Disclaimer: Neither Supernatural nor its characters belong to me. Supernatural is  Eric Kripke and Warner Bros., etc. No infringement intended, no profit made—this story is just for fun.

Spoilers: All of Season one and Season two— specifically "Everybody Loves a Clown" and "Born Under a Bad Sign"

Summary: Dean's physical and emotional boundaries are broken. Sam does his best to hold everything together.

Characters/Pairing: Gen, Sam and Dean, but very "smarmy"

Rating: R for language, horrific imagery and graphic descriptions

Warnings: MAJOR Crack!fic (cannot stress this enough), hurt!Dean, mpreg, demons, horror, graphic descriptions— think ER on SPN!crack. This story, while mpreg, is not Wincest or slash. Some might consider this to be "pre-wincest" as the brothers have a very close relationship. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: Please read the warnings! And please keep in mind that this is a crack!fic. To be taken with a grain of salt. Credit must go to Pinetranio, who was the test audience for this fic. Thank you!



By Libellule (aka Griselda Jane)


Sam looked down at his brother strewn across the table, horrorstruck. Traumatized didn't even begin to touch the violent and overwhelming emotions rising up inside of Sam.

Blood spilled down Dean's prone body, bright and shocking, and someone was shouting at Sam to snap out of it, but all he could do was gape while his mind numbly went blank and his brother's blood flowed softly along the slab.


Montana seemed an unlikely place for demons with Hindu ties, but Sam Winchester was certain that rakshasas were responsible for the sudden surge in lost cattle and missing people. The Winchester brothers had come up against a rakshasa once before, but nothing could have prepared them for what was to come.

It started when ancient artifacts went missing from a Hindu Studies exhibit from the University of Montana's Department of Anthropology. In a trail two hours southeast of the campus, livestock disappeared and people who went into the woods never came out again. Some remains were found— pickings leftover— human carcasses with their insides chewed out.

One man caught a glimpse of the creatures, described them as the most vicious looking dogs he'd ever seen, black as soot, with a shock of yellow hair between the ears and fangs protruding from their mouths, would swear that the faces had almost human qualities.

Rakshasas could shape shift into a human or an animal form depending on their prey or preference.

Sam's theory was that the demons had been sealed inside the ancient idols that had gone missing. Somewhere along the way the seal had been broken and they'd been released into the Montana wilds. From the evidence left behind, these rakshasas appeared to be more feral and primitive than the one they'd previously encountered, which Sam felt supported his theory that they had been locked inside the missing idols, possibly for thousands of years.

While half-eaten human and animal remains could be attributed to any number of things, it was too much of a coincidence that the loss of Hindu artifacts corresponded with the missing people and animals. If one knew what to look for there was a clear trail starting in the woods by the school that lead all the way to Dillon, where the Winchesters had tracked the ravenous demons to be currently.


The heat of the day lingered even as the sun disappeared behind gray clouds, but the breeze that rustled the trees was cool and spoke of rain.

Sam felt the tempered air sweep over his face as he got out of the car and joined his brother at the Impala's open trunk. He tossed a worn copy of the Ramayana into the trunk atop a stack of other ancient books and watched as Dean rummaged patiently through the small arsenal. Without looking up from his searching, Dean held out a gun and Sam tucked the proffered weapon into the waistband of his pants.

It had taken six days of investigation and tracking and plotting to lead them here to this location and Sam was more than ready to dispel these demons. While they were as prepared for this as they were for any hunt, Sam was ill at ease, feeling pins and needles under his skin, a thrill of anticipation in his gut.

These demons were savage and it bothered Sam how different they seemed from the last rakshasa they had come across. That one had at least been able to feign civility well enough to blend in with human beings. Just thinking about the human remains that had been found this time around made Sam's stomach lurch.

He surveyed Dean in his preparations, a calm before the storm. His brother relished these moments, couldn't deny his love of the hunt and all it's machinations. Sometimes Dean tired of it, grew weary, but not now in the moment just before— he basked in the gloaming of the hunt.

Reaching around Dean, Sam pulled a flask of holy water and a small canister of salt from the trunk, slipping each into his jacket pockets— just in case.

