Title: Melon Strolling

Disclaimer: Not mine. Ever. Damn it.

Summary: Dean has a bad dream... no, a really bad dream. Set sometime in Season One.

Pairing: Sam/Dean Wincest

Warning: Well, incest and Mpreg. Yes, I know; Special Hell beckons.

Feedback: Um... please? I’m all needy and stuff.

A/N: I’ve had a horrible day. This is my attempt to make myself feel better. The title is taken from a Sylvia Plath poem.

When Dean opens his eyes he doesn’t feel different right away, which is normal because one doesn’t usually feel anything profound during the moments between sleep and wakefulness. Mostly he just scratches and stretches and kicks Sam out of bed by accident then groans for coffee before he staggers to the bathroom.

But, being a hunter, one does pick up on certain things, even in the most vulnerable of states. And Dean becomes quickly aware that he’s being stared at.

“Can I help you?” he murmurs, turning his face to see Sam lying next to him, smiling warmly.

“Just lookin’ at you,” Sam replies in a whisper, ducking his head for a soft morning kiss, “how’re you feeling today?”

That grabs Dean’s attention straight away. It’s not like Sam’s not normally attentive but that’s just it – this isn’t normally attentive. Sam never wakes him with staring eyes and soft words and kisses. Sam will wake him by nipping his neck gently; making these weird little noises which make it all too clear he’s only waking Dean up for one reason. Admittedly, sometimes this makes Dean feel like a glorified piece of pornography but, hey, he’s not complaining. It’s not like being manhandled when he’s all sleepy and warm doesn’t totally get him going every time. Early mornings make a nice change from the rest of the day when Sam frets about everything and goes all un-fun.

Anyway, the point is that this isn’t that sexy, hotter than hell Sam he knows so well, this is some kind of weird imitation. He tries to remember if anything happened last night, if he got drunk or if someone beat on him or anything. Nope, all he remembers is... well, not a whole lot, so the likelihood is that there was alcohol involved, celebrating a successful hunt of one kind or another. It doesn’t worry Dean as such, because one evil bastard can sometimes blend in with the next, just like how innocent people get mixed up in his head.

The next thing that catches his attention is that he has to pee like, right now really badly. And Sam isn’t helping the situation by petting his stomach like its some new toy.

“Uh, that’s not doing much for me,” Dean says groggily, “get off me, Sam...”

Sam’s smile doesn’t falter. “Still not feeling great?”

“When was I not... you know, never mind. I’m gonna go take a leak, come back and get coffee.”

“Dean... we’ve discussed this...”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean shakes his head. Sam has some sort of damage going on and he’ll figure out what’s up when he comes back from the bathroom.

“Let me give you a hand,” Sam says sweetly, getting up and coming round to Dean’s side of the bed, holding out his hands, “gettin’ kinda heavy, huh?”

“I swear to god, one more wisecrack about my weight and I’ll eat your liver raw.”

“I didn’t say anything...” Dean witnesses his brother holding his breath for a count of ten – Sam has never been subtle – and then releasing it before continuing, “You’re right. I’m not being fair. I only mean that it’s getting hard for you to move around as easily. But that’s fine. You said you’d let me take care of you both.”

“Both... And Sammy, it’s kind of rough to say I can’t move as good as I used to. I’m not even thirty yet.”

Sam frowns. “Dean...”

To his surprise, Dean actually does find sitting up kind of... a challenge. He figures he’s hurt his back somehow. That is until he lets Sam take his hands and he finally stands.

He looks down.

And – though he’s not very proud of it – Dean screams.

“What do you mean, I’m pregnant? Could you, uh, maybe talk sense?” Dean holds up a hand abruptly before Sam can say anything, good sense or otherwise. “Point one, I’m a guy. Point two, I’m a guy. And point three? Oh, yeah, I’m a guy. Sammy, do you maybe see a pattern here? Do you maybe see where I’m going with this, huh, college boy?”

