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The Plague Part 9 FRAO Sam/Dean, John/Bobby

March 27th, 2007 (02:48 pm)
current location: living room
current mood: crushed

The Plague Pt 9

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings: Sam/Dean, and John/Bobby

Rating: FRAO

Warnings: AU, M-Preg (Sam, John). Hermaphrodite characters (Sam/John) Graphic Sex, het and slash, Wincest (Sam/Dean)

 

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.

 

 

As Sam rolled over stretching, he grinned. Dean was still asleep beside him, a faint sheet of perspiration gleaming on his bare shoulders. The sky above the horizon was just touched with a pale glow of sunlight, and the house was quiet. There was no noise from the outer rooms, no sign that anyone else was awake as he slid out of bed searching the floor for his underwear and t-shirt.

 

The coffee maker was filled and ready to go when Sam walked into the kitchen. A bag of coffee sat beside it, decaf, and how his Dad had bitched about that. But Bobby was tough when it came to this baby; Sam supposed it was because Bobby’s wife had died so young without the hope of ever having a child. Now, in his late fifties, he was going to be a new father.

 

With a sigh Sam measured the coffee out in to the brewing cup and flicked the coffee maker on. He settled at the table, glancing at the black gun case propped against the kitchen wall where Bobby had left it yesterday after he and John had finally strolled in at midnight. Fortunately there was no bloody desecrated deer corpse tied down on the hood of his father’s truck, Sam had checked just to be sure.  

 

When the coffee had finished brewing he filled a mug, and settled back in the chair watching as the sky lightened outside the window. He was feeling more secure about the baby, and idly touched the flat planes of his belly. He wondered where it was. John had already telephoned his doctor and set up an appointment for Sam. He took a sip of coffee and frowned at the bitter flavor, it hadn’t tasted like that before. John had been so ill with morning sickness that Sam was not looking forward to the next few weeks, although he had to admit that he was not feeling sick to his stomach at all.

 

 He had counted back and decided that he must be about four weeks along. So that would mean he was due about two months after his father, considering that John was due in early November it looked as if Sam was expecting a Christmas baby.

 

Dean was not exactly ecstatic about the baby, but he seemed genuinely pleased. That made Sam feel a bit better. He still had some serious doubts about all this. He knew that his father and Bobby weren’t thinking beyond the immediate; Sam knew his father well enough to know that John wasn’t going to give up his quest to kill the demon that had killed their mother. Bobby thought he had John under control. Sam didn’t want to be around when he found out otherwise. Still if they could get the demon maybe, just maybe, John would let it all go. As he sipped the coffee Sam came to a decision; they would have to kill that demon before things all fell apart here.

 

 

Sam sat the mug on the table and quickly hustled to the bedroom he shared with his older brother. He bent down shuffling through his duffle bag and found a tiny, vinyl bound photo album that his Dad had given him years ago. The book was frayed around the edges, almost falling apart but Sam would never give it up. He flipped through the pages.

 

There had been precious little left of their life from before the fire. John had been able to salvage a few old photos and documents. He had split them into three of the tiny cheap albums he had bought, god knows where, so many years ago. Sam and Dean had collected a few more photos of the three of them as they traveled from place to place. Dean had carried an ancient 35 mm camera that had belonged to their mother for years. He managed to document a few momentous occasions, and John had helped out photographing birthdays, graduations and school events where he could. Still, Sam thought it was sad that his entire life could be condensed down into these few pages.

 

With a grim frown Sam flipped through the pages of the photo album until he found the one he was looking for, a photo of a young woman no older than Dean carrying a blanket wrapped bundle he knew was himself. Standing beside her was a younger, smiling John with a little blond boy slung over one hip. Sam wasn’t sure who had taken he picture but he thought he recognized the handwriting when he turned it over. The simple notation October 28, 1983 adorned the back of the photo. Just a few days then, before this all began.

