don’t know what there is to talk about. I’m having my brother’s baby. It kind of goes without saying that I fucked up in a major way.”
“Takes two, Sammy,” Dean reminds him. “And Jenna thinks we’re partners, not brothers, so I’d be a little quieter when you say that.”
Sam nods, then heaves a sigh. “What am I going to do?”
Dean shrugs. “Don’t know. We’ll probably head back out on the road when Jenna gives the okay, drive around, have a kid. Maybe somewhere along the way we can find somewhere to raise him. Or her, whatever.”
Sam gives him an odd look. “You want to raise a baby?”
Dean gives him an equally odd look.
“Hell, Sam, you’re the one who prays everyday or whatever. Maybe this baby is supposed to happen or something. Maybe he’ll save the world, or maybe he’ll just be a badass kid that appreciates Metallica and is smart enough to get a scholarship to whatever college exists a couple of decades from now. Either way, it’s my kid, and you’re my brother, and I’m not abandoning either of you. And you’re an asshole for thinking I would.”
Sam gives a surprised laugh at that and reaches for Dean. Dean’s hands come up, one to bury itself in Sam’s hair, the other to slide under Sam’s shirt and press against his stomach as he leans down and kisses him. The callouses on his palms are rough and familiar against Sam’s skin, and he shivers beneath Dean.
“Ahem,” Jenna clears her throat, breaking them apart. “I’m going to make some spaghetti, if that sounds good to you boys.”
Nothing really sounds good to Sam anymore, but his stomach grumbles at the thought of food. Dean laughs. “I guess the baby says it’s ready to eat. Spaghetti sounds awesome.”
“Good,” she says with a smile. “Did you finish working on that roof earlier?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dean says, all happy and charming like Sam hasn’t seen him in a long time. “Anything else you want me to do around here?”
She shrugs. “I’ll figure something out later. You boys just get yourselves washed up and get ready for dinner. Bathroom’s right next to the exam room.”
They nod. When she disappears into the kitchen, Dean’s mouth is immediately on his again, and Sam smiles.
*
They leave three days later. Dean fixed Jenna’s roof, got her old, beat up Honda to start working again, and patched up some of the siding of her house that was starting to rot out. In return, Jenna loads them up with crackers for Sam, bottles of water and various cans of things that are more nutritional than meatless chili.
She tells them good luck and that they’re welcome back any time.
As they pull out of town, Sam turns to look out the back window at it. There’s a weird pull at his chest that makes him uncomfortable. He should be used to leaving by now.
Dean takes his hand, runs his thumb over Sam’s knuckles, and there’s no place he’d rather be.
*
Being pregnant really fucking sucks.
Not that it didn’t suck before when he was throwing his guts up all the time, trying to keep it a secret. It sucked in a major way then, too.
But Sam is going to blow a fucking gasket if Dean keeps mothering him.
“Dean,” he finally says, cutting off Dean’s speech about exactly why Sam finishing a second can of chicken noodle soup is just so damn important, “Dean, I am going to throw up if you keep stuffing me with food, and then I won’t have anything in my stomach at all.”
Sam’s weight is finally up, and even though he’s still pretty skinny all around, he’s got a little extra pudge on his belly that he hasn’t had since he hit puberty and lost his baby fat. Dean doesn’t seem to be able to see it, though, and it’s freaking him out that Sam is supposed to be about three months along now and not showing.
Dean gives him a look of frustration and concern. “I just want you to be healthy, Sam.”
“I am healthy.” As healthy as he possibly can be anyway. He’s noticed that Dean has cut back on his food intake to accommodate for how much he’s making Sam eat. Sam’s having none of that. “I’m really not hungry anymore. You should eat the rest.”
Dean tries not to look as hungry as Sam knows he his, looking away from the can Sam extends to him, so Sam adds, “We’re going to have to dump it out if you don’t.”
Dean takes it then, the idea of wasting food too much for his hunger to deal with, apparently.
Dean’s always thought that he was the one taking care of Sam. Sam’s pretty sure it’s never crossed his mind that Sam takes care of him too.
*
Sam ‘pops’ at four and a half months.
Dean rests easier now, glad that he can finally see the result of Sam’s weight gain. Sam’s just glad that his constant nausea is subsiding at last, and he’s finally starting to feel comfortable with the idea that there is a little person growing in him.