The brothers packed lightly for this hunt. Only consecrated bullets and knives of brass would kill a full-grown rakshasa and this Montana forest stretched for miles in any direction— they did not want to be hauling unnecessary gear God knows how far in search of the demons.

"Ah," Dean said with a satisfied chuckle, "beautiful." He straightened, an unfinished wooden box engraved with a simple cross on the top held firmly between his hands. He pushed back the lid on its tarnished hinge and revealed a store of bullets.

They didn't have a brass knife or a brass organ pipe as they did last time, but they had this cache of blessed bullets that had been sanctified by Pastor Jim himself. These bullets would kill a rakshasa instantly.

"Don't let them scratch you," Dean said, glancing at Sam as he double-checked his gun and pocketed an extra magazine with blessed rounds. He passed the box to Sam who dutifully loaded his own weapon. "Their claws are poisonous in their natural form. Won't kill you, but it'll slow you down."

They set out across a field of wild grass heading towards the thick forest, leaving the Impala parked well off the paved road. Sam, with map in hand, nodded to his right. "This way," he told Dean, leading them into the forest.

Thunder rumbled ominously, a low growl forewarning the storm to come. Rain cast down from the white-gray sky above. Though not heavy, it came in steady, continuous drops that made the forest crackle and pop. The brothers were soaked through in less than a half hour as they trekked through the Montana woods.

"No birds," Dean observed and Sam looked up and listened, hearing nothing but rain on the trees and gentle rolls of thunder.

"We must be close," Sam said.

A lot of people had recently gone missing in Dillon, over half a dozen in two weeks. For whatever reason the rakshasas had stopped their roaming and settled in the small town. "They're nesting," Dean had guessed.

Neither brother said anything more; they communicated with quiet looks and quick gestures, a silent language all their own as they spread out and searched for the pair of demons.

From the corner of his eye, Sam kept Dean within his line of sight and he knew his brother was doing the same of him.

With day quickly turning into night, the brothers were eager to find the demons. If they turned invisible, as they were apt to do when discovered, in the dark it would be deadly. Judging by the sickening state of the found remains, these rakshasas were vicious and it would only take a second for things to go south.

Tall trees rose around them like sentinels, keepers of the forest, mostly untouched by man. The rain, nightfall, the trees— with his vision nearly rendered useless, Sam closed his eyes and listened, trying to hear sounds of the demons. He knew they were close—the absence of all other creatures in the forest told him so.

Sam's footsteps crackled unpleasantly under his weight. He stilled, pausing in mid-step. Lightning flashed as he looked down, the bright flare illuminating a mass of dead insects under his feet— thousands of dead insects.

He had walked right into their nest.

"Dean," Sam said sharply.

His brother turned towards him, eyes widening, bringing his gun to attention and shouted, "Sam, drop!"

Growling met his ears but there was nothing to see except for the faint outline of a rakshasa with a coat of rainwater betraying its invisible form.

Sam dived and Dean took his shot. The rakshasa leapt deftly, but the bullet still hit its mark, clipping the demon's left shoulder. The demon howled in pain and rage, returning to its visible form.

It was larger than an average sized wolf, fur jet black with patch of yellow between its ears. Two large teeth extended down from its upper jaw and the demon abruptly opened its mouth baring the rest of its teeth in a kind of ominous grin. Angered, but not dead, it charged Dean, barreling at him at top speed.

When, in an impressive display of either nerve or stupidity, Dean held his ground and lined up for another shot, the demon suddenly diverted going around him and ran off into the cover of trees.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, checking his shot just in time to spare the blessed bullet. Though usually swift, the injured demon's speed was significantly slowed by the shoulder wound. Keeping that in mind, Dean chased after it.

Sam pushed himself up to follow his brother when he realized, It's trying to lure us away from the nest.

Raising his gun, Sam scanned the area for signs of the other one. A soft whining met his ears before Sam saw it. Slowly creeping away, the other demon, the female, the rakshasi, was between visible and invisible states as if the transformation was too strenuous on her very pregnant form. The demon's eyes were soft and pleading, knowing that Sam was a threat to her and her unborn.

It was almost as if she had read Sam's mind for before he could cock his gun, the rakshasi was on him, claws bared, giving Sam barely a chance to move before a set of scratches grazed across his shoulder.

