The Plague Pt 6
Pairings: Sam/Dean, and John/Bobby
Warnings: AU, M-Preg (Sam, John). Hermaphrodite characters (Sam/John) Graphic Sex, het and slash, Wincest (Sam/Dean) More Sammy battering, just a bit.
Summary: In this world about 25% of all males are born hermaphrodites, although they function only as males. A demon creates a plague that kills most of the women of child bearing age, but one of the side effects is that the men who are born hermaphrodites catch the plague and become fully functional as females, without really changing their outward appearance. In order to keep the population from dropping dangerously the government decides that all the newly functional “breeders” must have a male partner and give birth to at least one child.
My grateful acknowledgement to Sioux_Sioux for the wonderful beta work on the story.
Three days later they were on the hunt. The air had cooled as the day wore on. Night was falling and Bobby paced a few steps from John's truck, leaning the shot-gun he carried on his forearm. John was loading his Glock with silver bullets. The shot-gun Bobby carried was loaded with hand-packed blessed shells packed with silver buck-shot. They were armed for werewolf but the ammo would take out almost anything undead.
They were half way down
Tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans John joined the older man. Bobby brushed a hand over his shoulder, and then leaned in and kissed John firmly on the mouth. John leaned his cheek against Bobby's hand. Bobby looked grim.
"John, you be quick. I mean it. And don't get too far out my range of vision. This shot gun has limited range, and no sight."
"I know. I'll stay about fifteen yards away. We've got the full moon so light's no problem.
I'll bring it this way. You just keep a look out for me."
Bobby faded back off the pavement, into a small clump of brush. He watched as the other man walked briskly down the shoulder and stopped just at the bend in the road. He turned looking back at the truck a few feet away, and then cocked his head listening.
The forest was oddly silent. The normal night noises that always signaled an active wildlife area were absent, a sure sign that something abnormal was out there. The wind was still, which made it all the more easy to hear any movement. Bobby could pick out the faint clocking of John's boot heels on the asphalt. Something caught Bobby's attention and he turned. The underbrush rustled about mid-way between his position and the other man. Bobby huffed out a breath and eased into a squat, bracing his elbow on one knee, watching for any signs of further movement. If John had caught the faint noise, he didn't react. Bobby felt his stomach clench in fear.
John turned; head tilted to one side, and saw Bobby drop down. His senses screamed that something was happening. He eased the gun out of his pants, and held it tightly against his side. With a ragged indrawn breath he whirled, trotting back down the road toward the truck as if he had not felt the shiver of fear along his spine.
When he was just past the half-way mark between his starting point and Bobby's position John heard the rustling of underbrush before he saw the creature erupt out of the trees. He jerked around bringing the gun up and firing once. But the thing was a lot closer to him than John had thought and the shot went wide. The werewolf skidded to a halt, muzzle dripping foam, and then jumped forward covering the ground between it and John in one long leap.
John staggered a step backwards knowing that he was too slow, and that the werewolf was going to hit him. The sound of thunder roared in his ear, and he felt the wind as the shot gun blast cleared the left side of his head and struck the werewolf dead center in the chest. It yelped hitting the ground hard, rolling up onto all fours.
Before the creature could run John had the Glock up, and fired one round into its back. The silver bullet hit the werewolf's spine and it yelped again, growling as its legs went out from under it. John stepped closer and pulled the trigger again. The back of the werewolf's head blew out in a shower of brain and bone.
They didn't even bother trying to move it. John washed the body down with gasoline, and lit it right in the center of the road. The fire caught quickly. The two men stood watching as the mortal remains of the werewolf burned down into ash. Bobby scattered the few larger clumps of ash and bone as John loaded the gas can in the back of the truck.
John was strung out; hands shaking with adrenaline making the gas can clatter against the truck-bed. That was the only excuse he could think of for not hearing the other man clamber into the truck behind him. Bobby grabbed a fist full of John's shirt and tugged. He slid across the cold metal and into Bobby's arms. John yelped in indignation, but before he could voice his complaints at being man-handled so roughly Bobby's mouth and hands were doing things to him, making him hot and horny. And when the cold metal was against his bare back John couldn't think to complain because nothing in world was as remotely important as Bobby's mouth on his, and Bobby's hard, hot cock buried deep inside of him.
It was two weeks after they had killed the werewolf that John and Bobby finally rolled into the driveway of Bobby's place. They had stayed in
Then they ran into a poltergeist in bowling alley, of all things. They had spent four days getting rid of the nasty little bastard and discovered two important things; one, neither of them could bowl worth a damn, and two, bowling balls made excellent missiles, especially when hurled at forty-five miles per hour by angry spirits.