They can’t comfortably sleep together in the back of the Impala anymore. It was a tight fit in the first place, and it’s impossible with Sam’s baby belly in the way. They improvise, sleeping on the ground outside or sleeping apart, Dean in the front seat and Sam in the back. Usually, though, they try to find abandoned houses to crash in.
It’s weird, because Dean keeps talking about maybe staying, the things he’d do to fix up whatever house they’re currently living in, how he’d figure out how to build a fireplace to put in the living room of this one, how he’d tack a garage for the Impala onto a different one.
Sam hadn’t even known Dean was capable of thinking that long-term. About anything. Anything except Sam, anyway.
And now the baby, he supposes.
Sam is still skeptical about that last. The idea that Dean was comfortable enough with the baby’s existence to talk about how he’d teach him--or her--everything he knows about cars, how the baby would know every lyric to every AC/DC song ever made by five, it just doesn’t sit right with Sam.
“It’s weird,” he says one night as they’re lying in the middle of what would be this current house’s living room, curled together under their quilt.
“What?” Dean mumbles. He’s warm and sleepy against Sam, nuzzling just a little bit closer. His hands are in their now-customary place under Sam’s shirt, curving over his slightly rounded belly.
“You seem,” Sam hesitates, trying to find the right word, “excited.”
“I seem tired,” Dean corrects. “Go to sleep, Sam. I can hear the little hamster in your brain running on full speed.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “I mean about the baby.”
Dean sighs at that, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.
“Sam, are we seriously having this conversation at,” he looks out the window at the moon, high in the sky, “ass-o’clock in the morning?”
Sam looks down at where his shirt is riding up, revealing a large expanse of skin. He’s starting to get too big for his clothes now. He smooths his shirt down and tries not to think about how they’re going to need to get new clothes for him soon. “I guess not.”
Dean is quiet for a moment before he touches Sam’s shoulder, nudging him onto his back. Sam can barely make out his face in the darkness. “Sam, I’m only going to say this one more time. I want you. I want the baby. Now go to sleep.”
Dean says it like it’s so simple, like there doesn’t need to be an explanation. But there has to be one, and Sam just can’t let it go. “But why?”
“How can you come up with these kinds of questions so late, Sam? Shit, I can barely think of my name right now.” Dean scrubs his hand through his hair. “I just do. The baby is this little person that’s going to be a part of you and a part of me. And I think that’s pretty damn awesome. And I want it. Understand?”
Sam nods, and Dean releases his shoulder, spooning up behind him.
“Go to sleep, Sam.” Dean’s hands return to Sam’s belly, pressing in just a little bit, like he’s trying to feel the baby.
“Dean,” Sam says softly, hands moving to cover his, “I love you.”
Dean presses his chapped lips to Sam’s shoulder. “Love you too, Sammy.”
They’re not usually all hung up about telling each other ‘I love you’. It’s always kind of gone without saying. Dean forces Sam to go to the doctor. I love you. Sam worries that Dean isn’t eating properly. I love you. Dean entertains Sam’s emotional crisis at an ungodly hour in the morning. I love you.
But it’s good to hear it every once in a while too.
In the morning, Dean will tease Sam about turning into an emotional girl, and Sam will blame it on the hormones. Dean will use his knife to open up some cans of fruit cocktail for breakfast, and Sam will bandage his hand when he brilliantly manages to slice it open.
I love you.
*
Sam is a week shy of six months when they crash in an abandoned house on the edge of a small settlement. They tend to pick places further away from other people, but they were both too exhausted to look for something else.
The settlement is quiet anyway, with only a few people scampering around on the streets, so Dean parks the car behind the house, and they drag themselves inside, just bringing their blanket with them. They’re too tired to think about making dinner or pulling out changes of clothes or anything like that.
They’re surprised to find that the house is fully furnished. There’s a fine dust over everything, indicating that it hasn’t been used in a long time, but there are couches, chairs, a kitchen table, and even a bed in the master bedroom.
Out of curiosity, Dean opens the master bedroom’s closet to find a bunch of clothes. He pulls a sweatshirt out, pleased to see that it’s extra extra large, and he tosses it to Sam. “Look, Sam. Pregnant person-sized.”
Sam snorts but gladly discards the now much too small t-shirt he’d been wearing for the sweatshirt. It’s warm, which is awesome because Sam is always cold anymore. It’s too big, even for him, going all the way down to his mid-thighs and covering his hands, but he kind of likes it. Besides, he’s still got a few months to go before the baby comes, and he’ll need the extra room for his belly to grow.
“We can take all this stuff with us when we leave. You’ll have a whole new baby-friendly wardrobe, Sammy.” Dean sounds delighted.
