Stalk Watch 2/6
Stalk Watch
Summary: Dean wakes up on the couch, still sitting up and fully clothed, to the sound of Sam retching in the bathroom.
A/N: Okay... confession time. I kind of went on auto-pilot while I was finding a title for this. I googled euphemisms for pregnancy and was looking though a message board, came across someone's comment “Stalk Watch”, thought that sounded good, copied, pasted, posted... then realized that that is not how you spell “Stork”. But “Stalk” does make it sound more ominous so lets pretend it's a play on words... yeah, that's totally how I meant it...
Chapter Two
Dean wakes up on the couch, still sitting up and fully clothed, to the sound of Sam retching in the bathroom.
There's a crick in his neck and his back is aching. He scratches at the stubble on his chin and yawns before stumbling sleepily to the kitchen, blinking in the early morning light. He slips some bread into the toaster and coaxes Sam's ancient coffee machine to life while he waits for it to pop.
He borrowed Sam's laptop last night for some related research that the kid probably didn't bother looking into, like how to ease morning sickness. For someone as smart as Sam, his brother can be a total idiot sometimes.
When the toast springs up, he leaves it bare, like the website said, and makes a mental note to buy some peppermint tea later. He finds a plate in one of the cupboards, sets the toast on it, leaves the coffee machine bubbling away and heads for the bathroom, knocking once on the ajar door before pushing it open and stepping inside.
Sam seems to have finished throwing up. He's panting, leaning against the shower stall again, huddled on the floor. He doesn't look any more rested than he did yesterday, even though he slept straight through since around midday, and his stomach is definitely bigger, straining against the thin, white t-shirt he's wearing. A strip of swollen skin peeks out between the waistband of his boxers and the hem of his shirt.
“You look like crap,” Dean says as he settles down on the floor beside Sam. He holds out the plate. “Eat this. You'll feel better.”
Sam wrinkles his nose at it and gives his head a quick shake. “Nuh-uh.”
“Trust me. I looked it up. Guaranteed cure for morning sickness.” Okay, maybe it's not guaranteed but Sam doesn't need to know that. Maybe he can get a placebo effect from it if the dry toast fails.
Sam looks at the plate doubtfully. “Really?”
“Really.” Dean nods encouragingly. “Just go slow.”
Sam eats the toast in tiny nibbles, testing each bite as it goes down, and it does stay in his stomach, despite the couple of times that Dean thinks it's about to make a reappearance. By the time Sam's finished the first slice, he's looking a little less rocky.
“Did you find anything?” he asks finally, so Dean has to admit that he hasn't but Sam's made a good start and he can work with what they've got.
“You're sure this is our kind of thing?” Dean asks, a little hesitantly. “It's definitely not something medical? Like a -” Jesus, he hopes not. “-tumour or something?”
Sam shakes his head and reaches for the small trash bin that's tucked behind the toilet. He riffles through it for a moment then pulls out a thin, white stick and holds it up for Dean to see the tiny pink lines at one end. “Two lines mean pregnant,” he says resignedly, before tossing it back in the bin.
“Okay.” Dean blows out a breath. “And there definitely aren't any hex bags? You searched everywhere?”
Sam laughs, a little hysterically. “I kind of tore the place apart looking for one.”
Dean nods. If Sam says he's sure, then he's sure. “Well then, I think you're right about it being witchcraft. There doesn't have to be a hex bag for some bad mojo to be carried out. I need details from you - your friends and where to find them, places you go, your classes, everything.” He pauses. He can't imagine it but he has to ask. “I don't suppose you have any enemies?”
Sam shakes his head, his hair falling over his eyes. “I don't even have many friends.”
Ouch. Well, that sucks. Makes sense though; Sammy's never been that great at forming fast friendships. Dean thinks it has something to do with all the moving around they did as kids. Eventually, Sam just gave up trying to make connections. But for some reason, Dean thought college would be different. All this time, he figured the kid was having the time of his life here, but maybe he was wrong.
“It's a weird thing to curse me with,” Sam says. “Even if I did have enemies, why this?”
Good point. “You piss off any feminists?” Dean suggests.
“No, of course not.”
“Hm,” Dean says noncommittally. Maybe Sam managed to piss someone off without realizing it, or someone holds a grudge for some imagined slight. He's about to suggest this when a knock on the door cuts him off.
Sam's eyes widen. “We can't let anyone see me like this.”
“Well, duh,” Dean says, already pushing himself to his feet. “I'll go get rid of them. You just stay here and finish the toast.”
