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Inside of Me

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“Sam? SAMMY?!” Dean yells, hands all over Sam, clawing at him, seeking out hope, pressing to reassure that Sam hasn’t bit it.

A jagged painful breath inflates Sam’s lungs as his body remembers to breathe. Sam coughs and manages to open his eyes. He’s got a dumb smile on his face, he’s sure of it. Just his luck for the world to come back to some kind of normal, at least for them, and for him to almost bite it on some regular hunt where the fate of the world isn’t in the balance.

Dean’s hand curls through Sam’s hair as he helps him sit up. The touch sends shivers down Sam’s spine, but he ignores it. Sitting up, he looks from Dean’s face over to where the witch was last standing. She’s now dead on the ground, a hole where her brain should be.

“What happened?” Sam asks as pain lances through his skull. He winces and cowers towards Dean.

“Hey, hey.” Dean’s hands start stroking, poking and prodding—trying to find what’s wrong. “I think she hit you on the head,” Dean says, eyes focusing on a spot on the side of Sam’s head. Easing Sam to look at him again, Dean studies Sam’s eyes, a frown growing on his face. “You might have a concussion.”


Dean’s lips draw into a thin line. “We need to get you checked out.”

Sam just manages to stop himself from nodding, and allows Dean to ease him up onto his feet. He casts a wary glance towards the witch, called Kit, but she’s dead and no longer going to be finding virgins for her spells.

A few minutes later he’s in the car by himself as Dean handles the body, making sure dear Kit doesn’t come back from the dead. Sam tries to ignore the pain in his head, but it’s hard not to. His stomach hurts too and Sam’s unsure if that’s because he hasn’t eaten in a while, because it has been hours. But then the thought of food makes him feel queasy and he can’t eat anything until he’s been checked over anyway.

A flickering glow begins to light the air just behind the crooked Victorian house they’d tracked Kit too. Sam waits and Dean finally appears, a neutral expression on his face. All business and that. Sam’s guts squirm and he holds back a whimper as the pain in his stomach spreads, settling in his guts, beating in rhythm in time with the pain in his skull.

“Alright, let’s get you to a doctor,” Dean announces as he climbs into the Impala and starts the engine.

A minute into their journey it’s clear to Sam that his discomfort is only getting worse, but he doesn’t want to worry Dean. He tries to sit in silence, but it doesn’t work. Dean reaches out and Sam slides across the bench seat, his large frame coming to a rest against Dean’s.

“Here,” Dean says, voice all soothing, and he wraps an arm around Sam’s shoulders. The big brother act taking over the all business act.

“Thanks,” Sam says, voice thin and reedy. “Dean, something’s wrong. There’s a pain… in my side…”

“Where?” Dean keeps his eyes on the road.

“Right side. My guts…”

The car starts to pick up speed. “It’s okay, Sammy, we’ll get you to a doctor.”

Sweat beads Sam’s forehead. He wants to throw up, but there’s nothing to throw up, so he holds down the bile that’s rising.


Dean paces the waiting room. He’s called Cas, told him not to panic Mary. The two are out working a case on the other side of the country. He’s called Jody and Donna, again telling them not to panic. He keeps telling other people not to panic, but he is panicking.

He doesn’t know how to deal, what to do, when being human catches up with the two of them. The concussion is turning out to be the least of Sam’s problems. It is the suspected appendicitis that has Sam in an operating theater. Dean had wanted to wait outside the theater, but he wasn’t allowed to keep watch over Sam there. So he paces the waiting room and hopes that Sam is safe. Hopes that modern medicine will see Sam pull through A-Okay and ready to go home to the Bunker in a day or two.


Sam’s stretched out on the back seat of the Impala, a bottle of water in hand, a blanket over his lap and a pillow—where the hell did Dean get it?—behind his back. Dean drives at the speed limit, careful of every little bump in the road, which Sam’s grateful for, because the stitches holding together his right side love to hurt just that bit more when the road gets uneven.