Sharp pain blossomed down his arm and Sam was momentarily disoriented, the poison in the demon's nails making him weak. The gun slipped through numb fingers and landed onto the muddy earth with a squelch.

The rakshasi used up all her speed in her swift attack on Sam, but her intent was not offensive so much as evasive as it bought her time for a slow but sure escape. She was in no condition to fight; her baby would be born any day now.

Sam's brain felt sluggish and he blinked trying to clear his head. He bent to pick up his weapon, but swayed unsteadily on his feet, clutching his bleeding and numb arm. Not good, Sam thought.

The darkening forest swam before his eyes and suddenly Dean was by his side, fisting his jacket in a supportive grip, a look of annoyance mixed with worry on his face.

It got away, Sam thought.

"…Dean," Sam began, trying to ask. Dean's hair was dark with rain and Sam thought fleetingly that he looked very much like their father in this instant, especially as he triaged the wound along Sam's arm.

"Easy, Sammy. Let me look," Dean said pulling at the torn fabric. His fingers searched the bloody gashes, making Sam hiss in protest. "She got you good," Dean announced. "But you don't need stitches."

"Sh'got 'way," Sam slurred, "but sh'slow."

"Relax," Dean replied, casually calm, though Sam knew better. Gripping Sam's hand, he squeezed his fingers. "Can you feel this?"

A worried look crossed Sam's face in slow motion. "Don't think so," Sam said. He saw a grin buried in Dean's eyes, but before he could ask what's so funny, Dean pinched the flesh of Sam's palm, trapping skin between his thumb and fingernail.

"Ow!" Sam said, pulling his hand out of Dean's grasp. "Jerk." The sharp pain cleared some of the cobwebs in Sam's head as he shook his hand out.

Dean grinned. "Guess you felt that. You're gonna be fine." Dean reached into Sam's jacket pocket, retrieving the flask of holy water. He doused the claw marks with a liberal amount. The cuts bubbled and burned momentarily but Sam felt the poison burning off, his mind finding focus again.

"Which way did she go?" Dean asked, "We can still get her."

Sam gestured in the direction that he'd last seen the rakshasi go.

He prodded Sam into motion with a hand at the small of his back before taking the lead. As Sam walked, the rest of the cobwebs cleared and feeling recirculated into his arm. He followed after Dean, picking up his pace.

If a scratch caused this much damage, Sam could only imagine what a bite would do. Those people they killed never had a chance at escape. They would have been paralyzed, helpless to even scream as the demons devoured them.

The brothers were silent, scanning the forest cautiously. Dean had wounded the male of the pair, but had lost track of him in the dark forest. The female demon was sluggish, her engorged belly slowing her escape, and it was only a matter of time before they got her. But she was desperate, the motives of a mother to be protecting her unborn offspring. And nothing was more dangerous than a desperate demonanimal.

It was still raining with no signs of letting up, poor visibility in miserable conditions.

Dean cast a glance at Sam, tilting his head slightly. You okay? he asked with a look.

Sam nodded, understanding, and they separated.

He checked his gun. The clip was still full, not a single shot taken. Sam wouldn't make the same mistake twice. The scratch stung in the rainwater but no longer numbed him. His gun was ready as his eyes scanned the area for the dog-like demons.

Wind shook the forest and Sam looked up, the trees black against a twilight blue sky. In less than ten minutes, the sky would be completely dark, not even the stars discernible through the overcast night.

After few moments of careful surveying Sam realized that he'd lost track of Dean. He hadn't meant to stray so far from his brother, but in these weather conditions with poor visibility, they covered more ground split up.

He suddenly had a strong feeling that he needed to find Dean now. Sam looked to his left and then to his right, straining to make out anything in the darkness. He cursed first the rain and the thick forest and then his foolhardy sibling. Dean was, of course, nowhere in sight.

Four gunshots in rapid succession and the sound of his brother screaming forced Sam's heart to twist into his throat.

Sam scrambled to gain purchase, the mud sliding under his feet. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Dean scream.

Fear propelling him beyond reason, Sam stumbled over unseen rocks and shrubs, the night like a plague of blindness to his frantic eyes. The only guide to his brother was the sound of his panicky breathing— Sam struggled to hear it over the roaring in his own ears.