 

Sliding the picture out of its plastic sleeve Sam laid it gently on the table. He took a deep breath then dropped his fingertips stroking lightly over the shiny surface of the photo. His eyes slipped closed. Suddenly something tickled at the back of Sam’s mind, a feeling like the fuzziness just after awakening from a dream only to realize that you had been asleep and dreaming. When Sam had tried this before he had always backed down when that sensation enveloped him, but now Sam slid into the dreamy, hazy reality between sleep and wakefulness.

 

Images flickered and Sam stiffened as the smell of smoke wrapped itself around him. Fire!  Then he almost fled but the house was not burning and Sam persisted. The smoke drifted away, leaving only the image of his mother standing in a house that was no longer his home, radiant, in a gauzy white nightgown.

 

She had smiled at him and apologized. Sam wasn’t sure what for.  Leaving him?  Dying? Or maybe something that none of them knew about? Something more sinister. He touched the image of his mother, more of an icon than someone he remembered.

 

The haziness deepened, and Sam, found himself standing in a dark, dingy looking cabin. He was pinned helpless against the wall while his father stalked across the room toward Dean, held fast against the opposite wall. Sam felt almost sick with fear, hand clutching at his belly, resting on the noticeable swelling.

 

He was terrified, for himself, for the child he carried, for Dean and for his father, who was obviously very pregnant, yet managed to exude menace with every footstep. Dean was taunting the thing possessing his father’s body and the creature turned smiling.

 

“You think a thing like that works on something like me?”

 

He glided across the floor stepping close to his brother, invading his personal space.

 

 “Does Sammy there know he was second choice? Does he know how much you wanted to stick it in your father, that even now you wish this thing in his belly was yours not the old man’s?”

 

Dean sneered, pulling back as much as he could, pinned against the wall.

 

“Sammy, don’t you listen to him. Demons lie; you can’t believe them…”

 

But even Sam could hear the unspoken; sometimes they tell the truth, underlying Dean’s words. The older man looked at his younger brother, looked at the curve of Sam’s hand on the swelling belly, protecting the baby inside him.

 

“Don’t believe him Sammy. I’d never make you second best.”

 

The demon cocked its head smiling, and John eased forward yet again.

 

“Of course not, you’d never hurt poor Sammy. Does he know that Johnny here shoved him off on you because, frankly, he wasn’t sure any of your friends would take him? And that you took the bullet like the good little soldier you are. Don't you think Sammy knows that you’d do anything to please daddy…”

 

Dean grunted in pain as the demon licked its lips, smiling it narrowed its eyes, and Dean groaned.

 

“Dad, don’t you let him kill me…”

 

Sam thrashed against the invisible bonds holding him.

 

“Dad, stop it.”

 

Jerking upright Sam dropped the photograph on the table. He heard a sound behind him and pushed the chair back violently almost tipping it over in his haste to stand. Bobby was staring at Sam like he was a mad man. Heaving a sigh Sam pulled the chair out of the older man's path and shoved it under the table again.

 

"Something wrong, Sammy?"

 

"I don't know Bobby. It was a vision, I think. I'm a little hazy on the terminology but I think I saw the future, maybe a possible future. Dad was possessed and he was killing Dean."

 

Bobby shuffled past then picked up a cup and poured himself some coffee. With a frown he leaned back against the counter turning toward the younger man.

 

"When did this happen? Could you make out the circumstances?"

 

"Sort of, I'm sorry they're not really clear sometimes. I don't know if they're things that are going to happen or things that might happen. I know its a few months from now, because Dad is about seven months pregnant."

 

Nodding Bobby settled down at the table. He sipped at the mug of coffee then wiped at his eyes with one hand.

 

“Shit, that’s a lot to process at six am; couldn’t you have had this vision a little later in the day?”

 

He grinned at the younger man and Sam responded in kind. Somehow Bobby had always been able to make it better, even when Sam had been younger and had had one of his screaming, knock-down, drag-out fights with his father. If they were at Bobby’s the older man could ease Sam’s bruised ego, and calm John’s temper. Sam realized that even then his father must have loved Bobby. John would have never taken that much interference in his affairs from anyone else. It had taken a hell of a lot to drive them apart for the few years that John and Bobby hadn’t spoken.  Sam reconsidered; actually it hadn't take much, only John’s fear and Bobby’s unwillingness to push the issue. He made up his mind that he wasn’t going to let that happen between him and Dean.