The earthy aroma coming from the kitchen reminds him of the coffee he put on earlier and he makes a mental note to grab a cup on his way back to Sam. He reaches the door and pulls it open just enough to poke his head out, one hand on the pistol tucked into the back of his jeans, just in case.
The girl on the other side doesn't look threatening, which really means nothing because anyone can use witchcraft. She's tall, with long blond hair that tumbles over her shoulders in waves, biting her bottom lip a little nervously as she clutches a notebook to her chest. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees Dean.
“Yeah?” he asks impatiently. The more time he spends talking to her, the less time he has to figure out how to fix Sam, and it's obvious that this pregnancy is not going to take the usual nine months so time is of the essence here.
“I'm looking for Sam,” she says hesitantly. “This is the right place, isn't it? Brady said...”
“Sam's sick,” Dean says bluntly. “What do you want?”
She's thrown by his abruptness but he doesn't care, too busy searching for any hint of malicious glee at the news of Sam being ill. If she is a witch, she's a good actress. She looks nothing but concerned as she holds out the notebook.
“I took notes for him in class, figured he'd need them.” Her eyes slide over him, narrowing slightly. “Who are you anyway?”
Dean takes the notebook and lets himself relax a little. She seems harmless and none of his hunters instincts have been activated. She's just a friend of Sam's, trying to help out. He regrets his rudeness, a little, but he still wants her to leave. “I'm Dean, Sam's brother.”
“Oh,” the girl says, looking him up and down like this means something to her. Sam has talked about him to this girl, obviously, and he can't tell if it was good things or bad things. Did Sam tell her about all the years he's spent looking out for the kid or was his silence the night Sam left so much of a betrayal that he's only spoken of that? He doesn't think he wants to know, just in case... He knows that it hurt Sam but the sudden revelation of Stanford, Sam leaving, had hurt him too. Maybe he made it worse by not calling but he was waiting to see if Sam would call first, and the more time that passed, the harder it got to pick up the phone. Now, he's thinking that Sam was doing the exact same thing. He's thinking that he should have checked up on the kid because, mystical pregnancy aside, he doesn't seem all that happy. Dean's only just starting to understand that leaving hurt Sam too. Maybe it hasn't stopped hurting.
“And you are...” Dean prompts, because he doesn't really want to think about how much he's screwed up anymore. Maybe he can fix that while he's here, but not while he's stuck talking to this chick.
“Jess,” she answers, now trying to look past him. The door and Dean block her view into the room. Frustrated, she meets his eye again. “Is Sam okay? He's missed the last week of classes.”
“Bad 'flu,” Dean says, adding a grimace to his expression for effect. “He'll be fine but he's not exactly fit for company.” Part of it's true, at least.
Jess winces in sympathy. “That sucks. Uh,” she looks embarrassed suddenly, “I wrote my number in the notebook. Can you ask him to text me?”
It hits Dean then. This girl might just be a friend but she definitely wants to be more than that. Now that he's looking, he can see it in the flush of her cheeks, her genuinely worried eyes, her disappointment at Sam's absence. He'd bet the Impala that Sam has no idea - kid's always been clueless like that - and wonders if he'd be happier if he knew.
“Sure,” he says, regretting his rudeness even more now that he knows Sam has a chance with Jess. He tries to make up for it with a weak, “Um, nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Jess says, without much sincerity.
It's with relief that he shuts the door behind her retreating figure. For a moment, he'd been worried she might insist on coming in and checking on Sam herself.
Dean remembers to pour himself a coffee on the way back to the bathroom, tucking the notebook under his arm so he has a free hand to open the door. Sam's right where he left him, on the floor, but he looks a little less nauseous now. He looks up at Dean expectantly. “Who was it?”
Dean sits down on the floor and passes Sam the notebook . “Girl named Jess. She took notes for you.”
“Jess was here?” Sam sounds surprised and kind of pleased as he looks at the notebook in his hands. “What did you tell her?”
“That you have the 'flu. She wants you to text her.”
“I don't have her number.”
“She wrote it in there.” Dean has to tell him. Who knows how long it will take Sam to figure it out? “She has the hots for you, you know.”
He expects Sam to laugh as if Dean's teasing him but instead he says, “Really?” while doing a really crappy job at pretending to sound only vaguely interested. So Sammy likes her too.
“Really,” Dean says, shooting Sam a knowing smirk.
Sam gives up on acting with a sigh. “Well, that's good to know but it's not like I can do anything about it now.” He scrubs a hand down his face and changes the subject. “Do I get coffee?”
