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sammyakins · 3 months ago

Text

MPREG SAMDEAN

Trans Sam WInchester

Dead dove

sorta twist

non con showed and implied

My Choice part 1

The motel room was stale with the smell of cigarette smoke and fast food, a grim reminder of the countless nights they had spent in similar spaces. Sam lay on the bed, his eyes glued to the stained ceiling. The silence was as thick as the dust coating the TV set, and it weighed on his chest like an unwelcome secret. His hand drifted to his stomach, the slight bulge giving him comfort and terror in equal measure.

Dean paced the floor, his boots echoing against the worn-out carpet. The TV was on mute, playing some old black and white movie, the flickering images dancing across his face. The neon light outside the window painted the room with a sickly glow, casting long shadows that mirrored his own tumultuous thoughts. He took another swig of his whiskey, the liquid burning his throat as it went down. The taste was bitter, but it was nothing compared to the anger festering inside of him.

"Dean," Sam ventured, his voice a mere whisper that seemed too small for the vastness of the room. "We need to talk."

Dean froze mid-step, the bottle hovering at his lips. He turned to face his brother, his eyes narrowing into slits. "What the hell is there to talk about?" he spat, the anger in his voice barely concealed.

Sam took a deep breath, his hand still resting protectively over his stomach. "I'm pregnant," he said, the words hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

Dean's grip on the whiskey tightened until his knuckles turned white. "What did you say?" His voice was a low growl, the kind that sent shivers down the spines of demons and angels alike.

"You heard me," Sam replied, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "It's your baby."

The room grew even colder, if that was possible, and the air between them crackled with tension. Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, looking for any trace of a lie, any sign that this was a cruel joke. But Sam's gaze was steady, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and resolve. The truth was written all over his face, clear as the day they were born.

Dean took a step forward, the bottle of whiskey still clutched in his hand. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said, his voice barely above a murmur. "How the hell did this happen?"

Sam flinched at the accusation in Dean's voice. "You know how," he said softly. "It's your doing."

Dean's eyes widened with shock, and then his features twisted into a snarl. "You're not keeping it," he said, his voice cold and final. "I'm not having a kid, especially not with you."

The words hit Sam like a punch to the gut, the wind knocked out of him. He sat up slowly, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "Dean," he pleaded, "you can't mean that."

But Dean's expression was unyielding. "I mean every goddamn word," he said, his voice like sharpened steel. "This isn't happening. We fix it, or we deal with the consequences."

The silence that followed was deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of emotions raging within the room. Sam felt his heart break into a million pieces, each one sharper than the last. He had never seen his brother look at him like this, with such pure, unbridled rage. And yet, a part of him knew it was only the beginning. The world they knew was about to shatter, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

"I can't," Sam whispered, his voice barely audible over the thundering of his heart. "I won't."

Dean's hand tightened around the whiskey bottle, his knuckles going white. "You can and you will," he snarled, his eyes dark with fury.

"No," Sam said, his voice stronger now. He pushed himself off the bed, standing his ground. "This is my body, my choice. I'm keeping the baby."

Dean's eyes narrowed, his grip on the whiskey bottle tightening until it was a miracle it didn't shatter in his hand. "You think you can just ignore what I say?"

Sam's voice was trembling but firm. "You're the one who did this, Dean. You forced yourself on me, and now there's a baby growing inside me."

Dean took a menacing step forward, his eyes burning with anger. "Don't you dare throw that in my face," he snarled. "It was your own damn fault for tempting me."

The room was a pressure cooker, the tension so thick you could slice it with a knife. Dean took a deep breath, his chest heaving with rage. "You're not keeping it," he repeated, his voice a low growl.

Sam's eyes widened with shock and hurt. "How can you say that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"You're a fucking liar," Dean spat, the whiskey bottle shaking in his hand. "You're just trying to trap me, to ruin my life."

"It's not about you, Dean," Sam's voice grew stronger with every word. "It's about me and the baby. I won't let you take that away from me."