They’re not even in a motel. They’re in an apartment. Dean doesn’t understand one bit of this, but Sam’s looking even more gloomy and teary eyed than ever so he tries to hold down that he’s freaking out in a major way.

Okay, so the screaming and fainting didn’t speak volumes of confidence, but still, he can work on that. Besides, Dean doesn’t faint. He blacked out. And it’s only natural to black out after discovering something like this.

The weird thing – oh yeah, the weird thing, the only weird thing in this completely normal situation – is that Sam seems calm and accepting. Hell, he knows all about this supposed pregnancy. When Dean looks at the coffee table he sees a stack of books all with smiling pregnant women or butt ugly babies.

He damn near loses consciousness again but concentrates on sitting in a comfortable position. He ends up, naturally, sitting back with his spine resting, hands folded on his protruding stomach.

Dean figures he’s very pregnant. He doesn’t know shit about dates and stuff, but he thinks he might drop the kid at any moment. And that just raises the question of where exactly he’d drop it from and that leads to... well, that leads to Dean blinking to try and stay with Sammy.

“I’m waiting on an answer here,” Dean says impatiently.

Sam sighs. “Dean, I’m worried about you.”

“You’re... you’re worried? Sam, dude, look at me! I think worried should be an understatement.”

“Let me just...”

Dean thwacks Sam’s hand away when his little brother gets up to touch his forehead with gentle fingers. “I’m not sick. Well, not like that. It’s demonic. It’s gotta be some demonic thing.”

“Some demonic thing... That’s what you’re calling it?” Sam’s face crumples. “Dean, this is our child.”

“Our... Sammy, you’re seriously messed up on this. I can’t be pregnant. There is literally nowhere for a baby to grow. Look, now I’d be as made up as the next guy if I found out I was gonna be a dad. But this is not the way it goes down. When we got into this, we knew this is not how things were gonna go for us.” It’s true. They’ve had the kids discussion more times than Dean cares to remember. They’ve had to talk about it so carefully because Sam’s always wanted a big family, lots and lots of children, and Dean’s been trying to push those ideas out of his head with cheerful force.

He’s been so sweet and slow with telling Sam that they’ll never even be able to like, adopt or anything normal like that. They’re brothers. That changes everything. It also means, Dean realizes slowly, that being pregnant is even worse. He really doesn’t like the idea of having a baby with six toes on each foot or flippers or something.

See, this is something he’s never considered to be an issue until right now this very moment. And now he feels sick.

And he hurts all over.

“If you’re gonna hover over me spinning tall tales like this,” Dean drags his body round so that he’s lying down on the couch, “least you can do is rub my feet. They’re killing me.”

Tell me I didn’t just say that.

Sam comes and sits down, laying Dean’s legs over him, without question.

That pretty much freaks Dean out most of all. Or it would if he wasn’t, you know, pregnant and stuff.

No I’m not. There is a totally... rational explanation for this.

“Maybe we should call Missouri,” Sam frets quietly.

“I’m not calling that witch.”

“Psychic, Dean, psychic, she’s not a witch. You wouldn’t call me a witch, would you?”

“Just somethin’ that rhymes with witch, then.”

Sam laughs in this I’m just humouring you way. “Just because she didn’t take any of your crap... I know you guys get along really.”

“And how would you know that?” Dean turns his face away and feels himself go dangerously close to pouting territory. Luckily, he manages to pull himself back from that just in time because, like he needs to get any more female right now. “So you think I’m really pregnant? Like, crying at commercials, eating all kinds of weird crap, pushing a baby outta...” He swallows and asks faintly, “My ass?”

Sam’s concerned look tips over into downright fright, and Dean sees him struggle to stay calm, his lips thinning into a false smile. “Oh, baby, you really had a rough night, didn’t you?”

“Do not call me... that.”

“Don’t call you...”

“Baby, never, ever, ever...” Dean has to admit getting his feet rubbed is nice, but he is in no way ready for pet names... or kids.

“You like when I sweet talk you,” Sam says, and then asks curiously, “don’t you?”

