Stalk Watch 6/7
Stalk Watch
Summary: The second counter-curse is - surprise, surprise - as anti-climactic as the first, and by the time they realize this, Sam's contractions are barely ten minutes apart and impossible for him to hide.
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Also, to the other wonderful people who have messaged me and offered support. You are all amazing and I am so grateful to have you in my life. Thank you all!
A/N: Blah blah blah, this is late for a multitude of reasons; school/kindy holidays, health problems, birthdays, real life, etc
But hey, I just realized there's going to be a seventh chapter when I thought there were only six so uh, yay for more, right?
Chapter Six
The second counter-curse is - surprise, surprise - as anti-climactic as the first, and by the time they realize this, Sam's contractions are barely ten minutes apart and impossible for him to hide. Dean tries to keep him lying down but he won't, or can't. Instead he perches on the edge of the couch, bent over as much as the bump will allow, rocking slightly through each one.
“You're tensing up,” Dean says, “Stop tensing up.”
Sam glares at him, face flushed, strands of sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “You try doing this without tensing up,” he grits out.
“I'm serious,” Dean insists, thinking back to all his research. “You're making it hurt more. You need to relax.”
“I'm in labour,” Sam cries. “I can't relax!” He pushes up from the couch, contraction over, and starts pacing the room, and Dean is sure that he read something about that making labour speed up so Jesus, Sam, sit the hell down. “What are we gonna do now?”
Dean takes Sam's vacated seat on the couch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he thinks. “Okay, look, we need to cover all the possibilities now,” he says seriously. He doesn't want to be having this conversation at all but there's something about Sam being in pain that helps to center him, give him the focus he needs to think in a crisis. Sam calls it Big Brother Mode. Dean just thinks of it as Fix Whatever's Wrong with Sam Now. And he won't be helping Sam by brushing aside possibilities he doesn't want to deal with. “First is that this curse has to run it's course and in a few hours, this will end by itself.” That's the best scenario they've got, even if Sam looks a little faint at the idea of this lasting that long. “But the second possibility... if there's something in there, it needs a way out.”
Sam stops dead in his tracks and stark terror flashes in his eyes. Dean knows that Sam's thought about this already but considering the possibility in private and having your brother admit that he might have to slice you open are two completely different things.
“That's worst case scenario,” Dean continues quickly. “We probably won't need to go that far but, just in case, we should be ready.”
“Do you even know how to perform a cesarean?” Sam asks, his voice rising an octave, and Dean can just see the panic attack starting and he doesn't think that will mix well with contractions.
“You think I'd suggest it if I didn't?” he says, with far, far more confidence than he feels. No matter how he looks at it, cutting Sam open is the absolute last thing he wants to do, aside from letting some kind of creature tear it's way out. “I need to go get the med kit from the car. I won't be long. You gonna be okay?”
“No,” Sam grimaces, doubling over as a fresh contraction ripples through his stomach. “Ow, fuck, that hurts, shitshitshit, ow!”
Dean's off the couch and by his side in an instant. “We've got to get you off your feet. Come on.” He grabs Sam's arm to steer him to the couch but Sam's fingers clamp down on his wrist with enough force that he thinks he can feel bones grinding together, so no, Sam's not going anywhere just yet. “Okay, change of plans,” he says through clenched teeth. “Just breathe through it. It'll be over in a minute.”
“That's too long!” Sam gasps. “I can't do this, I'm not designed for this, ow, fuck!” And now he's crying and he's still not breathing through it like he should, still not making any effort to relax, and Dean vows that he will never, ever be sloppy about using protection because he wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy. Jesus, how to women do this?
“Surely you've had worse than this,” Dean tries, hoping that a distraction will at least be of some use. “What about that time you broke both your legs falling off that cliff a few years ago? That was worse, right?”