Dean took another step forward, his shadow looming over Sam. "You're not keeping it," he said, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument.

"You don't get to decide," Sam said, his voice trembling.

Dean sneered, the whiskey bottle still clutched in his fist. "Oh, I'm deciding alright," he said. "You're my little brother, and I'll be damned if I let you carry some freaky kid."

Sam felt his anger rise, a fiery counterpoint to his fear. "This isn't your decision to make," he said firmly, his voice growing stronger. "I'm not some possession you can just toss aside."

Dean took a step closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You're a Winchester," he snarled. "You do what I say, and that's that."

Sam stepped back, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "I'll do what I have to," he said, his voice low and determined. "If that means leaving, I will."

The words hung in the air, a challenge that Dean couldn't ignore. He took a step forward, the whiskey bottle still in hand, his eyes alight with fury. "You're not going anywhere," he snarled. "You're a Winchester, and you're staying with me."

"I'll leave," Sam said, his voice shaking, "if that's what it takes to keep this baby safe from you."

Dean's rage boiled over, and he swung the whiskey bottle at Sam, who barely managed to dodge the blow. It shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the small room. "Fine," he yelled, "you can keep it! But don't you dare expect me to play daddy to that thing. It's your problem, not mine."

The room was still, the only sound the faint dribble of whiskey seeping into the carpet. Sam felt a mix of relief and anger.

"I'm not playing your games anymore, Dean," Sam said, his voice shaking with the weight of his decision. "I'll stay, but only if you respect my choice."

Dean's jaw clenched, but he didn't move, his eyes still dark with anger. Sam knew it wasn't a true victory, but for now, it was enough. He sat back down on the bed, his hands resting protectively on his stomach.

As the night rolled on, Dean remained silent, his back to Sam. Sam could feel his brother's resentment, a palpable force in the air. He knew this was far from over, but for now, he had bought himself some time.

He lay down, the softness of the bed a stark contrast to the turmoil in his thoughts. The baby grew inside him, a secret shared only by the two of them. It was a strange, bittersweet happiness, knowing he was going to be a father.

But the joy was tainted with fear. He didn't know how to raise a child, especially not in their line of work. And with Dean's volatile nature, Sam couldn't help but worry about the future.

He closed his eyes, listening to the distant hum of the highway outside their window. He had to figure out a way to make this work, to keep his baby safe from the dangers of their world and from the monster that was his own brother.

It had been a few tense days since the revelation in the motel room, and the silence between Dean and Sam was heavier than the weight of their unspoken fears.

Sam had scheduled his first prenatal appointment at the local doctor's office in the town they had found themselves in. He was only eight weeks along, the pregnancy not yet visible beneath his loose shirt, but the anxiety was etched clearly on his face. He knew he had to face the reality of the situation, even if it meant confronting Dean about it.

"Dean," Sam spoke up, his voice tentative. "I need a ride to the doctor's."

Dean's eyes snapped up from the map sprawled over the motel room's small table, a mix of confusion and anger swirling in their depths. "Why?" he barked.

Sam took a deep breath, bracing himself for the fight. "It's my first appointment," he said, his voice steady. "For the baby."

Dean's hand hovered over the whiskey bottle, his knuckles white. "You're really going through with this?" he spat out.

Sam nodded, his eyes never leaving Dean's. "I am."

The tension in the room grew palpable, a living thing that seemed to suck the air right out. Dean stared at Sam for what felt like an eternity, his jaw clenched and his eyes dark. Then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, he grabbed his keys. "Fine," he said gruffly. "Get in the car."

The drive to the doctor's office was a silent battlefield, each brother lost in their own tumultuous thoughts. Sam's hand rested protectively over his stomach, feeling the slightest flutter of life within. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of father he would be, what kind of life he could give his child in the shadow of their demon-hunting existence.

The clinic was a nondescript building, blending into the landscape of the small town. Dean parked the Impala with a screech, the sound jolting Sam out of his thoughts. He opened the door and stepped out, his legs feeling like they were made of lead.