Sam’s too exhausted to care. “C’mon, Dean.” He crawls onto the bed, yawning and patting beside him. “Bedtime.”
Dean yawns too, stretching his arms up and popping his back before unfolding their quilt, draping it over Sam. Sam snuggles beneath the warm covers, more than a little excited that maybe his back won’t be killing him tomorrow morning now that he’s sleeping on a real mattress, and Dean slides in behind him.
When Sam concentrates, he can feel Dean’s heartbeat against his back, strong and steady. Over the years, that sound has become almost a lullaby, and Sam quickly falls asleep to it.
He’d expected to wake up slowly, just lie next to Dean for a little while, maybe slowly kiss him awake if Sam happens to wake up first. They’d both been too tired to think about sex more than just fleetingly, but fucking in an actual bed for once? That would be nice.
Or it would’ve been.
Instead, Sam wakes up ready to fight, even though he doesn’t know why yet. He quickly finds out though, because he can’t breathe, and there’s a hand around his throat, cutting off his airway.
He’s staring into the face of a ghost whose eyes are just bottomless pits of black. Her face is cut up and bloody, her mouth ragged and torn, and she’s whispering in Sam’s ear, mumbling, “You took my baby. I want my baby.”
Of course. Of fucking course they trotted their sleepy asses into a nice house with a vengeful spirit who wants Sam’s baby.
Sam tries to move, kick her off of him, but she’s holding him down with her body, feels like she weighs a ton. He’s wheezing, mouth forming Dean, Dean but unable to actually say it.
His vision is starting to gray around the edges, and he’s still staring into her face when she puts her free hand to his swollen stomach. She starts pushing in, her hand slowly disappearing into Sam’s body, and the pain is insane. He tries to scream, but it only comes out as cracked, broken wheezing.
From the corner of his eye, he sees movement, and the ghost suddenly shatters right in front of him. Sam shoots up as soon as her weight leaves his body, and he’s gasping for air, his hands clutching his stomach where echoes of the formerly excruciating pain are radiating through him.
And then Dean is grabbing his arm, urging him to get up. “Come on, Sam, before she manifests again.”
Sam struggles to get off the bed, the quilt still wrapped tightly around him, and Dean snatches a wrought iron lamp from where it had landed on the floor as they bolt out of the room.
They make it to the living room, ironically enough, before they run into her again. Sam is still coughing for air, but he can’t help but gasp in horror at the ghost’s appearance now that he can see her entire body.
She’s cut up everywhere, blood patching her torn dress. She’d been thin once, her frame small, but her middle was distended, and there was a deep gash straight across her stomach.
Realization hits Sam like a ton of bricks. Someone had literally ripped this woman’s baby out of her body.
And she’d tried to do the same to him.
He feels like throwing up, but Dean is pulling him forward, swinging the lamp at the ghost to get her out of the way.
The air outside is cold when it hits Sam’s face, but he can barely feel it past the adrenaline racing through his veins.
Dean throws the lamp to the ground and shoves Sam into the Impala, dropping himself into the driver’s seat and slamming his foot to the gas as soon as the car roars to life.
“You okay, Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the rearview mirror to make sure the ghost isn’t following. She’s not, probably too attached to the house to leave it.
Sam nods, still breathing heavily. “Yeah,” he croaks, his neck sore. “I’m okay.”
“Shit, Sam. Sorry I wasn’t there.”
Sam coughs, trying to clear his throat. “It’s okay.”
“I just. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, thought I'd make myself useful, put the clothes in the car, get everything ready to go in the morning.” Dean hits the heel of his palm against the steering wheel angrily, obviously feeling stupid. “The house gave me the creeps, and I didn’t want to stay too long, but. I thought it was just that we were close to other people, not that the damn house was haunted. Thought you’d be okay by yourself for a few minutes. Fuck.”
“I’m fine, Dean. Seriously.” His stomach is still aching, and his hands press down into it, praying that the baby is fine, still relatively safe and alive inside him.
Dean cuts him a glance without looking directly at him. “Is the baby okay?”
Sam ducks his head. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and it’s driving him crazy.
And that’s when he feels it. It’s an odd sensation, like a popcorn kernel had just popped inside him, but he immediately knows what it is.
He grabs Dean’s hand off the driving wheel without thinking, putting it to his stomach.
“What the hell, Sam, you can’t just--”
There’s the feeling again, a gentle push just below Sam’s navel, and it shuts Dean’s bitching up fast.
