Dean had always assumed he had the potential for a raging breeding kink.
I mean, why not? He was a self-obsessed, family-driven man. The idea of knocking someone up, of watching their body change because of him, seeing their swollen belly as a public reminder of his possession of them, and knowing he’d created a perfect little kiddo who was gonna look up at him one day and call him daddy…yeah, that sounded hot as hell, right?
But any time he tried to play out the kink during hook-ups, he just couldn’t sink into it. The girls he slept with would be more than eager to roleplay the part, spreading their legs and begging Dean to knock them up. But as Dean fucked them into some dingy motel mattress, the idea of actually getting some girl pregnant had him wanting to get up and bolt. As the girls rambled filthy dirty talk beneath him, he’d most often end up telling them to shut up, pressing his hand over their mouth as he chased his own release.
And then, most unexpectantly, like he’d read Dean’s freaking mind and knew exactly what his big brother needed, Sam was there reigniting Dean’s kink.
Dean had Sam pinned down on their tiny motel mattress, long legs folded up towards his chest, and Sam was giving Dean that innocent baby brother smile as he pleaded so soft and sweet: “Breed me, daddy? Please. I want to be stuffed full of you. Wanna have your pretty babies. Wanna make you so proud. Please, De.” And of course goddamn Sammy was running his hand over his belly the whole time he was saying it, knowing just how much he was enticing Dean.
And as Dean thrust down and praised Sam for what a good submissive girl he was and how he was going to make such a good housewife out of him…boy did he know that he definitely had a raging breeding kink.
Summary: They’re back in the car and he’s watching for a sign for the next city, wondering if it’ll have a no-kill shelter he can drop Miracle off at in the morning, when the radio suddenly comes to life with music.
~ A somewhat non-linear telling of Sam’s journey back to Dean in Heaven, and the buoys along the way; inspired by my ficlet “Tennessee Whiskey.”
Comes with a Playlist <3
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Sam going into labor in the impala or something and Dean having to deliver it
[Warnings: mpreg, semi-graphic birth, unspecified genitalia, conveniently fast first-time labor, totally made up geography, unknown word count - it's long]
Sam knew, of course, that he wasn't going to have the perfect birth-- just like he hadn't had the perfect pregnancy. He'd gotten checkups at free clinics when he could; took his prenatal vitamins; ate as healthy as he could under the circumstances; exercised; even tried learning some breathing techniques with Dean from a video they found on YouTube.
Luckily he'd had no major health issues, especially since Dean delegated him to research only, and he knew that was the most important part. Still, Sam had insisted on keeping his appointments at the same clinic for the last month of the pregnancy, so they'd been staying in Rufus's cabin and going to the little clinic in town. The county hospital was less than an hour away, which wasn't too bad.
So yeah, Sam knew he wasn't going to get the water birth in a special tub with a doula and music and low lighting and Dean in the water to help baby swim, but he had thought he'd at least get to deliver in a hospital.
When his water bursts in the middle of goddamn nowhere (on their way back from a hunter's wake Sam insisted on going to at 38 weeks along), he has a moment of clarity-- between Dean bitching that 'this is exactly why I wanted you to sit on the towel, Sam' and Dean realizing what amniotic fluid all over his upholstery means-- when Sam wonders to himself why this wasn't exactly what he'd expected to happen.
"Okay. Okay," Dean says, taking a fortifying breath and flexing his hands on the steering wheel as he pulls the car over to the shoulder.
He grabs the towel Sam tossed off his seat with a bitchface hours earlier, hands it to Sam without another word, and leaps out of the car to pull a heap of towels and blankets from the trunk. Sam can't even see Dean's face until he opens the back door and sets the pile down on the seat.
"Dean, what the fuck," Sam says, stuffing his swollen feet back into his untied boots, unfolding himself from the car, and groaning as the gross, wet feeling worsens with the movement.
Dean tsks at him when Sam starts sopping up the seat himself, so he shifts out of the way for his brother. But Dean barely swipes at it before tossing the used towel onto the damp floor mat, laying a fresh towel on the seat, and turning back to Sam.
"What the fuck yourself, Sammy. You're in labor? Are you having contractions?!"