"You going to be okay?" Dean asked, his voice gruff.

Sam nodded, not trusting his voice. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and turned to face his brother. "Thank you," he managed to say, his voice cracking.

Dean's eyes searched his, and for a brief moment, Sam saw something flicker in their depths—concern, maybe even a hint of regret. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the familiar hardened mask he wore so often. "Don't get too attached to the idea," he said, his voice a warning. "This isn't going to end well."

With that, Dean slammed the car door shut, leaving Sam to face the reality of his situation alone. He took a deep breath and walked towards the clinic, the sound of his boots echoing in the quiet parking lot. The receptionist looked up from her magazine, her eyes widening slightly as she took in his large frame and the tension that rolled off him in waves. "Name?" she asked.

"Winchester," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I have an appointment with Dr. Marquez."

The receptionist nodded and handed him a clipboard with a pen attached by a string. Sam took it, his hand trembling slightly as he filled out the paperwork. The questions on the form were mundane, but they felt like a minefield of potential landmines. 'Father's name', 'father's contact info', 'do you have a support system'. He left them blank, his mind racing.

When the nurse called his name, Sam followed her down the hall, his heart pounding in his chest. The walls were adorned with cheerful posters of happy families, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his soul. She led him to an exam room, and as the door closed, he felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him.

The doctor, a kind-faced woman named Dr. Marquez, came in a few minutes later, her eyes scanning over the paperwork before looking up at Sam with a smile. "Good to see you, Sam," she said, her voice gentle. "How are you feeling today?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Scared," he admitted. "I didn't expect this."

Dr. Marquez nodded in understanding. "It's a big change," she said. "But we're here to help you through it."

Sam took a deep breath and asked the question that had been burning in his mind. "When can I find out if it's a boy or a girl?"

The doctor's smile was sympathetic as she sat down on the rolling stool beside the exam table. "Usually, we can determine the baby's gender around 18 to 20 weeks," she replied. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves. First, we need to make sure everything's okay with both you and the baby."

Sam nodded, his mind racing with the implications of her words. Weeks turned into months in his mind, a timeline that felt both endless and terrifyingly short. He had so much to prepare, so much to figure out before the baby came.

"Your due date," Dr. Marquez began, her tone professional, "is looking to be around the 10th of November."

Sam's eyes widened. "November?" he echoed, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like a ton of bricks.

"Yes, November 10th," she confirmed, scribbling something down on a pad of paper. "Now, Sam, can you tell me when your last period was?"

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably on the exam table, his thoughts racing. "I, uh, I don't know," he admitted, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

The doctor's gaze was gentle, understanding the difficulty of the question. "That's okay," she said. "We can work around it. But knowing your last period date can help us pinpoint your due date more accurately. Do you have any idea?"

Sam racked his brain, trying to remember the last time he had bled. It was hazy, lost in the blur of motel rooms and monster hunts. "A month or so give or take," he murmured.

Dr. Marquez nodded, making a note. "We'll keep that in mind."

The exam was quick but thorough, the doctor's voice a soothing balm over the chaos in Sam's mind. She checked his blood pressure, took his temperature, and listened to his heartbeat, which seemed to be racing faster than it should. Sam tried to ignore the tremble in his hands as she moved the cold stethoscope around his abdomen.

"Everything seems fine," she said, her voice soothing. "But we'll need to do an ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy and check on the baby's development."

Sam nodded, his throat tight with fear and excitement. The idea of seeing his child for the first time was both terrifying and exhilarating. He lay back on the table as the nurse squeezed cold gel onto his stomach and the doctor began moving the probe over his skin.

The screen flickered to life, the grainy image showing the flutter of a heartbeat, a tiny life growing inside him. Sam's breath caught in his throat, his eyes filling with tears. It was real. He was going to be a father.

"It's early, but everything looks good," Dr. Marquez said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "Congratulations, Sam."