Sam smirks, letting go of Dean’s hand, though it stays in place on his stomach. “The baby is fine.”
Dean snakes his hand beneath Sam’s shirt, gently rubbing over the soft skin of his belly. The baby doesn’t kick again, but Dean’s face breaks out into a slow smile. “Well, shit. Baby’s resilient as hell.”
“Baby’s a Winchester,” Sam says simply, shrugging.
Dean’s smile only widens.
“Damn right the baby’s a Winchester.” He looks so ridiculously proud, still running his hand over Sam’s stomach.
His rush of adrenaline quickly waning, Sam’s eyelids start feeling heavy, and each time he blinks, it takes longer to open his eyes again.
Dean lifts his hand from his stomach, smoothing his hand over Sam’s hair. He doesn’t say anything, but Sam knows he’s telling him to go to sleep.
“Aren’t you tired?” Sam asks.
Dean shakes his head. “Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna let you drive looking like you’re about to pass out any second.”
Sam just nods and closes his eyes, too drained to argue.
*
They come upon a city that seems to be a legitimately functioning place. A tidy little sign just outside the settlement proclaims WELCOME TO LAKE LAWNING despite Sam not seeing a lake anywhere in sight. There are children playing on the streets, neighbors are chatting as they stroll down the sidewalks, and no one seems to be afraid of anyone else.
Dean wants to just drive on by it, too spooked by suddenly having so many people around them, but Sam reminds him that he’s seven months along, and they need to start thinking about buying things for the baby, formula, clothes, bottles, that kind of thing. Not to mention they need to stock up on more food and supplies for themselves.
So Dean grudgingly pulls into Lawning, stopping in front of what looks like a little open marketplace.
Unfortunately for them, Lawning apparently has a gambling ban that everyone seems pretty strict about maintaining. They’re reduced to bartering with people for various things, offering Dean’s handy-man services and what few goods they have left and don’t necessarily need for things that they do. Sam’s mostly not paying attention other than when Dean pulls the sympathy card and introduces him as his pregnant partner to push someone into giving them an incredibly steep discount. Dean always puts his hand on Sam’s lower back, holding him close, and Sam lowers his lashes and smiles softly, playing the part of a blushing bride or whatever.
That’s actually what Sam is doing when he notices what looks like a table covered in books out of the corner of his eye. He can’t remember the last time he saw a book, even just to do research for a case. They don’t do as many hunts as they used to, but the hunts they still do are generally done with interviews and the rare town newspaper. “Dean,” he says, cutting him off mid-bargain, “I’m gonna go over there.” He waves toward the books and doesn’t wait for the look of annoyance he knows Dean is going to give him before he trots off.
He picks up an old copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls and leafs through it, remembering how his own copy had been ridiculously dog eared, the binding fraying around the edges.
“Are you going to have a baby?”
Sam jumps at the voice but quickly recovers, smiling when he sees an elderly woman standing on the other side of the table. “Yes, ma’am.”
She grins. “Thought so. Your face is absolutely glowing. Do you have a name picked out?”
Sam shakes his head. “Haven’t thought about it yet.”
The baby kicks like it knows Sam is talking about it, and he automatically shifts, pressing up under his belly to readjust its position.
“Got a mover?” she asks, laughing when he nods. She bites her lip thoughtfully then grabs a book from the corner of the table, pushing it into his hands. “Here you go. 15000 Baby Names. Can’t go wrong with that many options at your disposal.”
“Thank you, but,” Sam looks at Dean, knowing that there’s no way in hell he’d agree to trade something for a book of baby names, “we really can’t afford this right now.”
“A young pregnant couple can’t afford anything, honey,” the woman tells him, patting the back of his hand. “Especially not in these times. Think of it as a gift for the baby.”
He smiles, then laughs when he has to shift because the baby decided to start kicking again. “I think the baby says thank you.”
“Sam!”
Sam looks up to see Dean with his arms overloaded with various baby things, like bottles and tiny clothes. He rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I have to go save the father of my child.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Sounds like you’re used to it. You make sure he takes good care of you, okay?”
Sam smiles. “He’s always taken really good care of me, ma’am.”
She hums approvingly, then places the copy of For Whom the Bell Tolls he’d been looking at earlier on top of the book already in his hands. “I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone touch this book like that. No one appreciates Hemingway anymore. Go ahead and take it, too.”