It was luck that sent him in the right direction and in the last moments of light Sam, spotted his brother on the ground up ahead.

The demon was dead, that much was plain to see even as night fell upon them, but Dean was curled next to the corpse, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, sliding to a stop on the ground beside his brother, like a base runner stealing home plate.

"I don't— oh God—," Dean gasped. "Shit— shit!"

"What is it?" Sam asked, hands trying to pry away Dean's from his abdomen. He didn't see any blood, but Dean was soaking wet, his clothes dark with water, hiding any red that might stain them. "Let me see."

"I can feel it," Dean hissed, his voice edgy with thinly veiled panic.

Sam finally forced Dean's hands free. He pushed back his shirt and probed his fingers along the red claw-like scratches across Dean's stomach. That's when he felt it move.

"Holy shit," Sam whispered, drawing his hand back as if burned. He looked from the deflated demon corpse to Dean. "Her baby—."

"It's in me," Dean finished.


If they weren't both so freaked out about this whole thing, Sam might have teased Dean into next week about essentially being pregnant. But the demon's progeny was growing fast— a noticeable bump would form in less than an hour— leeching its strength from Dean's body. At this rate, the thing would be born by dinnertime.

"How did it happen?" Sam had asked as he helped his brother to his feet.

"She just didn't stop no matter how many bullets—." Dean's voice shook. "She clawed me deep and there was just this surge and black smoke—." But there was very little blood; the entry wound had resealed itself inside of a minute.

It was nearly pitch black, not even a handful of stars to guide them in the overcast sky above. Though Sam was well trained and knew the way that would lead them back to the car, his innate sense of direction did not help navigate them around the rocks and shrubs and whatever else hindered their path across the darkness; it did nothing to ease the miles they had to walk.

Why didn't we bring a flashlight? Sam thought as they stumbled their way through the forest. Stupidly, they thought they had plenty of daylight to work with— a scenario like this hadn't even entered their heads. With Dean trying to hold himself in and Sam holding his brother up, there really weren't hands enough for a flashlight anyway.

"We're almost there," Sam lied, the words of encouragement for himself just as much as for Dean. "Just a little bit further."

"Sam, shut up," Dean ground out, never one for being coddled.

Dean was trying to shake it off, pretend like it was nothing, like he wasn't freaked to hell, but it was clear to Sam that the more he moved the more pain he was in.

Just get us to the car, Sam thought, trying to beat back his own alarm by keeping his focus on small, manageable tasks. One thing at a time. Worry about what to do later. It felt like a hundred miles as Dean clung to him, unsteady on his feet.

Water dripped from Sam's mop of hair, though he hardly felt it against his cold skin. He noticed that he was shivering only after he recognized the same symptoms of cold in Dean. This was quickly becoming one of the worst situations they'd ever found themselves in. Sam would have laughed if he didn't think it would come out crazed.

The rain finally tapered off as they made it to the edge of the forest where the trees thinned abruptly before a clearing of grass. Clouds mercifully drifted across the sky, revealing a patchwork of stars.

"I see the Impala, Dean. We're nearly there," Sam said with a relieved smile. "I'll never say another word against her, I swear."

Dean let out a short sigh, but did not follow this with one of his trademark snarky comments. Troubled, Sam pressed on until he was able to lean Dean against the back door, just long enough to open the passenger's side door.

Dean resisted, muttering, "Get towels. Not gonna ruin my car."

"Your priorities are really skewed, you know that?" Sam groused as he hurried around to the trunk to retrieve the Clorox-white towels that Dean had swiped from a Motel four jobs ago.

Throwing one down on the front seat, he peeled off Dean's wet jacket, tossed it into the back, and then manhandled Dean into car. As Sam dropped another towel over Dean's head and rubbed the water from his hair, a long forgotten memory came to the surface— eleven-year-old Dean doing the same for him after a bath, toweling his head vigorously while little Sammy laughed with delight. It was before Sam knew what their family business really was.

"Lay off," Dean said, giving Sam a light shove. Sam smiled a little before toweling himself off and getting behind the wheel.

The sounds of Dean's uneven breathing filled the car and as Sam stared out the windshield into the darkness he thought, What the hell do we do now?