Sam shakes his head desperately, moaning out a thin agonized sound between sobs, and okay, maybe he's right because Dean's starting to think that his wrist might be hurting more than that did, caught in Sam's death-grip, so this must be a whole new level of pain, and there's only one more thing Dean can think of to try.
“Get it together, Sam!” he barks, “Women do this all the time, and you're just making things worse for yourself. Fucking calm down and focus.”
Sam flinches, peering up at him with wounded eyes but he stops panicking and sucks in a breath like it's an involuntary reflex. It almost is, after a lifetime of listening to Dad give orders in the same tone. Dean isn't Dad though and he knows there's a time for giving Sam orders and a time to give Sam reassurances, something Dad always seemed to mess up when dealing with the kid.
“That's it,” he says encouragingly. “Now out, slowly. You can do this. You just need to calm down. Freaking out is not gonna help, kiddo. It's gonna stop hurting in a minute, then you can have a break, okay? Just breathe.”
Dean babbles until Sam's hand stops trying to crush the bones in his wrist and slowly, tentatively, he straightens up, one hand still curled around his stomach.
“Better?” Dean asks. Kid's still shaky and a little breathless but it seems like they've managed to avoid the panic attack, at least.
“Yeah,” Sam murmurs. He moves his hand from Dean's arm to wipe his face, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. Dean considers reassuring him by pointing out that he sure as hell wouldn't be handling this constant stream of contractions well either but he thinks that maybe it's not such a good idea to remind Sam that he's gonna have to do this again in a few minutes and it's just gonna get worse, from what Dean understands. Instead he just leads Sam to the couch, where the kid sinks into the cushions with relief, letting his head fall back and eyelids sink closed as he takes a few steadying breaths.
“I still need to run to the car,” Dean says, “There's painkillers in the kit too - good ones.”
Sam cracks his eyes open. “What if it's human though? That might hurt it.”
Dean pauses. They've already gone through this and the chances of it being human are tiny, at best. He looks at Sam's arms, protectively curled over the bump, and wonders, if Sam's hormones are going crazy enough to give him morning sickness, could those hormones that help with bonding be at work here too? Surely Sam doesn't really want a baby. What would he do with it when he's in class? How would he explain where it came from?
“Sam,” he says carefully. “We need to work with the most likely options. You know what we're probably dealing with here and the odds of this ending in bundle of joy are practically non-existent.”
Sam is quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess I just want it to be something that doesn't have claws.”
Dean's not convinced that's all Sam wants but what can he do? He wishes he could stay to offer more comfort but he really does need to get the med kit and anyway, there's nothing he can say that will help if Sam wants a baby that doesn't exist. “I'll be right back. Just stay here and remember to breathe if another one hits while I'm gone.”
Sam nods dismally. Dean hovers for another few seconds before he works up the strength to walk out while Sam's in this condition. He has to be stern with himself. Sooner he leaves, the sooner he can get back and if he goes fast, he might make it before the next contraction.
'Walk' is a bit of an understatement. He hits the hallway at a jog and speeds up the second he's got room to maneuver without slamming into furniture. He's practically flying in his attempt to get back to Sam as soon as possible, which is probably why he doesn't see the girl until he smacks into her, sending his car keys and her stack of books tumbling to the floor.
“Shit, sorry,” he says automatically. He's more frustrated than he is sorry because this is just going to make his trip take longer, but he grabs his keys and starts collecting up the books anyway because he's not a complete asshole.
“Oh, Dean, right?” says a familiar voice, just as Dean reads the title of the aged book in his hands. He straightens slowly, his mind buzzing as the pieces fall together. He should have figured it out earlier.
Erica, the girl from the New Age shop, who looked at him oddly when he came in asking questions, who has access to and knowledge of a variety of magickal substances, is reaching out to retrieve her book on fertility magick from his hand.
“It's you,” he says aloud, stunned, his hand automatically reaching for the guns tucked into the back of his jeans.
Erica's smile falters as she catches sight of his face. “From earlier, at the shop,” she says uncertainly, falling back a step. “Is everything okay?”