Sam wants to protest, but Dean calls for him again, and he’s got to go or Dean will drop everything he’d just bought. “Thank you again, ma’am.”
She shoos him off, and he clutches the books to himself as he runs after Dean, catching a onesie and a baby blanket before they hit the ground. He plucks a few items out of Dean’s hands. “Why’d you get so much stuff? We still have a few months to go. We didn’t need everything right this second.”
Dean shrugs. “Got a really good deal from a lady who thought you were just so cute with your little baby belly. What’re the books for?”
“It’s just a bunch of baby names and something to read,” Sam says. At Dean’s pointed look, he quickly adds, “She just gave them to me. I didn’t spend anything, I swear.”
Dean arches a brow. “Really?”
Sam nods. “Yeah. She was really nice.”
The baby lands a swift kick to Sam’s kidney, and he winces, hissing in a breath.
Dean’s brow furrows. “You okay?”
“Yeah. The baby is just really excited today, which translates to assaulting my insides.” He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “I’m fine.”
Dean gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t press. “We’re going to have to stay here a few days so I can pay for all this stuff. I rented us a room out of some guy’s house in exchange for us cleaning the rest of it up a little. Wanna go check it out?”
‘Checking it out’ probably means more like ‘I’m about to force you into taking a nap’, but the thought of sleeping in a bed again, especially one that isn’t in a haunted house, sounds too good to pass up. “Sure. I kind of wanted to take a nap anyway.”
Dean seems pleased to hear this, and they dump all of their newly acquired stuff in the trunk of the Impala before heading for the house.
*
It’s actually a really nice house, especially considering the fact that they usually squat in houses that look like they’re about one good gust of wind from collapsing. Dean tries his best to find them decent places to stay, but there are only so many abandoned houses that aren’t falling apart, and Winchesters just don’t seem to be able to find any of them.
Dean is going to paint it and other little odd jobs for the owner in return for their rented room. It’s supposed to be a hotel of sorts once it’s fixed up, but no one else is living in any of the other rooms at the moment. They have it all to themselves, so it’s kind of like they’re renting the whole house even though they’re technically only renting the one room.
But, yeah, despite the peeling paint on the outside and some general cleaning that Sam plans to take care of on the inside, the house is really nice.
The only downside is that Dean is usually out all day performing various favors to work off the credit people have given them for all the supplies they’ve been needing. He always comes home exhausted and covered in grease or paint, but they have running water now and an actual shower, and Dean moans like an eight dollar whore every time he gets under the spray. Sam snickers about that--mostly to himself though, because after a nice, hot shower, Dean is usually in the mood for some nice, hot sex.
While Dean goes out and works all day, Sam is usually cooking and cleaning. He talks to the baby now, because the baby book that Rose, the lady who had given him the other books, let him borrow says that the baby can hear him. He’s pretty sure it can hear Dean too, because every single time Dean walks through the door covered in whatever brand of grime that day called for and jokingly calls out, “Honey, I’m home,” the baby does a little flip in Sam’s belly.
It doesn’t really hit Sam until they’ve been there three weeks that it’s sort of like they’re actually living there. Like they own the house or something. Dean goes out and works, Sam stays home and does housework. Sam makes dinner every night and asks Dean how work was that day. Dean asks how the house was, if Sam went and borrowed another book from Rose, and then unironically asks the baby how it’s doing. They’re constantly talking about ways to fix up the house a little more, what would make the home more presentable to guests.
Well, shit, Sam thinks. It’s like they’re fucking homeowners now, a normal family with a white picket fence, working on getting the 2.5 kids, and they didn’t even realize it was happening. Smack in the middle of the god damn Apocalypse, they find normalcy.
It’s such a hilarious, ironic, ridiculous Winchester-type situation to find himself in, and Sam starts laughing because he just can’t help himself. He’s a fucking housewife, pregnant with his and his blue collared partner’s first child, and how did this even happen?
He’s still laughing when Dean gets out of his shower, a pair of sweats sitting invitingly low on his hips as he towels his hair dry. Dean rolls his eyes fondly. “Baby find a tickle spot again?”
“No,” Sam gasps, trying to compose himself. “No, and shut up. I don’t laugh that hard when the baby finds a tickle spot.”
“Yeah, okay,” Dean says disbelievingly. He reaches for a spot just below Sam’s ribs, and he shies away. “Yeah, you’re not really that ticklish at all.”
“Shut up,” Sam says again, though he’s still smiling. “I was just thinking about the situation we’ve found ourselves in.”