Sam knew Dean was panicked because he hadn't said more than two words since they got in the car— no jokes, not even humming— keeping silent in order to keep it all in. Dean was pale and sweating, his breath becoming more labored as he tried to hide his discomfort. Every so often he would intake sharply, eyes pressed tight as if he could will the whole thing away.

The baby, Sam realized, was growing at an alarming rate— doing God knows what to his brother's insides in order to survive in a human body.

There was nothing in all the lore and literature written about rakshasas that mentioned anything like this happening. Sam had read about mothers doing desperate things to protect their babies, but this was a new one.

Sam called Bobby first thing, describing what had happened. The news hadn't been good. It has to come out before it gets itself out.

Bobby called him back forty-five minutes later with the name of a doctor— he called in a favor and a friend of a friend knew someone who might be able to help. He was over in Winnett, more than 300 miles northeast of where they were. If Sam drove nonstop, they could make it there by sun up.

He's a retired surgeon— used to patch up guys in Vietnam. Meatball surgery, Bobby said. He's worked on hunters before. He'll be as prepared as anyone can be for something like this.

"Stop the car," Dean said suddenly.

Sam glanced at his brother, easing on the brakes.

"God, Sam, pull over!"

Dean was out of the car and on his knees before the Impala came to a full stop. He vomited the contents of his stomach onto the yellowing grass swaying by the side of the highway.

Sam came around the car, knelt next to his brother and put a comforting hand on his back, feeling the spasms as Dean heaved bile until there was nothing.

"This sucks," Dean said miserably. He pushed himself up with a groan, batting Sam's hand away even though he reeled unsteadily upon his feet.

Sam was right there anyway, staying close to his side. Despite Dean's protests Sam was the only thing keeping his ass from hitting the pavement and they both knew it.

"Quit hovering," Dean said, though didn't even pretend to push Sam away. "Soon as the ground stops spinning, I'm gonna knock you six ways from Sunday."

"Can't wait," Sam replied, helping his brother back to the passenger's seat. Dean couldn't hold back a grunt from the exertion. He blinked, fighting a wave of dizziness, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

Sweat trickled down his brow, an unhealthy flush coloring his ashen face. Like the time-honored tradition of mothers everywhere, Sam pressed the back of his hand to Dean's forehead, feeling a hot sting against his skin.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam said. "You're burning up."

He expected a lame joke— he wanted one. A Told ya I was hot, or off-key humming of Blue Oyster Cult's Burning for You, or at the very least he thought he would complain away from Sam's touch, but Dean did none of these things. Instead his eyes fell shut and he let Sam's hand stay where it was against his feverish skin.

"Not doing so good," Dean admitted, and his arms enfolded around his stomach. His eyes opened, hazel darkened with distress, and stared up at Sam through thick lashes. Though rarely witnessed in his brother, Sam unmistakably saw fear glossing Dean's eyes.

"I can feel it crawlin'," Dean whispered, "all up inside."

"I'm gonna get you to that doctor, Dean," Sam promised, hand falling to his shoulder. "Just hang on a little while longer. It's going to be okay."

Dean snorted, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "I'm not dying, Sam. I'm just pregnant." He laughed then, a desperate kind of edgy chuckle that did nothing to ease the tension.

But Sam wasn't entirely sure that Dean wasn't dying, that as the demon grew inside his brother it wasn't killing him at the same time. Sam knew what it was to be possessed, knew how helpless and unbearable it was to have no control over your own body. This was a different kind of possession, where Dean's mind was whole, but his body was no longer his own.

He got back behind the wheel and continued to drive. As they rolled along this forsaken stretch of roadway in Montana backwoods, Sam felt like he and Dean were completely alone. Risk comes with the job and it wasn't the first time that Dean's life laid entirely in Sam's hands, but watching Dean deteriorate, knowing that a demon lay maturing inside him, brought a kind of dread that turned Sam's stomach to stone, made him lean forward in the seat, as if that would propel the car faster, make the miles to travel shorter and would deliver Dean to someone who knows what to do.

Glancing over at his fitfully slumbering brother, Sam fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Bobby's number.

"What about an exorcism?" Sam asked as soon as Bobby answered. "A banishing spell or some kind of incantation?"

There was a slight pause on the other end that Sam recognized to be the hesitation before bad news. Magic that dark is dangerous, Sam.