But Bobby was becoming increasingly worried about John who seemed to be ill. He was exhausted beyond anything that the older man could remember and seemed particularly prone to falling asleep at in the afternoon everyday. He had also been complaining that everything he ate left a funny 'taste' in his mouth and had taken to sucking on peppermint hard candies just to clear it away. But the final straw, as far as Bobby was concerned, was this morning when he had had to pull the truck over while John puked his guts out on the shoulder of the freeway.
The Impala was in the driveway of Bobby's house when he pulled the truck into a spot on the grass and cut the engine. John was asleep in the seat beside him and Bobby shook him awake. He stepped out of the truck stretching and grunting as his back popped. Together they unloaded their stuff out of the back of the truck and went into the house. It was quiet and at first the older men thought that Sam and Dean had gone for a hike when Dean appeared at the door to the rear bedroom. He shrugged into his t-shirt and John made it a point not to look too closely as Sam followed. Until he noticed the red welts lining his younger son's chest.
"You okay, Sammy?" John asked. Sam nodded.
"Yeah, a ghost with an attitude. That's all. I'm fine. So how'd it go?"
Bobby offered him a faint smile.
"Werewolf, quick and easy. And a poltergeist with a mean curve ball, not so quick and easy. You boy's get the spirit?"
"Salted and burned her ass," Dean said, "We've been looking in the papers, but nothing jumped out at us. You guys see anything else?"
"Nada," John said helping himself to a glass of whiskey, but before he could take a sip Bobby caught his arm, and relieved him of the shot glass.
"I told you no more booze, Johnny."
Both boys stepped back waiting for the shit to hit the fan. But John sighed surrendering the bottle as well.
"Yeah, yeah I heard you."
With a slight smile John walked to the kitchen.
“I'm going to see if I can rustle something up for lunch, I'm starving."
"The way you were puking this morning it’s no wonder. You boys do any grocery shopping?" Bobby asked.
Dean just shrugged and offered him a quick grin.
"Sorry, we've been doing take-out. I'm up for lunch, maybe that burger joint that's not too far down the way."
John touched his stomach and grimace.
"Nothing too greasy. I think I picked up a touch of the flu or something."
The Sonic Drive-In on Baxter Street was probably one of last remaining burger restaurants in Kansas that still had waiters and waitresses on roller-skates. It was an amazing thing to see; cars pulled up into the covered slots around the central building with young people clad in red t-shirts and white shorts whipping around on skates, bearing trays. It really brought out some nostalgic feelings in John and Bobby.
Although the novelty of actually trying to eat in a car had long worn off for them all, so they opted for eating in the restaurant itself. The bright lighting cast a garish glow on the red leatherette padded benches surrounding heavy wooded picnic tables, but they found a booth in the corner by the jukebox, and settled in.
There was sawdust on the floors and between the classic rock pumping out of the jukebox and the steady rumble of the crowd Bobby had to half-yell just to be heard. He decided on the Sonic’s world famous scrambled burger which turned out to be a pile of crumbled ground beef cooked with green peppers and onions, mixed with steak sauce and slapped on grilled sour-dough bread under several slices of melted cheese. Sam looked aghast at the thing as the older man pointed it out on a passing waiter’s tray.
Sam slid out of the booth and headed to the restroom. Dean watched him cross the room and disappear down a side hall. After what had happened to John they were all more cautious now. When no one followed Sam or paid him any attention they all breathed a little easier.
The door was closed and locked and Sam leaned back against the wall, trying to keep the hall clear for the staff as they passed back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room. The door finally opened and a short, good looking guy stepped out. He cast a glance at the younger man’s tall, lean form. With a sly smile he sidled up to Sam.
“Hey, baby. You new around here?”
“Oh god, please don’t even start. I’m not in the mood for this.”
The guy slid closer to Sam and draped an arm a around his waist. Sam glared at him.
“Dude, you are seriously making the worse mistake of your life.”
With a snort the other man reached out to squeeze Sam’s butt. Taking a deep breath Sam grabbed his arm, and jerked him around. He brought his foot down hard on the guy’s instep, and then snapped his elbow back into the other man’s crotch. The air went out of the man’s body with a grunt, and Sam brought his knee up while driving the guy’s head down at the same time. His knee impacted the other man squarely in the forehead and he went down hard.
Rubbing his knee Sam limped into the bathroom. After he was finished he stepped over the guy’s unconscious body and ambled back to the table. He settled down and idly rubbed his knee. Dean looked down.
“Sammy, you okay?”
“Yeah, I just whacked my knee against something. I’m fine.”
With a sigh he picked up his glass, looking over the top as the guy who had bothered him finally staggered out of the hallway. He took one look at Sam and the other men at the table and gave them a wide berth as he headed to a booth with a few other people.