Dean tosses the towel near the little hamper their dirty laundry goes in now, sitting beside Sam on the bed. “Situation?”
Sam’s smile widens, and he suppresses the urge to start laughing again.
“I mean, look at us, Dean. It’s like we turned into the Brady Bunch or something overnight. Or at least the beginning of the Brady Bunch.” He rests his hand on his stomach. “You go off to work every day, and I stay home and cook and clean for you. Hell, we even have a house with a literal white picket fence, since you painted it the other day.”
Dean cracks a smile at that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
He sounds vaguely amused, but he’s not nearly as amused by it as Sam, and Sam’s face falls a little. “You okay?”
Dean just nods, looking down at his hands.
Sam could just kick himself. They’re not going to stay like this forever, he knows. They’ll finish working off their debt in a few more days, and then they’ll be leaving again, driving off into the wild blue yonder. And Dean knows how important the normal life used to be to Sam. He probably thinks that Sam wants to stay and feels guilty that he doesn’t want that, can’t want it, because he’s Dean, and he’s never wanted it.
“Not that I don’t know we’ll be leaving soon,” he tries. “I mean, the house is great and all, but I’m getting restless being trapped inside all day with only Rose to talk to. I was just thinking that it’s funny, you know? Us living like normal people. It’s funny.”
“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean says softly. “It’s funny.” He reaches out, his hand sliding on top of Sam’s, still resting against his stomach. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
Sam’s brow furrows. “About what?”
Dean takes a deep breath. “How would you feel about maybe staying in Lake Lawning?”
To say the question shocks Sam would be an understatement.
“Staying?” Sam asks, his voice almost foreign to his own ears. “But we don’t stay anywhere.”
“We’re about to have a baby, Sam,” Dean says, all reasonable and calm, like he hadn’t just flipped Sam’s world on its head. “Staying is what most people do when they have a family to take care of. Most families aren’t like ours was. We could stay in this house, make it more baby proof before the baby actually gets here, and we’d be good to go.”
“But,” Sam stammers, head whirling. “But, I mean. Dean, we can’t stay here. We can’t even afford to.” There’s literally nothing they own that could ever be worth what the house is worth. No one is going to trade clothes full of holes and a few knives edged in silver for a fucking house. Maybe if they sold the-- “No.”
“Sam--”
Sam brushes Dean’s hand off his stomach, and he struggles to get up off the bed. He finally manages by putting his hands behind himself and pushing up, and it’s probably the least graceful thing he’s ever done, probably takes all the seriousness out of the situation, but Sam is pissed and he doesn’t care. “No. Because if that thick head of yours is thinking what I think it’s thinking, and I know it is because I have been around your stupid ass our entire lives, I will end you, Dean.”
Dean looks up at Sam, annoyance and frustration settling into the lines of his face. “The guy who owns this house, he offered it to me for the Impala. Sam, we can’t raise a kid out of the back of a car.”
“I was raised out of the back of a car. That car, actually,” Sam shoots back.
“And you were miserable!”
“I was miserable for a lot of reasons, Dean.” Sam crosses his arms. “The car wasn’t one of them.”
“Damn it, Sam.” Dean looks tired, his shoulders slumped, purple under his eyes like bruises. “I just--I don’t know. I don’t want my kid to hate me.”
Sam scoffs at that. “The kid adores you, dumbass. It practically starts dancing on my bladder every time you talk.”
His back is starting to ache with his rigid, aggressive posture, so Sam hunches down a little, rubbing the small of it.
“Yeah?” Dean asks, smiling a little. He looks so broken, even with the smile, and it makes Sam angry that even after all this time, he hasn’t managed to fix Dean’s insecurities. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to.
“Yeah,” he confirms. “So we’re leaving ASAP, and I don’t want to hear anymore bullshit about selling the Impala. You don’t get to be a martyr, Dean.” He nudges Dean’s legs apart a little further with his knee until he can comfortably step between them. “I’m not gonna let you.”
Dean nods once, resigned, and his hands coming up to bracket Sam’s belly as he presses a soft kiss to it. Sam thinks it’s probably the most intimate thing Sam has ever seen Dean do.
He rests his hand on Dean’s head, fingers gliding through his hair. He feels the baby move, and Dean smiles against him, resting his cheek against the place he’d felt the movement.
Sam sighs. The idea of the white picket fence had been entertaining while it had lasted, comfortable to think about. But this is all Sam needs, and he knows it. Dean and their baby. Anything after that is just a bonus.
Part 3