 

Sighing Sam took a deep breath.

 

“Bobby, you’ve got to keep Dad from going on a hunting trip alone. Somewhere, somehow the demon gets inside him, and he almost kills Dean. I think that if we don’t keep that from happening then Dad is going to die.”

 

Bobby looked stricken.

 

“If he dies Sammy, he’ll take the baby with him.”

 

“I know, but when it comes to this demon when it comes to saving Dean…I know he’d sacrifice himself, but I’m not sure that he’d willingly kill the baby’s he’s carrying. Either way we all lose because if Dad chose to save himself for the baby and let Dean die, that would kill him, too.”

 

“I know. So whatever we do we have to make sure that John is never in a position where he can be possessed or at least we’re forewarned.  If he takes off on his own we’ll just do an exorcism on him whenever we find him, before I turn him over my knee and paddle his ass that is.”

 

“Promises, promises…” John’s voice carried in from the hallway. “You’ve been saying you were going to paddle my ass for days now, and I still got nothing.”

 

Sam’s eyes widened.

 

“Dad?”

 

John offered him a grin then winked at Bobby.

 

“Hell Sammy, don’t you and Dean… play games? You should see the whips and chains in the old man’s room.”

 

“Oh god, Dad...please there are just some things about your private life that I don’t want to know about.”

 

After breakfast John and Bobby disappeared into the garage. Other than one small explosion which Sam and Dean refused to go check out they were noticeably quiet. Still Dean kept glancing at the open door to the other building. Sam looked up from the newspaper.

 

“Dean if either one of them was injured the other one would have been in here for the first aid kit or the phone to the ER by now.”

 

“What if both of them are hurt?”

 

“It wasn’t that big of an explosion. Nothing’s on fire, and I don’t see any body parts lying around the yard,” Sam said, “What if they’re…you know.”

 

“Granted Bobby is good at keeping Dad happy, but I don’t think he’s good enough to cause Dad to explode.”

 

Sam whacked his brother on the back of the head.

 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I meant what if the explosion was sort of a warm-up…”

 

“You think Dad and Bobby blow things up as foreplay?” Dean asked incredulously then he relented. “Well, this is Dad and Bobby we’re talking about.  We’ll give them another thirty minutes then go out.”

 

They were saved from worrying when both older men walked out of the garage a few minutes later. The front of Bobby’s shirt was covered in soot, and John kept snickering behind his back. Bobby refused to turn around.

 

Their father’s voice carried through the open window and Dean cocked his head. John caught up to the older man grinning.

 

“I told you to check the battery terminals. I think that’s one Mustang we’re gonna have to put out of its misery.”

 

The phone rang as John and Bobby trooped in the kitchen. Bobby listened numbly as they walked into the living room, and John dropped down onto the sofa beside Sam. Bobby dropped the phone on the table and settled into a chair with a visible shudder. John was off the sofa in a minute, kneeling beside the older man. With a grimace Bobby looked over at him then turned away visibly shaken.

 

Dean rose from his seat and followed his Dad across to where they sat, Bobby in the chair John squatting beside it. John grunted and Dean gently hauled him upright.

 

“Bobby, what’s wrong?” John asked, “Who was on the phone.”

 

“Ellen Harvelle. She’s calling as many hunters as she can.”

 

“Why,” Dean asked. Bobby just shook his head. Finally, John settled on the arm of the chair stroking Bobby’s shoulder.

 

Bobby finally surrendered.

 

“Marti Chavez is dead.”

 

The look on his father’s face was enough to send Dean staggering back a step. He remembered the name vaguely from his childhood. Martha Chavez was one of the few remaining old time hunters still alive and she and Daniel Elkins were the only ones Dean actually remembered his Dad talking about. Dean had some hazy recollections of his father coming back to Missouri Mosley’s house from Arizona or New Mexico bearing tales of a Marti Chavez.  From the way the younger John Winchester had spoken you would have thought he had gone to visit the Pope.

 

John leaned heavily against Bobby who patted his hand.