John noticed the guy scramble away from their table and frowned, but said nothing. Sam smiled.
“Hey, Dad, I don’t think I ever said thank you.”
John looked at his younger son confusion clearly written on his face.
“Okay, uh…what are you thanking me for?”
“Oh, just for stuff. Just thank you.”
Bobby glanced at the younger man, then back at the guy whose face looked like he had run into a Mac truck and come out on the losing end.
“That the guy that messed with you? The one you whacked your knee into?” he asked.
Sam shrugged and Dean leaned over to glare at the guy, but Sam grabbed his arm.
“I don’t need you defending me, Dean.”
“No I’d say you did a hell of a job on your own. May be the guy’ll learn some manners, huh? Not go around picking fights with folks he doesn’t know. You did a hell of a lot better than I did.”
“There were three of them Dad, and they hit you from behind. I couldn’t have done it without all those days of PT you drilled into us. Maybe you were right, some of the time.”
“Just some of the time? Its okay, Sam, I’ll take it.” John smiled. “Still it looks like things are settling down.”
“You’re just saying that because guys aren’t hitting on you right and left anymore.”
“Well, they’re not trying to rape me anymore either. Maybe I’m losing my sex appeal.”
John sighed dramatically and Bobby patted him consolingly on the back.
They spent the rest of the day running errands, and working around the house. They spent a quiet evening just kicking back and watching TV. Dinner was quick and light eaten on the front porch as the sun faded behind the slight rise of hills just beyond the vacant fields bordering Bobby’s place.
John sighed tapping his finger against the calendar. Four weeks since his last period. He didn’t feel that same sinking sensation that he had gotten the last time. Maybe he was just getting used to this all now. He stood in front of the kitchen window surveying his body, no cramps not an inking of the usual hostility that marked this time of the month. He grinned, he was getting the hang of this female thing, and it was turning out to be a snap. Maybe Sammy was adjusting too. It would be nice not have the same screaming fights he and his youngest son had had since this thing all blew up on them.
Quickly he went to the fridge and got out the makings for omelets. He began slicing and dicing pepper’s and onions, then yelled over his shoulder,
“Hey Bobby, come cook bacon for me. I’m doing omelets.”
“Sure thing, honey,” Bobby said with smirk, “So, Johnny uh…why aren’t you…It’s just that this time last month I was ducking for cover. Why aren't you being a bitch?”
“I think I got this thing down pat, that’s all,” Johns said turning as Bobby plopped a large slab of meat into a huge cast iron skillet.
Suddenly the scent of frying bacon filled the air. John took a step backwards, his face twisting into a grimace, and Bobby thought he had spoken too soon. The other man bolted from the kitchen and Bobby could hear the bathroom door slam shut. He set the pan aside and quickly followed John down the hall. He grunted as the sound of retching carried through the closed door. He finally tapped on the wood when the water ran in the sink.
“Baby, you okay?”
John opened the door and cast a quick glance at Bobby’s worried face.
“I’m okay. It’s the greasy smell caught me the wrong way. Let’s finish up breakfast, I want to get my guns checked over and cleaned. We may come up with another job.”
“I don’t think so, John. You’ve been sick for almost two weeks now, time to see a doctor.”
“It’s just the flu, maybe that time of the month. I’ll give it a week, you know until my period's done.”
"You're not bleeding yet," Bobby said slowly. John shrugged.
After they had finished eating, Sam came storming out of the bedroom face set in a scowl.
“God, Dean is the most annoying person on the face of the earth." He turned on John. "Why didn’t you and Mom believe in abortion?”
John’s mouth dropped open. He winced as Dean slammed the refrigerator door open and poured orange juice into a glass.
“Come on, Sam, lighten up! You’d be a whole lot easier to deal with if you just grew a sense of humor.”
“Look at the people I live with, what I have to have a sense of humor about. Between you drooling all over my head and the two of them humping like dogs in heat…”
“All right young man, that’s more than enough,” John snapped rising out of his seat, Sam shoved his father back against the wall, and Bobby waded into the fray.
“Don’t you put your hands on your Daddy, boy.”
“Oh no, you do that enough for all of us.”
Dean grabbed Sam by the arm.
“Okay, that’s enough. Just watch what you say, Sammy. You’re not making this easy on any of us.”
Sam shook him off, and stomped out of the room. Dean watched him go and turned to the two older men.
“Are you okay, Dad?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Bobby, I’m going out to the garage.”
Dean and Bobby stepped aside and let John go. Bobby waited until he was out of sight before sitting down. Dean dropped into a chair beside him.
“Not that I'm complaining Bobby, but why is Dad not doing his Bitch Queen act this month?”
“I think he’s too sick. If he isn't better by Friday I’m making him go to the doctor.”