Sam managed a weak smile, his hand reaching out to touch the screen. He felt a surge of love for the tiny being that was so utterly dependent on him. And with that love came a fierce determination to protect it from the horrors of their world, to somehow give it a life that was more than just running from one demon to the next.

As the doctor left the room, Sam sat up, wiping the gel from his stomach with a paper towel. He knew he couldn't do this alone. He had to find a way to make things right with Dean, to somehow bridge the chasm that had formed between them.

When he stepped out of the clinic, the bright sunlight momentarily blinded him. He squinted, looking around the parking lot, and there he saw the familiar silhouette of the Impala. His heart sank. Dean was still here, leaning against the car, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

Sam approached, his heart racing. The baby's heartbeat echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of what was at stake. "Dean," he called out, his voice tentative.

Dean's eyes flicked up to meet Sam's, his expression unreadable. "You done?" he asked, his voice flat.

Sam nodded, the gravity of the situation weighing him down. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

They drove home in silence, the engine's rumble the only sound between them. The baby's heartbeat echoed in Sam's thoughts, a stark reminder of the life he was carrying. He stared out the window, watching the world pass by in a blur of trees and streetlights.

In his pocket, he felt the ultrasound photo, the thin piece of paper a testament to the miracle growing inside him. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips as he thought about the tiny flutter he had seen on the screen. It was a smile filled with hope, with the promise of something beautiful and pure in a world so often marred by darkness.

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam in the rearview mirror, and his jaw tightened at the sight of his brother's happiness. It was a smile that didn't belong in their world, a smile that spoke of a future filled with baby giggles and family dinners, not salt circles and holy water. It was a smile that made Dean's stomach churn with anger and disgust.

"It's just a clump of fucking cells," he spat out, his voice harsh.

Sam swallowed hard, his hand moving to rest protectively over his stomach. "I hope it looks like me," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Time passed in a blur of doctor's visits, awkward silences, and the ever-present weight of their situation. Sam had just returned from his latest appointment, his cheeks flushed with excitement and nerves. He was five months pregnant now, and the baby was growing fast. His bump was noticeable, and he couldn't help the little smile that played on his lips as he felt the gentle kicks from within.

Walking into the motel room, he found Dean sprawled on the bed, his eyes glued to the TV, a half-eaten burger on the nightstand. The smell of grease and stale beer was a constant reminder of their lives on the road. Sam's heart raced as he approached, unsure of how Dean would react to his newfound joy.

"You're smiling," Dean said, his voice gruff as he didn't look away from the flickering screen. "What's got you so happy?"

Sam took a deep breath, his hand resting on the swell of his belly. "It's a boy," he said, the words coming out in a rush. "The doctor said everything looks good. He's strong and healthy."

Dean's eyes snapped to his, the TV forgotten. "What?"

Sam nodded, a genuine smile lighting up his face. "It's a boy," he repeated.

For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the static from the TV. Then, Dean sat up, his eyes searching Sam's face, looking for some sign of a lie or a joke. But all he saw was happiness, raw and unfiltered.

"You're serious," Dean said, his voice flat.

Sam nodded, the smile on his face unwavering. "Yeah, I am," he said softly. "I've got to start thinking about names."

Dean scoffed, throwing the burger's last bite into his mouth.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, his voice filled with both hope and defensiveness.

"You," Dean said, swiping a hand through his greasy hair. "You're actually going to be a dad."

Sam's smile faltered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean shrugged, turning back to the TV. "It's just… You're not exactly the poster boy for parenthood, Sammy."

The words stung, but Sam pushed them aside. "I know it's not going to be easy," he said, "but I'm going to do my best."

Dean sighed, tossing the remote onto the bed. "Look, I don't have time for this," he said, standing up. "We've got a hunt to plan. Some flesh-eating ghosts on the loose or something."

Sam watched his brother move about the room, ignoring the elephant in the room that was his pregnancy. It was as if Dean had drawn a line in the sand, refusing to acknowledge the life growing inside him. Sam felt a pang of sadness, but he knew better than to push it. Instead, he followed Dean to the table, where their father's journal lay open, surrounded by a mess of notes and maps.