Sam shrugs uncomfortably. "Braxton-hick's..." he trails off, breathing through another vise-like grip on his belly. It hardly feels like anything, really. He's had worse--a lot worse, and he's not going to think about that right now.
Now that he's standing up, Sam can tell the baby is a lot lower than she was when this started this morning. Or maybe it was last night in bed-- he'd thought it was just the sex bringing on a couple Braxton-hick's contractions before he went to sleep...
Dean lifts up his shirt suddenly, and they both watch Sam's belly tightening. It starts to release and Sam takes in a deep breath, looking into his brother's wide, pleading eyes. Sam nods, and Dean's hands are instantly on his belly. They're still there a minute later when Sam pulls in a sharp breath and another contraction hits.
Dean frowns, hands rubbing over the tight mound of Sam's tummy as Sam groans low. His back and stomach are so warm and he feels tender between his legs. Realization comes into Dean's eyes, and suddenly he's urging Sam to sit back down and reaching for his phone.
"Those are not Braxton-hick's."
Sam squats on the edge of the covered seat, belly relaxing again between his spread knees as he leans out the door and watches Dean pace. His brother holds his phone up at different angles, screen lighting up his face in the creeping dusk as he tries to catch a signal.
Another contraction hits like a wave, and Sam gasps, "Dean!" He curls over his belly, arms around it protectively, and Dean is by his side in a second.
"Sammy, it's okay, I gotcha," Dean soothes, coaxing Sam to lean his head into his brother's stomach so Dean can rub down his back.
"I need a hospital. Now." Sam's voice is so full of conviction he almost believes it's possible.
"The next city with a hospital is over an hour away and there's mountains cutting off the signal the whole way. I can't risk driving with you like this, baby. I think you're in active labor."
Sam nods into Dean's stomach, reaching up to fist his hands tightly into Dean's shirt layers. When the contraction is over, Dean pulls away slowly, hands bracing Sam's shoulders to look at him. Sam silently pleads for Dean to somehow make everything okay--make it all better--and the look Dean meets him with says he will.
Dean cradles his face briefly and pulls away, and Sam watches distractedly as Dean moves the towels and lays the tarp over the backseat, followed by a large blanket to cover the tarp. Dean looks around at the still-empty road and reaches for Sam.
"What're we going to do?" Sam hates that his voice shakes when he asks. Then Dean's pulling down his soaked maternity pants and making Sam step out of his boots and pants, pushing Sam down into the backseat before he can protest, "You can't deliver our baby on the side of the road, Dean!"
"Hey, you're not giving birth on the side of the road. You're having a home birth." Dean pats the impala's roof with a tender look from the car to Sam, before ducking in to pull off Sam's socks and help him get situated.
"You can't deliver our baby, Dean," Sam reiterates, and realizes from somewhere far away his voice is getting pitchy with anxiety. His breath quickens, stomach tight. Oh fuck.
"Hey. Hey, hey, hey--Sammy, look at me. Breathe."
Sam obeys, holding Dean's gaze in the diminishing light and breathing in gentle pants with him until his body is calm again. Dean leans forward and presses their foreheads together, hand a reassuring pressure on the back of Sam's neck.
"That's my boy."
They stay like that until the next contraction, and then Dean kisses Sam's forehead and says, "Look, don't be mad--"
Sam cuts him a suspicious little brother look.
Dean leans away and holds up his hands placatingly. "I figured this would happen when you refused to let the pregnancy keep you home. So I took a doula class." And with that bomb dropped, he leaves the backseat to grab Sam a water bottle. He points at Sam, "Small sips."
Dean starts pulling more stuff out of the trunk, but Sam is too distracted to pay attention to what he's grabbing.
"You took...a doula class?!" Sam's words are a guttural moan as another contraction starts. The pain seems to be increasing with each one, rippling like waves. He has to remind himself to breathe, clenching his hand over the back of the front seat to ground himself, squirming in agitation trying to find a comfortable position.
Sitting on his tailbone suddenly makes him feel everything building like he hadn't been before. Like just being aware of it flipped a switch. He wishes he could lay down. It's too small in here for him to get properly supine and not risk a Men in Black situation, he thinks hysterically.