“Remember, you’re doing no heavy lifting for the next six weeks,” Dean calls over his shoulder.

Sam sighs. “I got it the first time the doc told me.”

“Yeah, well I know what you’re like,” Dean grumps. “Cas ain’t around to mojo anything back together, that case in Oregon—he ain’t gonna be back for a while.”

“Okay, okay.” Sam takes a sip of water. “I get it.”

“And you need to really take it easy for the next two weeks,” Dean adds. “Like, you’re staying put, once we’re back home.”

“Dean, do you really think I feel like, I don’t know, running or whatever? I get it. My appendix burst and I need to recover.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Do you understand I can’t survive on burgers alone?”

Dean gives an awkward glance over his shoulder and then set his eyes back on the road. “I’ll get groceries. I can cook healthy crap.”

“Could have fooled me,” Sam shoots back.

“I am a man of many talents, Sam, including in the kitchen.”

“Uh huh, well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Just you understand, healthy doesn’t mean lots of just leafy salads, you need protein too,” Dean points out.

The two of them continue to bicker, but Sam likes it. It’s normal and takes his mind off the pain in his side and an uneasy feeling that’s curling within him that he can’t quite put his finger on.


“I want to go on a hunt.” Sam looks up from the paperback he’s reading.

“It’s only been a week.” Dean shakes his head and finishes putting fresh grounds in the kitchen coffee maker. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, but Dean feels he’s getting pretty good at navigating it.

“Yeah, but I’m going stir crazy in here.”

“Your appendix burst.”

“But I’m bored.”

“Dude, you’ve already read like, six books. How are you bored?”

“Okay, so maybe I’m catching up on my to-read pile, but it’s not the same.”

Dean smiles and looks over at Sam, a gladness welling inside him that while Sam might be recovering, at least his brother’s safe and home. “I know it’s not the same. But after another seven days… we can head out a bit. Maybe go town or something. See some movies at the theater two towns over.”

Sam sighs and nods. “I just…”

“You can’t hunt until you’re able to lift things again. And you aren’t going to be able to lift anything heavy or fight for another month even after next week.”


“No buts. You don’t wanna rip open your stitches.” Dean puts the coffee maker on and sits opposite Sam at the table. “Look, when we’d last have a holiday, huh? I know there’s… things to do, but we can play house for a while, huh? Until you’re better.”

Sam gives Dean puppy eyes and Dean reaches out, gently tapping the top of Sam’s hand. He’ll still take this over what happened with the werewolves the previous year. He’ll always take Sam alive and breathing over anything else.

“I’m not sure I can read anything else.” Sam keeps his hand under Dean’s.

Studying his brother’s face, Dean notices Sam wince. “Something wrong?”

“Nah, just feel like I had surgeons digging around inside of me a week ago.”

“Look, I’ll get us some breakfast and then you can pop a couple of ibuprofen, okay?”

Sam nods, a grateful smile playing across his lips.

As Dean goes about fixing them egg white omelets with spinach and mushrooms, Dean hopes that nothing big comes their way and they have to handle it. Dean could go hunting by himself—he did do it for years after Sam went to college—but something tells him that would only encourage Sam to push himself too soon.

After breakfast, while he’s washing their dishes, Dean has an idea. He finishes up and finds Sam curled up on his bed, reading like he has been most days.

“Bored still?” Dean asks from the doorway.

“A little.”

“How about I go pick up some supplies… and something you could play videogames on, plus some games?”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “You’re serious?”

“I got some cash set aside… Could go to a pawnbrokers and find what we need.” Dean looks at the floor and then back to Sam. “What do you think?”

“Actually, that sounds pretty awesome right now.”

“Okay, well, do you wanna ride with me?”

Sam brings a hand to his abdomen and rubs at a space away from his surgery site. “Still feeling sore.”

“You took some pills right?”