"So, where are we heading?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Dean glanced over at him, his eyes lingering on Sam's stomach for a fraction of a second before looking away. "Some podunk town in Texas," he said, his voice gruff. "Ghosts, demons, the usual."

Sam nodded, his thoughts still swirling with the news of the baby's gender. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say next. "Dean," he began, "I met someone today."

Dean froze mid-stride, his hand hovering over the open junk food drawer. "What?" he asked, his tone wary.

Sam's heart pounded in his chest as he watched his brother's reaction. "A guy," he clarified, "asked me out on a date."

Dean slammed the junk food drawer shut, his eyes snapping to Sam's. "You can't go on dates," he said, his voice tight with a jealousy he couldn't hide. "You're pregnant."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because," Dean sputtered, "it's not right. You're carrying my kid."

Sam took a step forward, his eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't about you," he said firmly. "It's about me and what I want for the baby. And maybe this guy could be a good dad."

Dean scoffed, crossing his arms. "And what makes you think that?" he sneered.

"He's got a steady job," Sam said, ticking off points on his fingers. "A nice house. He seems like he could provide."

"So he's not exactly Brad Pitt," Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But he's got a good heart."

Sam felt a spark of anger flare in his chest. "You think I'd settle for anything less?" he shot back. "You're the one who's never had a clue what it's like to be responsible for anyone but yourself."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I've been taking care of you since you were a baby," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Taking care of me and taking advantage of me are two different things," Sam retorted.

Dean's expression grew stormy. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Sam took a deep breath, steeling himself for the reaction. "The guy's name," he said, "is Gabriel."

Dean's eyes went wide, his hand clenching into a fist. "You're fucking kidding me, You're going to bring some random guy into our lives now?"

"He's not random, Dean," Sam said, his voice calm despite the anger in his brother's tone. "He's a doctor at the clinic. He's been nothing but kind to me."

"And you're just going to trust some guy because he's got a fancy degree?" Dean spat. "You've seen the shit we hunt. You know better than to trust anyone."

"It's not about trust," Sam said, his eyes pleading. "It's about giving me a chance to be happy."

Dean scoffed, his eyes cold. "Happy with some stranger while you carry my kid?"

"It's not just your kid," Sam shouted, the pent-up anger and hurt finally breaking through. "It's mine too, and I'm allowed to have a life, to find someone who actually wants to be a part of it!"

Dean's fists clenched at his sides. "You're not going anywhere," he growled. "You're a Winchester, and you stay with me."

"You don't get it, Dean," Sam's voice was shaking with rage now. "You don't get to decide what makes me happy or who I can see!"

"You're my responsibility," Dean's voice was a roar that filled the small motel room. "I'm all you've got, and I'm not letting you throw your life away for some random guy !"

"You don't want the baby, so why does it matter?" Sam yelled back, his voice cracking with pain. "You just want to control me!"

Dean's eyes went dark, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I'm not letting anyone take you away from me," he said, his voice low and deadly. "Not even some doctor with a fancy name."

Sam's chest tightened, his fear mixing with anger. "You can't keep me like some kind of pet," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm not your property, Dean. I'm your brother."

The room was thick with tension, the air charged with unspoken accusations and fears. Dean looked at Sam, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Sam took a step closer, his eyes blazing. "I'm not doing anything to you," he said, his voice rising. "You're the one who can't handle the truth!"

"What truth?" Dean demanded, stepping closer to Sam. "That you got knocked up and now you're going to ruin everything?"

"The truth," Sam said, his voice shaking with emotion, "is that you raped me, and now I'm having your child!"

The words hung in the air, a knife that sliced through the tension, leaving a trail of pain in their wake. Dean's face contorted with rage, his eyes burning with a fury that made Sam's heart pound in his chest. Without a word, Dean lunged forward, pushing Sam onto the bed with surprising force. Sam's eyes went wide with fear, his heart racing as he tried to scramble away, but Dean's grip was like iron.