"If it saves him, I don't care how dark it is," Sam said. He studied Dean's face before turning his eyes back to the dark road, and whispered, "I don't think he's going to make it to Winnett."

If he's as bad off as that, then he won't survive an exorcism or any kind of black magic.

A lump formed in Sam's throat and he swallowed compulsively. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

You're already doing it. You're getting him to that doctor.

Slumped over in the passenger's seat, Dean bit back another moan.

"I'll call you when we get there," Sam replied, ending the call with a quick press of a button. "Dean," Sam said, dividing his attention between the road and his brother. "Do you need me to stop?"

"No." And he winced again. "The little fucker's making itself right at home," Dean said. "Just drive, Sam."

It was all Sam could do. He stole another glance at his brother, who was barely visible in the lowlight of the evening, the planes of his face lit with the barest touch of moonlight.

"Try to sleep," Sam said, pressing the accelerator to the floor, "if you can."

Dean tried, falling in and out of consciousness, his head lolling against the windowpane, but more than once a pained groan escaped his lips as he jolted awake. He trembled, muscles involuntarily contracting and cramping, body yielding to the parasitic demon within. Sweat beaded across his forehead, his skin running hot and cold.

The drive was awful and torturous and not just for Dean. Trapped in the small space of the Impala, watching and hearing Dean's pain intensify while Sam sat a mere foot away, able to do naught, rent Sam in two. He could do nothing more for Dean than drive the car and offer whatever comfort his physical presence afforded his brother.

The plain truth was that Sam was scared out of his mind.

Though Sam was blatantly disregarding the speed limit, they were not making good time. Frequent stops along the way were made for Dean to be sick, even when there was nothing left to up-heave.

Amazing and horrifying at the same time, Dean's stomach grew, distending shockingly fast in the mere six hour drive. Sam could only guess that the demon was magically reforming to the stage it had been before the rakshasi had died for he had never heard of any creature gestating so quickly. Dean looked nearly full term by the time they arrived at an isolated ranch in Winnett, which rested twelve miles off the lonely main road.


Winnett was plain and dry, nothing but miles and miles of rolling prairie and open fields swept with sun-bleached grass and undergrowth. The town center was comprised of a few office buildings, a dive bar and an antiquated motel. As they left the center, the populace dropped off steeply. Abandoned houses and neglected grain towers dotted the county; they were as abundant as the lived in properties.

It was just after six a.m. when the Impala rolled to a stop in front of the doctor's home. Sam took the keys out of the ignition, sparing a glance at his brother and then another up at the house.

"We're here," Sam said quietly, resting a hand on Dean's leg. "I'll be back in a minute. Just hang tight."

Pale and trembling, Dean opened his eyes and squinted out the window, nodding his understanding.

Sam approached the house with nervous apprehension. This was it— if this guy couldn't or worse wouldn't help them, then he didn't know what they were going to do. There was no plan B. Even if there were, Dean wouldn't make it that far.

The property was large, an expanse of grass so dry and parched that Sam feared walking across it might start a brushfire.

There were rusted machine parts and ancient tractors sleeping in the front lawn, corroded skeletons from a more prosperous time. A felled wood beam fence, grayed and split, decayed leisurely amid the lithe golden grass.

The driveway had been gravel once, but was now mostly dirt. Tire tracks impressed into the dirt looked fresh, giving Sam hope that the rusty pickup parked further up the drive had been occupied recently, that its driver was inside the house. The house itself was a single story ranch with a wrap around porch, its weathered exterior not but a wind's breath from dust.

Sam thought that his foot might go clear through the wooden husk of a front step, but he was saved from finding out when the screen door swung open and a man stepped out onto the porch. His hair was a white tuft of waves, an overgrown crew cut with locks curling every which way. He wore a plaid shirt tucked into his jeans with a standard issue black belt. He looked like a man who did not waste time or words.

Jim Martin wasn't as tall as Sam, but he was an imposing figure nonetheless. Sharp blue eyes cut right through Sam as keenly as any surgical tool. The doctor's gaze whittled him down, stripping away any pretense, and Sam let everything show, allowed the man to see that he was no more a threat to him than any other worried person who came to his door seeking aid.