“Yeah.” Sam grimaces. “I think I’ll stay put.”

“I’ll be no more than two hours. Got your cell?”


“Alright,” Dean smiles, “I’ll see you soon.”


Sam’s in the bathroom, washing his hands when the pain comes. At first he thinks he’s torn his stitches and looks down at his side, pulling up the t-shirt he’s wearing and pulling down the sweats he has on. But the dressing is blood free.

The pain hits him again, harder, it’s near his groin, stabbing and ripping at him. He doubles over a scream filling his throat. The pain is too much and as blackness tints the sides of his vision, he passes out on the bathroom floor.


“Sam? SAMMY?!” Dean shouts, worry increasing with every passing second. He tried not to be fazed when Sam didn’t answer his cell earlier at the start of Dean’s return trip, figuring he was napping. But now that he’s back in the Bunker and Sam isn’t in his room, Dean’s beyond worried. The PS4 and games he bought are stacked in the map room, forgotten.

Fear curls up his spine as he stalks through the halls of the Bunker. He heads towards the bathrooms and hears a running faucet. Speed picking up, Dean walks in through the open door and sees the faucet running, but no other sign of Sam. He pulls out his gun.

“SAM?!” Dean shouts again, but gets no response. He heads out, eyes straining for any sign of anything. Struggle mainly. Blood. His feet take him to the library and he passes under the archway, head swinging to his left as he looks for his brother.

WHAM! He’s thrown off his feet as something that feels like a tree trunk cracks into his back, his gun sliding away into the library. Head spinning and back screaming, Dean tries to regain his bearings to see who or what attacked him, likely Sam too.

Instead a familiar face comes into sight, as Sam leans over him. There’s something about his eyes that doesn’t look right, like Sam’s not quite home.

“Sammy?” Dean asks, hoping nothing’s really wrong and Sam just got spooked. But then he looks down his body and towards Sam’s.

Where Sam’s legs should be, there’s a mass of pinkish-purple tentacles, all varying lengths and thicknesses, all from his navel down. They seem to be holding Sam up, a sort of trunk, and slowly inching over Dean’s legs. The dressing from Sam’s operation is gone. He’s topless and looking like something Dean’s only ever seen in hentai.

“Dean?” Sam asks, voice distant, like he’s half-asleep or drugged.

“Right here, Sammy,” Dean says in as reassuring voice as possible.

“What’s happening?” Sam asks fearfully, suddenly sounding younger than all his years.

“I’m not sure, but we’ll figure it out.”

Sam nods but suddenly scrunches his face up in pain. The tentacles tremble and then several shoot out towards Dean, scooping him up into the air. Dean’s face draws level with Sam’s and there’s so much fear and hunger there, Dean has no idea what’s going to happen, but a niggling part in the back of his brain his thinking about all the hentai he’s watched.

“Dean… I need you,” Sam says breathily. Tentacles pull at Dean’s jacket and clothes, making it clear that this is apparently a too many layers situation.

Dean gulps, he knows where this is going. There’s almost nothing he wouldn’t do for his brother, but he gets the feeling he can’t really say no here. There is no way for him to get the tentacles to back off of him.

“Okay, Sammy, okay.” He leans forward and Sam gets the message, letting their mouths meet. The kiss sends a guilty thrill through Dean’s body, wakening desires he’d long thought buried. But he ignores what he feels in favor of making sure Sam feels good. Safe. Wanted.


Tears wet Sam’s eyes as he holds onto Dean with his new limbs, gently stroking and teasing. They kiss as he feels Dean in ways he never thought he’d touch his brother. Everything his tentacles do cascades information through Sam’s brain, it’s almost overwhelming and he has to focus on something to stop himself being consumed. So he focuses on Dean’s mouth.

Dean tastes of long summers, wood smoke and whiskey, like the feelings he’d tried so hard to ignore for so long. He never wanted this for Dean, but here they are, and as one tentacle presses at Dean’s hole, slick and insistent, Sam has no idea how they are going to get out of this.