"You think you can just say shit like that and walk away?" Dean snarled, his breath hot and sour with whiskey. His hands fumbled with Sam's pants, yanking them down roughly, exposing the soft swell of Sam's stomach.

Sam's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, his breath coming in panicked gasps. "Dean, stop," he pleaded, his voice trembling.

But Dean was beyond hearing, his mind consumed by a toxic mix of anger and fear. He grabbed Sam's legs and pinned them down, his eyes never leaving Sam's face.

Sam's heart was racing, his fear palpable. He knew what was coming, had feared it since the moment he had seen the positive pregnancy test. "Dean, please," he whispered, his voice hoarse with unshed tears.

But Dean was deaf to his pleas, driven by his own demons. His hand reached between Sam's legs, pushing them apart roughly. Sam's body was trembling, his mind racing with thoughts of how to escape, how to protect his unborn child. But the reality was, he was trapped, pinned down by his own brother's strength.

Dean leaned in, his mouth pressing against Sam's inner thigh, the roughness of his stubble scraping against his sensitive skin. Sam's breath hitched, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt Dean's tongue trace the curves, then dip lower, to the warm, wet heat of his pussy. The sensation was jarring, a mix of pain and unwanted arousal that made Sam's stomach turn.

As Dean's tongue delved deeper, Sam's body betrayed him, his pussy growing wet despite the horror of the situation. His breathing grew shallow and ragged as he felt the slickness spread, his mind a tumult of fear and disgust. It was a biological response, one that he couldn't control, and it made him feel even more vulnerable.

Dean noticed the change, his eyes darkening with a twisted kind of satisfaction. He took it as an invitation, his tongue moving more insistently against Sam's sensitive flesh. Sam's body responded in ways that made him feel dirty, his clit swelling under the pressure of Dean's mouth. He didn't want this, but his body seemed to have a mind of its own, the pleasure mixing with the pain, creating a cocktail of sensations that had him moaning despite his fear.

Dean's teeth grazed against Sam's clit, eliciting a gasp from his lips. He hated the way his body reacted, the way his hips bucked up into the touch. It was as if his body was betraying him, seeking release even as his mind reeled with the horror of what was happening.

With a groan, Sam felt the beginnings of an orgasm coil in his belly, his body tensing with the unwelcome pleasure. He tried to fight it, to clench his muscles and will it away, but it was too strong. With a choked cry, he came, his body shuddering with the force of it. Dean's eyes gleamed with a sadistic pleasure as he pulled away, leaving Sam's clit pulsing and sensitive.

Dean's hand moved up to wipe his mouth, smearing the evidence of his assault across his cheek.

"Again," Sam whispered, his voice shaking.

Dean's eyes narrowed, his grip on Sam's legs tightening. "What did you say?"

"I said," Sam repeated, his voice stronger despite the tremble, "I want you to do it again."

Dean stared at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sneer, he leaned back in, his mouth returning to Sam's clit. This time, Sam's body responded more readily, the fear and anger fueling his arousal. It was a cycle he despised, one that had become all too familiar in their twisted dynamic.

As Dean licked and sucked, Sam's mind was a whirlwind of emotions.

He felt a mix of fear, anger, and a disturbing hint of pleasure that he couldn't ignore. He knew he had to survive this, to find some semblance of control in the chaos. So he focused on the pleasure, letting it overwhelm the fear that threatened to consume him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing his body to respond. His hips began to move with the rhythm of Dean's mouth, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"Dean," Sam whispered, his voice trembling. "Put a finger inside me."

Dean's eyes snapped up to Sam's, surprise and arousal flickering in their depths. He hesitated for a moment before pulling away, his hand moving to Sam's entrance, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. Sam nodded, his breathing shallow.

Dean's finger slid in, slow and gentle despite the harshness of the situation. Sam's body tensed around it, the unfamiliar sensation making him gasp. But he focused on the feeling, letting it replace the fear, pushing it away. He rocked his hips slightly, urging Dean deeper.