“Maybe normally... no, no, I never like that. Never, okay? Sam, can you just... can you maybe go make me coffee? One cup isn’t gonna have me dropping kittens on the carpet...” He can see from the stubborn look on Sam’s face that a caffeine boost is not happening. Damn it. “Okay, how about a beer?”

“Dean!” Sam’s expression contorts into one of utter disgust. “Please try and have more respect for our baby and yourself than that.”

“Whatever,” Dean kicks Sam’s hands away reluctantly, “Get off me.” He suddenly wants to stab Sam’s eyes out using something very rusty. All this is not only beyond comprehension, it’s totally moronic. Guys don’t get pregnant, especially not by their brothers.

Of course, this would explain why he’s wearing these butt ugly sweatpants, because they don’t show off his ass even a little... Except that his ass is fat as hell right now, and that makes Dean flinch. Oh my god. This is a very bad nightmare. He looks like an almost ripe melon on legs. How is it possible to blank on being very, very knocked up?

“So...” Dean gives up on attempting getting up and collapses back. “We still manage to do it with me like this?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Dean, I think we need to get you some help.”

“I’m fine. I think I hit my head.” Tell me I’m delusional, he pleads silently, very half-hearted. Part of Dean is beginning to come round to the idea, he likes that he might be able to give Sam a big family, the family he’s always wanted, but most of him is still kicking and screaming that none of this makes sense.

Sam starts to rub his feet again, all soothing and shit. This is so not fair. What is even less fair is that he’s tired out already. He guesses the male body really isn’t designed for child bearing.

Oh, come on dumb ass, even someone who flunked Biology should have a better grasp of reality than that. There are so many reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, but his head’s getting all clogged with sleep.

“You reckon I’m happy about this?” he asks in a little slur.

The small smile at the corners of Sam’s lips answers his question. “Just for the record, I think you’re really hot like this. I know you don’t believe me. But it’s true. If you could see you how I do... you’d get it.”

Dean blinks. “You’re just saying that so I don’t throw myself down a load of stairs, right?”

“Dean, don’t even joke about that.” The very real fear and hurt in Sam’s voice stops him from making any more bad jokes. His eyes flutter open and closed gradually and he hears Sam say, “You sleepy, baby?”

Dean mutters, “Shut the fuck up,” and enjoys Sam’s warm laugh. He just hopes when he wakes up all this will be...

...over. Dean’s breath comes out sharply and his hands fly to his stomach.

Flat. Flat. Flat. Flat. He dreamt that whole goddamn thing? How is that possible? Well, it’s a lot more possible than the alternative but still, it was really vivid and why would someone dream that sort of... Huh. Clearly, Dean has major fucked-up issues and he should deal with them right away before he ends up rocking back and forth in a crazy house. He rolls over and Sam is lying next to him, all sleepy-eyed and staring at him unnervingly.

“What’s with the look?” Dean asks angrily. He’s still all tense inside because that was not a good night’s sleep by any stretch of the imagination. And Dean’s imagination is, apparently, very stretchy.

“You were making noises,” Sam replies and smiles, “good dream?”

“No. Crappy, nightmarish dream...”

“Poor thing...”

Dean nods. “It was horrible.”

“Was I in it?”

“You were the main event.”

Sam frowns dejectedly. “Am I meant to be flattered or something?”

“It was just a dream,” Dean’s breathing deepens and he feels Sam caressing his cheek with tender fingers. “Sammy... can you do one thing for me, before we like, um, do anything? And then I promise you can do any-freakin’-thing you want to me, no matter how kinky.”

“Anything you want.” Sam sounds way too eager.

Dean turns his face back and looks at his brother. He’s already figured that he’ll need to bargain for this little gem, and that Sam’s going to taunt him about this forever. But he has to know. How many guys have dreams about their brother getting them pregnant? There’s something seriously psychologically wrong with him... either that or he was having a prophetic vision, a shot of intuition, whatever. He makes a serious face and says with perfect calm, “I want a pregnancy test.”

End