A sneer tugs at the corners of Dean's lips, a prickle of rage settling at the top of his spine at the fact that she has the audacity to keep up the facade now that he's seen the book. Does she think he's stupid? “No,” he growls, “But you already knew that, didn't you?”
Her face twists in confusion. “How would I know that?” she asks. “Do you need some help?” She sounds a lot less sure of herself with every word and she's inching backwards now. She looks set to run until her eyes flicker down to the book Dean's holding. He takes a step forward, closing some of the gap.
“What's this?” he demands, waving it in her face.
“Be careful with that!” Erica protests. “It's my grandmothers. It's really old.”
“Oh I bet it is,” Dean seethes, “Witchcraft run in the family, does it? Why the hell did you curse my brother?”
“Your brother...?” she asks faintly, looking around for a way out. “I thought you said... No, I didn't curse anyone. What are you talking about?”
“You want to see what I'm talking about?” Dean snarls, grabbing her by the wrist and dragging her towards Sam's door.
“What are you doing?” Erica cries, terror bleeding into her tone as she twists and pulls at her trapped arm. “Help! Someone-”
Dean swings the door open and shoves her into Sam's apartment. She stumbles and her yelling cuts off abruptly, eyes widening as her gaze lands on Sam, who's horrified expression mirrors hers.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Sam exclaims as Dean quickly shuts and locks the door, keeping her wrist gripped tightly in his hand. Sam wraps his arms around his stomach, as if he can somehow hide how obviously pregnant he is.
“She's the witch,” Dean says grimly, holding up the book, at the same time as Erica shrieks, “What the fuck?!”
“Undo it,” Dean orders her sharply. “I don't know what the hell you're playing at with this shit but it needs to stop, now.”
“Oh my God,” Erica squeaks, shrinking away from Dean. “This isn't- holy shit, this isn't what was meant to happen.” Her free hand reaches up and clasps her pentagram necklace in a clear nervous gesture, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief as Sam folds over with another contraction, his hands white-knuckled on the couch cushion, a low moan of pain escaping from his lips. Dean is torn between keeping Erica in his grasp and going to comfort Sam. The girl isn't trying to get away now. She simply seems dumbstruck and she's not reacting at all like Dean thought she would. What does she mean, this isn't what was meant to happen?
“You better start talking,” he growls. “As you can see, we're on a time limit. So what did you do?”
Erica's feet move in an anxious little dance. “Not this. I didn't mean to do this!” she claims desperately. “It's just, I tried to...” Her shoulders slump in defeat and suddenly she looks like she might cry. “I can't have children,” she whispers.
Dean loosens his grip on her arm as that sinks in, suddenly aware of how tightly he's been holding her. She looks so devastated, he thinks she might actually be telling the truth and maybe this is just a terrible mistake rather than a malicious attack, but either way, Sam got caught in the crossfire and it's her fault.
“So you did a spell?” he surmises, eyebrows raised to display his disapproval.
“You don't understand what it's like,” Erica says, her face crumpling even more, “to be told that the one thing you've always wanted is the one thing you can never have. When I found that book in the back of my grandmother's shop, I just thought... I mean, what's the worst that could happen?”
Dean's eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into his hairline. He thrusts a hand towards Sam angrily. “This is the worst that could happen. You might want a baby but Sam sure as hell didn't sign up for this!”
“Calm down,” Sam says, still breathless from the fading contraction. “She didn't mean to do this.” He turns his gaze on Erica, cowering in Dean's grip. “What spell did you use?”
“I can find it,” Erica says, her eyes flitting anxiously at Dean and the book in his hand, her face pale but determined now that she's over the initial shock. “I can undo it. I swear I didn't try to curse you. This isn't what was meant to happen.”
Finally convinced, Dean lets go of her wrist and holds out the book to her. “You better be able to fix this.”
Chapter Seven