“Nope. The website said to avoid it in the mornings.” He looks at his cup a little guiltily, but there's no way he can solve this mystery without it. “Well, actually it said you should avoid caffeine for the whole pregnancy but I don't think that really applies to you. You can have some later.”
Sam pouts but seems to accept it. “The toast helped,” he admits grudgingly.
“Did you even bother to look into how to take care of yourself while you're pregnant?” Dean asks disapprovingly, and gets a scowl from Sam in response.
“No, I was too busy trying to figure out why the hell I'm pregnant in the first place.”
Dean rolls his eyes, “You're an idiot.”
“Shut u-” Sam breaks off with a gasp.
“What? You gonna puke again?” Maybe just the smell of coffee is too much for Sam right now. Dean quickly sets his cup down by the door, as far from Sam as he can reach without getting up.
“No. No, I - oh my God.” And then he grabs Dean's hand and places it forcefully on his swollen stomach, just to the left of his bellybutton, and okay, that's weird, Sam.
“What are you-?” Dean starts, then stops because now he feels it too. First, a soft flutter of movement, then a firmer, wobbly kick. Dean looks down and sees the skin stretch slightly under his hand.
“Do you feel that?” Sam demands, his voice high pitched with panic. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes, I feel it,” Dean gasps, his mind racing, going back to yesterdays concerns. Is there actually something growing in there? If so... what?”
“Oh my God,” Sam moans, releasing Dean's hand to clench his fingers in his hair. “Why is this happening to me? How is this happening to me? I can't do this, I don't even, I can't-”
“Okay, calm down,” Dean orders, because Sam's breathing is getting as choppy as his sentences and Dean recognizes this from half a dozen occurrences over the the last couple of years before Sam left. “Sam, breathe.”
Sam shakes his head frantically. Dean shifts so he's kneeling in front of Sam and reaches up to untangle his fingers from his hair, grasping his hands tightly.
“Sam, look at me.” It takes a moment but Sam lifts his head to obey, eyes wide with naked fear, still gasping like there's not enough air to go around. “It's going to be okay,” Dean says firmly. “I promise. You need to calm down and we'll figure this out. We're going to fix this.”
“This isn't, supposed, to happen, to me,” Sam chokes out and fuck, now Dean's worried he's going to cry again. “Meant to, be normal.”
“Don't think about that now. Just breathe, kiddo, with me, look.” He takes an exaggerated breath in and releases it slowly. “Like that. Come on.”
Sam makes a pathetic, shaky attempt at copying him. Dean nods approvingly. “Good. Again.”
He breathes with Sam this time, and it's better. Sam gets a little more air than before, so they sit on the bathroom floor for a while and synchronize their breathing. Dean remembers the last time they did this, about two weeks before Sam left, in the aftermath of a werewolf hunt that had almost gotten the better of them. He remembers Sam dropping to his knees beside the man with the silver bullet in his heart, shot from Sam's own gun mere seconds before sharp teeth had a chance to clamp around Dean's throat. Sam's concern for him had vanished when it because clear that he was unharmed and he'd turned his attention to the dying victim, hidden his face behind his hair, and whispered an apology.
It was hours later, after Dad had left for a drink at the nearest bar, that Sam had broken down. Dean should have seen college coming. Sam always felt everything too deep.
“You still have panic attacks, huh?” Dean says after Sam's finally relaxed against the shower stall and not looking quite so ashen, breathing just a little shaky.
“Only when I'm pregnant,” Sam jokes lamely, pushing his damp hair out of his face.
“You gonna be okay while I go check things out?” Dean asks doubtfully. He doesn't want to leave Sam like this - he'd rather stay here and make toast and tea and know that Sam's still breathing - but he won't get any closer to finding out how this happened and how to fix it by sitting around holding Sam's hair back while he pukes.
“Yeah,” Sam says, “I'll be fine. That was just... a surprise.” He looks down at his stomach like it's this foreign thing that just happens to be attached to him. “You don't think... there isn't actually a baby.”
It's possible there's a baby something in there but Dean can't think of any reason why bringing up monster babies would be a good idea right now, when Sam's only just calmed down, so he lies and hopes it's the truth. “There can't be. Everything's still all right downstairs, isn't it? No changes?”
Sam blushes and chokes out a laugh. “No changes,” he confirms, and thank God for that because Dean doesn't know what he'd do if Sam suddenly grew a vagina.
Chapter Three