Suddenly the car cabin is filled with lantern light and Dean's grabbing his hand and smoothing his hair from his face. Sam only realizes he's howling like a wolf at the moon when he looks into reassuring green eyes and trails off with a sob of relief.
"Yeah, a doula class. That chick with the lamaze video had an online course."
Sam forgets about his contractions and starts to belly laugh. Then his eyes shoot wide and he sits up straighter, leans forward, grabbing into the seats with both hands.
"Ohhh. De-Dean. I need to- I need to push... Now. Nownownow."
"Jesus-- Okay, Sammy, just slide down for me a bit. Need to see where we're at-- Holy shit."
"What?!"
"Press those knees together for me, baby boy."
Sam does, excitement and anxiety thrumming through his body. This is happening. This is really happening.
Dean leans over the front seat and grabs a handful of towels, tossing them on the blanket-covered floor next to a jug of water and a brand new first aid kit Sam's never seen before. Dean opens the water and twists back to rinse his hands out the open door behind him. Opens the first aid kit and Sam sees a bulb syringe along with other baby first aid items, but he can't really put purpose to anything he's seeing right now.
The need to push is so intense Sam can hardly think, and judging from Dean's reaction as he spreads him open, there's good reason.
"Okay--"
"Dean, I need to push!"
Dean smirks at him and Sam kinda wants to punch him in the face. "I know you do, Sammy. On the next contraction, let's go. Okay?"
Sam nods. "Okay."
Dean lays a large towel over his lap while Sam starts squirming in discomfort again. The next contraction seems to take forever.
His knees are spread open against the front and back seats, and he lets his foot fall to the blanketed floor, toes wiggling until they meet the side of the water jug. He pulls back and flexes his foot. Spreads his other leg out as far as he can beside Dean, along the back of the seat, and rubs at it.
"I want to walk, Dean."
Dean bites his lip, "Sammy, you're really ready now. I don't think--"
"Please, De, I need to stretch my legs."
Dean takes his leg in his hands and starts to rub it, and Sam moans softly. Can't help continuing to squirm, though, hips aching. He pushes Dean away with his heel.
"Lemme out!"
Dean huffs but relents, grabbing Sam's boots and setting them outside the car when he gets out.
"Dean, where are my shoelaces?" Sam asks, staring down at his laceless boots, the tongue pulled out. He stuffs his feet in.
"I needed them."
Dean holds out the towel from his lap for Sam. He wraps it around himself and holds it together at his hip. Dean grabs his other arm and braces his lower back as they take baby steps together.
"Okay, just a little bit. Not too far. If you start having a contraction, do not push while we're out here. You gotta wait til we get you back in Baby."
They go around in circles a few times; pause so Dean can help Sam take off his jacket and flannel and get down to a single layer; walk some more; but Sam's hips get tired before another contraction comes.
When they're back inside the impala, Sam continues wriggling around into different positions, rocking himself, while Dean busies himself with more preparations. The impala starts up, familiar and comforting. Dean slides into the seat next to Sam and closes the door, draping the towel back over his lap.
Then, finally, when Sam has squirmed until he's canted himself to lean over the front seat-- knees spread wide on the backseat, belly pressed against the cool vinyl-- the next contraction comes.
"Okay, Sammy, you got this." Dean rubs his lower back encouragingly.
Sam bears down.
It feels like he's pushing forever. Dean tells him to breathe and he realizes he's not. He gasps and tries to catch his breath, matching Dean.
The contraction ends and Dean reminds him to stop pushing.
"That's it, baby boy, that was so good," Dean praises.
"Am I almost done? God, Dean she's so heavy," Sam pants, and feels Dean lean around him to wipe sweat from his face with a clean towel.
He hears the click of a flashlight, and tries not to think about what things look like between his legs right now. Feels Dean's hand against him.
"You're really close, Sammy. I think this is what they call crowning. Think I'm gonna be catchin' our kid real soon."
"God, I want to see-- her," Sam grunts as his next contraction starts. "Dean!"
"C'mon, Sammy, you can see her as soon as you push her out. Just a little more work... You got this."