A part of his thoughts suspects that the witch, Kit, must have whammied him before Dean found him over a week ago. But he’s in no position to go researching curses and hexes that could have led them out of their current predicament.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam pleads as he feels himself, the tentacle, start to push inside of Dean, making him moan into Sam’s mouth.

Dean’s leaking cock jumps between them, smearing Sam’s belly with pre-come. Sam doesn’t will a narrow tentacle to wrap itself around Dean’s cock and balls, but it does, and starts to ripple as it strokes him. Sam has no idea where his own cock has gone, but he feels a pull in his guts, like he’s edging towards orgasm as his limbs work on Dean.

Breaking the kiss, Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s neck and nuzzles his nose against Sam’s cheek. “I know you love me, Sam…. Mmm… love you too.”

Dean gasps as Sam feels his tentacle brush against Dean’s prostate. Sam wills his tentacle do it again, hoping that by making it feel good for Dean, it all won’t be as bad as it actually is. Just as Sam moves in to start kissing Dean again, one of his tentacles slides towards Dean’s mouth. Sam slaps it away and claims Dean’s mouth for himself.


“Dean!” Sam cries out, with a mix of alarm and lust.

Dean flexes his kiss swollen lips and then looks to where Sam’s looking. The tentacle that’s been massaging and stretching Dean’s ass suddenly has a bulbous shape heading down it and right towards his insides. He feels something slick and liquid, warm, filling his hole, his abdomen, and Dean shivers.

“Sammy, it’s fine, it’ll be fine,” Dean tells him, tells himself. Lying. He has no idea. But he’s sure this all has to end at some point.

When the round shape reaches his stretched rim, Dean feels tears gather in the corners of his eyes, he goes back to kissing Sam and the tentacle on his dick speeds up. Dean’s overwhelmed, lost in pain and pleasure, unsure what’s going on anymore as he's stretched and filled. Stretched and filled. He really needs to come, waves of need deep within him pushing him towards climax. As the shape, no bigger than a football enters him, Dean yells into Sam’s mouth, coming, just as Sam seems to do the same, both coming so hard that they pass out.


“Dean...” Sam moans sitting up, side twinging. He looks down his naked body and sees the dressing covering the operation site. A couple of splotches of blood tinge the white material. He looks away from that, deciding he can deal with that later and takes in the library and then the warm heat at his back.

Gingerly, Sam swivels round on his butt and sees Dean, laid out beside him and just waking up. He’s naked as well and Sam has a horrible feeling that the thing he thought was a dream was not a dream. Especially when he sees the roundness of Dean’s stomach. Like he’s more than five months pregnant.

Fear laps at the sides of Sam’s thoughts. He did this to Dean. He fucked him. And he did this to Dean. “I’m so sorry,” Sam pleads.

Dean looks up at Sam as he opens his eyes and then down at his own stomach. He swallows hard and puts a hand on his roundness. “It’s okay, Sam… we’ll figure something out.”

Slowly, they both get up from the floor and Dean puts on some clothes, or tries, before taking Sam to the infirmary to treat his wound. Not long after, the two of them hit the books, Dean reaching up and taking down the ones they need. He’s in sweats and a loose fitting t-shirt, Sam is similarly dressed.

Guilt eats away at Sam as they work and he has a horrible, sinking feeling that there might not be a cure.


Weeks pass. Dean gives birth to a litter of slithering black things that disappear through the walls, ceilings and floors. Sam’s tentacles come back days later and he mounts Dean again. It becomes a cycle and as Sam finishes healing up, Cas and Mary find excuses not to come back to the Bunker for more than a day at a time. Like they're sensing that something is off. A cure looks to be less and less likely.

Dean feels like they need each other. He loves Sam and wouldn’t want to do this with anybody else.

He can’t remember when they stop looking for a cure. But eventually they do.