"Can I help you?" he asked Sam. His face was serious, his wrinkled skin a weathered tan that suggested long hours spent outdoors, but his blue eyes warmed a bit from their initial inspection and eased Sam's worry.

"Dr. Martin?" Sam asked.

"Yes, that's right," he replied.

"My name's Sam Winchester— a friend told me you might be able to help us," and he looked back to the car where Dean sat in the passenger's seat. "That's my brother, Dean. He was— hurt on a hunting trip."

"I'll see what I can do— bring him in," the doctor said as he gestured back towards the door.

But Sam didn't move. "Dr. Martin, we're not animal hunters." He fixed the doctor with a meaningful stare. "We hunt other things— things that might seem unbelievable. My friend said you have had experience with our kind of hunter before."

The doctor straightened, face turned weary with understanding. His eyes strayed from Sam to Dean leaning back in the Impala. "What exactly were you hunting?"

"We were tracking a pair of rakshasas," Sam said. "They're a kind of demon— and well, you'd better come see for yourself."

Sam turned, walking back towards the car, the doctor following behind him. Dean looked up through the window as the pair approached him, his face pale and sweating, but with determination set sharply in his eyes. Sam opened the passenger side door and the doctor sucked in his breath when he saw Dean's distended, clearly pregnant stomach.

The doctor looked from Dean to Sam, as if expecting this to be some sort of crazy prank, but the somber look of gravity on the younger Winchester's face told him that this was no joke.

"May I take a look, son?" he asked, stooping to Dean's eye level.

Dean nodded, allowing the doctor to lift his shirt and expose his swollen belly. He pressed firmly against his abdomen, and Dean bit back a groan.

"How long have you been—." He gestured to his stomach. "—like this?"

"For a few hours, sir," Dean said.

"A few hours?" the doctor said, amazement in his voice.

"The female, the rakshasi, was pregnant," Sam said. "And she somehow implanted her baby in Dean before she died. We've never heard of anything like this, but at the rate it's growing—."

"I'd say it's nearly ready to be born," the doctor said. "It really can't be born, can it?" he said slowly.

"It'll just— tear— out of him," Sam whispered. "Doctor Martin," he began, his dark eyes imploring. "Can you help us?"

"Call me Jim," he said. He turned towards Dean, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you into the house and I'll see what I can do."


Unable to keep still, Sam paced in Jim's family room, glancing at the closed kitchen door every few minutes. He was careful not to will for the door to open, as Sam knew that he just might be able to make such a thing happen.

The doctor had wanted to examine Dean privately and though Sam had readily agreed to give his brother some privacy and stay in the family room, the waiting was making him crazy. What was taking so long anyway?

Sam sat down on the edge of an armchair, considering all that had happened in the span of a few hours: a hunt gone bad, an impregnated brother, a torturous drive and now an undaunted doctor.

So far, Doctor Jim Martin was taking the entire situation in stride. He accepted Sam and Dean's story with little questioning and had not once seemed reluctant to help them with this unusual problem.

How many hunters have come to his door before us? Sam had thought as he observed the doctor's gentle and nonjudgmental treatment of his brother. None of this seems to faze him.

Jumping up from his perch, Sam took to pacing the room again. He was exhausted but he just couldn't make himself sit still. Another quick look at the mantle clock showed that nearly thirty minutes had passed. Sam raked a hand through his hair and sighed.

Half expecting the inside of the ranch house to be a match for it's weathered exterior, Sam was pleasantly surprised by the neat and kept interior. Wooden-plank walls inset with broad windows and hardwood floors accented by worn throw rugs created comfortable warmth within. The place was remarkably free of clutter: no knickknacks collecting dust on end tables, no haphazard stack of magazines beside the couch, nothing extraneous anywhere.

Sam leaned against the stone fireplace and examined a set of framed five-by-sevens. The first one showed a young Jim in a black cap and gown with a red sash thrown over his shoulder. He couldn't have been older than Dean. His smile was wide and carefree, blue eyes twinkling even through the years of ware on the picture.

Probably his graduation from Medical School, Sam thought as he fingered the layer of dust on the picture frame.

The second picture in the row was of a woman in a brown, polka-dot dress smiling shyly at the camera. It was such a true and sweet moment captured on film that Sam found himself smiling with her.

His wife, Sam thought suddenly.