Sam pushes, howling and feeling his inner rhythm matching the rumble of the impala. He's learned over the years how to trick how he processes pain for long periods of time. How to break it ip into pieces; change it into a different, more manageable energy. But how he's feeling now goes beyond what he's ever managed. It feels like he's tapped into something primal. Something vital.
He doesn't think. He barely understands the encouraging words and instructions Dean coos at him. He digs down into the pain and grabs onto it. Feels the power of life in it. And pushes their baby outoutout.
Dean shouts in triumph and Sam knows he caught her okay. Slumps over in relief when he hears the suction of the bulb syringe and then the strong cries of their daughter.
_
"What d'you want to name her?" Dean asks in the hush of the impala, spooned up single layer-to-skin with Sam and the baby; watching their daughter nurse in the lantern light. The cut-and-tied bootlace he'd used to tie off the umbilical cord rests against her belly.
Sam carresses her dark, downy hair and looks at Dean. "How about Hope?"
Dean smiles. "Hope it is." He kisses Sam's cheek, then lips, then forehead, and presses his lips gently to the crown of Hope's head.
"What about the APGAR?" Sam realizes suddenly.
"It was 8 and then 10," Dean says easily.
Sam stares at him.
Dean stares back and cocks his eyebrow. "Y'know, you say things like, 'Dean, you're a genius!'--"
Sam cuts off Dean's falsetto imitation of him with a laugh and a playful shove, "I don't sound like that--"
"--you do, baby boy-- But you're always surprised when I do something like reference a book or know what an APGAR score is."
Sam blushes, but his brother is giving him that smarmy look he thinks works as flirting. With the mouth. And the eyes. It's absolutely ridiculous. So dorky. He looks like the 12-year-old kid that used to tease Sam just to see his reaction. Unfortunately, it still works, and Sam reaches to fist his hand in Dean's t-shirt and pull him in for a kiss.
"Or learn how to deliver our baby in the back of a 1967 Chevy Impala?" Sam smirks.
Dean combs his hand through Sam's sweat-damp hair. Sam leans into it. "I just figured it was a possibility, and I should be prepared. I didn't plan for it to happen like this."
Their daughter squirms but continues nursing, and Sam watches her in awe. He can feel the weight of Dean's gaze without even looking.
"They're even bigger now."
Dean palms the breast Hope isn't using.
"They filled out a little when my milk came in-- please don't touch my nipples right now, Dean. Nursing feels really freaking weird right now, I can't."
Dean's finger stops just beside Sam's areola and slides back to cradle the gentle curve of Sam's tit. Then he kisses Sam and settles his arm around Sam's where he's cradling Hope instead.
"We need to get you two to the hospital soon."
"I know. Just take it easy, okay? She's fine, so we don't need to get into an accident getting there. Especially when I have to hold her the whole way."
"Fuck that-- no, obviously I'm not gonna drive recklessly with our baby in the car, Sam. But she's going in the baby seat."
Dean leaves the car and starts rummaging through the trunk yet again, stowing away things he'd pulled out earlier, finding a trash bag to collect the wet and bloody laundry, and finally returning with an infant-sized carrier seat-- like something suburban hospitals give away with their new-parent gift bundles. In the seat of it is something else Sam is really happy to see: a small package of newborn diapers.
He thinks they'll just fit. Definitely better than the flannel shirt currently wrapped around her.
Sam grins helplessly at Dean. "You're such a dad. How did you even stow all this in the trunk?"
"Sammy, I think you should be well aware by now of how good I am at fitting things into tight spaces."
Sam snorts and Hope startles off the nipple. "Okay, baby girl, time to burp and get in your seat."
_
When Hope is buckled in-- rolled up towels filling in the empty space in the infant seat, supporting her as she sleeps-- and the impala is gliding out of the mountains, Sam asks:
"What about the placenta? Did you bury it?"
He had dozed off for a little bit after delivering the afterbirth.
"It's in the cooler."
"Dean, what the fuck."
"Hey, you're into all that hippy-dippy shit and doing your Sam-witch stuff, I didn't know if you needed it and you were too exhausted to answer. Don't worry--I got my beer out of the cooler first."
Sam shakes his head fondly, "You idiot."
_
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