Dean watched, his own breathing labored as he added a second finger, then a third. Sam's whimpers grew louder, his body responding despite the horror of what was happening. He didn't want this, didn't want to feel this way, but he needed something, anything, to keep the fear at bay.

As Dean's fingers moved in and out, Sam felt a strange sense of power take over him. It was as if by embracing the pleasure, he could somehow diminish the pain. He knew it was a lie, a desperate attempt to cope, but in that moment, it was all he had.

He reached down, his hand shaking as he wrapped it around his brother's wrist, guiding the pace, demanding more. And as the pleasure built, as the room spun and his vision blurred, Sam felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to take back control.

Dean's eyes darkened as he watched Sam, the anger in his gaze fading to something more complex, something that looked almost like hunger. He didn't know why Sam was asking for this, but he couldn't deny the need that was building in him, a need that was as much about dominance as it was about desire. He added a fourth finger, stretching Sam to the point of pain.

Sam's eyes flew open, his breath hitching as he felt the burn. But it was a pain he could endure, a pain that made him feel alive. "More," he begged, his voice strained.

Dean's hand moved faster, his thumb brushing against Sam's prostate with every stroke. Sam's body responded, his hips bucking up to meet Dean's hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn't know why he was doing this, didn't know why he was letting Dean have this power over him again. But he needed it, needed the release to keep from breaking.

The pleasure grew, a crescendo that drowned out the fear and anger. His body tightened around Dean's fingers, his muscles clenching and releasing in a rhythm that was as much about survival as it was about pleasure. And then, with a strangled cry, Sam came, his body arching off the bed. The release was intense, a wave of pleasure that crashed over him, leaving him trembling and panting.

Dean's eyes never left Sam's, his own breathing heavy as he watched the climax play out on his brother's face. He pulled his hand away, the slickness of Sam's cum coating his fingers. He brought them to his mouth, tasting the bitter tang, the reality of what he had just done hitting him like a sledgehammer. He felt sick, his stomach churning with a mix of guilt and arousal.

Time marched on with the relentlessness of a ticking clock, each day a blur of swollen feet and doctor's appointments. Sam's body had transformed into a vessel for a life that was both a burden and a beacon of hope. His stomach stretched taut, the baby's kicks now more insistent, a constant reminder of the impending birth that neither brother was prepared for.

As the ninth month approached, the motel room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with tension and unspoken dread. Sam's belly had become a battleground, a symbol of the power struggle that had defined their relationship since the revelation of the pregnancy. Despite the horror of their situation, Sam had found solace in the life that grew within him, a secret joy that Dean could not take away.

Their interactions were strained, a dance of anger and fear, with Dean oscillating between cold indifference and violent outbursts. But as the weeks wore on, a strange new dynamic began to form. It was as if the baby had become a tether that bound them together, a shared burden that neither could escape. Sam saw it in the way Dean would sometimes hover, his hand hovering just above Sam's stomach, the barest hint of curiosity in his eyes before he would quickly look away.

The day finally arrived, a hot Texas afternoon that felt like the world was holding its breath. Sam's contractions had started, and the pain was a crescendo that seemed to echo the chaos of their lives.

He was alone in the motel room, the TV static his only companion as he panted through each wave of pain. The doctor's words echoed in his mind, a warning about the risks of giving birth without medical supervision. But he had no other choice, not with Dean out on a hunt, oblivious to the battle happening inside of Sam.

The hours dragged on, the pain becoming a constant companion that seemed to grow with every minute. Sam's eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead as he clung to the bedpost, his knuckles white. He knew he had to get to the hospital, but he couldn't move, couldn't leave the safety of the room. His fear was a living, breathing entity, wrapping around him like a noose, tightening with every contraction.

And then, there was a knock on the door. It was Dean, returning from his hunt, his eyes widening at the sight of Sam's contorted face and the pool of fluid on the floor. "Sammy?" he called out, his voice tinged with alarm.

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