The last framed photo was another of Jim, but this time he wore an army dress suit and he was crouched low with his arms around a little girl in a flower print sundress. The girl smiled happily at the camera, but Jim's smile was tempered, more world-weary than the grin he wore in the previous picture.

Sam recalled what Bobby had told him over the phone, that Jim Martin had served a tour of duty in Vietnam.

The door to the kitchen squeaked softly on its hinges and Sam turned at the sound. As Jim exited the kitchen, Sam could see Dean leaning wearily in a chair before the door swung closed behind the retired surgeon with a gentle click.

Sam was nervous, but he played it light. "So what's the prognosis, doc?"

"There are only two ways it's coming out," the doctor said. "I take it out or it comes out on its own."

Sam frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I thought it couldn't—."

"It can't," he said quickly. "If it does it will rip through his body, most likely destroying several vital organs. Dean will die if that happens."

The finality of the words sucked the air from the room. Sam blinked, trying to clear his head. "So it's surgery then," Sam said. "What are our options?"

The doctor sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, taking a moment to choose his words before he explained. "Not too many folks live this way, but people understand the risk. I service several ranches in this area— routine check ups, broken bones, stitches, viruses," he said. "I handle most emergencies that happen around here, get the patient stable if it's too serious to handle out here. Anything more complicated than I'm equipped to deal with requires a visit to the nearest hospital. It's more than half a day's trip from here. He'll never make it."

"Can you help my brother or not?" Sam asked plainly. "If you can't I've got to try to get him to that hospital."

"And what would you tell them? My brother is pregnant with a demon?" the doctor asked, not unkindly, merely pointing out the flaw in that plan. "I'm probably the best chance he's got," Jim said quietly. It wasn't arrogance; it was the boldfaced truth. "At the rate it's growing, it needs to come out as soon as possible."

"How soon?"

"Immediately— this afternoon," the doctor said. "I've discussed this with Dean. Your brother is weakening with every minute that passes. That thing is ravaging his body like a parasite— I can't tell from external examination how entwined it's become with his body's systems, but if it's anything like human pregnancy at this visible stage then we have to act fast."

Sam nodded, looking down at the floor.

"He understands that an emergency cesarean is his only real chance at surviving this," Jim said.

"Can you do it?" Sam asked. "Is it possible?"

"Yes," Jim said simply. "You should know that it's been a while since I've done major surgery. I could lose my license for doing this," Jim said. Then he smiled wryly and added, "But it's not the first time I've done something the law says I shouldn't in the best interest of the patient."

Sam nodded again. He had expected this, had known that the only way a doctor could help Dean would be to cut him open, but knowing what was to come didn't make the reality of it any less daunting.

"We'll move him to my clinic," the doctor continued. "He'll have a better chance of surviving a c-section there."

Sam looked up sharply. "You sound like he's not going to make it."

"I'm not going to lie to you, Sam. This doesn't look good. I don't know what I'll find when I open him up. You have to accept the possibility that it might be too late already. The clinic is better than nothing, but he still won't have the benefit of general anesthesia and a staff of nurses. It'll just be me and you, we'll be all he has— his only chance to get through this."

"Wait— you want to perform major surgery without a general?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"I don't want to, but I don't have much choice," he said. "I don't have that kind of anesthesia here. From everything I've observed about this demon, your brother will be dead before morning if we don't act now."

"Isn't there anything you can give him? I can't let you just—."

"I can offer him lidocain to numb the area for the incision and possibly morphine for the pain, but I'm wary of administering morphine during the procedure without someone to watch his breathing."

"I'll do it," Sam said immediately. "I'll do whatever I have to."

The doctor studied Sam for a moment then said, "You may have to do more than that—you may have to get your hands dirty. Will you be able to be in the operating room? Assist me if I need it?"

Sam looked the doctor straight in the eyes and repeated, "I'll do whatever I have to."

To be continued…


Author's note:

Um, I have no idea where this came from (well, I have some idea, which I will tell you in the last chapter). I'm projecting that this will run between three and five chapters. Most of the story is written already.

So… what do you guys think?

I am also posting this on my LJ (griseldajane . livejournal . com) if you prefer to read it that way.

Thanks for reading. See you next chapter.

- Li