Fic: The Eye, The Star, and The Portal (Sam/Dean,Explicit) Part 1

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~()0O0()~

The first hour of their drive back home from Portsmouth, Sam couldn’t let go of something Marco had said about Yokoth. As the bleakness of the early spring Rhode Island landscape sped by outside the passenger window, his mind kept playing the man’s intense words on repeat: “If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding.”

That comment alone was enough to make Sam want to scream remembering the tentacles and how close they’d come to snatching Dean away into another universe. It made him start to question exactly how long Yokoth really had Dean all to herself? It had seemed like forever to Sam (or at least a very long time) before he’d gotten to where Dean had been chained to that filthy black marble altar. But Sam was guessing his grasp of time was probably off due to the knock-out drugs that had been in his kale salad.

If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding

Yokoth had most definitely fed on all the poor cultists, but then she’d left. She’d probably had a surge of energy after one hundred years of being starved and tied up. That meant that she’d probably—he couldn’t go there, couldn’t quite make himself think it. Sam found that he couldn’t even imagine saying it out loud, not even to ask Dean if he knew the answer.

If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding

Sam glanced over at Dean, blithely driving along like he hadn’t just almost been the breeding host for some cosmic entity from yet another universe. Dean had been mere seconds away from becoming Yokoth’s mate, Glythur. Sam’s heart raced at the thought that he had almost lost Dean—again, and this time to something nearly inconceivable in its scale.

If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding

Yokoth had fed, so then what? What would come next, she would want to breed, right? The logical next step would be—he had to go there and think it. What if Yokoth had…bred with Dean as part of the whole portal opening ritual?

Sam knew that he hadn’t been thinking straight or clearly back there in the chapter house, so he hadn’t asked Marco or Ophelia what they knew. He’d been so caught up in the flood of relief at seeing Dean alive that nothing else had mattered in that moment. Nothing else mattered still. Sam continued to examine him, his brother who had survived something inconceivable just a few hours ago.

Sam watched as Dean finally noticed him looking. Dean’s whole face changed, there was a slight raise to the curve of his lip, he shrugged a little like Sam’s gaze actually weighed something. It was almost more than Sam could bear, he’d almost lost him again.

Dean looked over and met Sam’s gaze briefly, his forehead crinkling with worry. “You okay, Sammy?”

“Just thinking, that I’m glad you didn’t get all tentacled up into another universe,” Sam said, not elaborating on all that likely entailed.

If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding

Dean mock-shuddered at the thought, flashing a silly grin across the car, his eyes hopeful, no doubt that Sam would accept it and drop the subject. “Me too, that’s for damn sure.”

“Ophelia and Marco were pretty cool, weren’t they? I was thinking about how we should try to stay in touch with them. What do you think?” Sam asked, trying to do just that, drop the subject and never bring it up again.

“Well, I guess we should, I mean they’re legacies, just like us. No, they had even more Men of Letters training than us, especially on this whole cosmic gods and alternate universes business. It feels like we’re gonna need them on speed dial for a while here,” Dean said.

“They’ll be up for it, think about all the time they’ll have on their hands now. No care and non-feeding of the monster in the basement and all,” Sam said.

“What a weird family gig that had to be, huh?” Dean asked.

“I think I like our family business a lot better, there’s more variation in the work,” Sam said, “instead of just hanging around one place your whole life.”

“Hard to imagine doing that, I think I would have really lost my mind,” Dean said.

Their conversation petered out then, like they usually did on long drives like this one was going to be. It was rare that they talked the whole time they were in the car. And usually there tended to be more caring and sharing late at night. There was something about driving past that midnight hour that got Dean into the headspace where he could open up enough to be a little more free with his feelings.

It didn’t mean that Sam couldn’t look at him now though, the setting sun’s warmth coasting over Dean’s profile, lighting up the tips of his long lashes. It was enough to make him sigh.

“You’re sighing again, you really okay?” Dean asked with the familiar big-brother’s worried tone.

“Yeah, I’m just…uh, enjoying the sunset,” Sam said, gesturing at the horizon where the entire sky full of towering clouds were colored in intense shades of the setting sun.

“It’s pretty gorgeous,” Dean said, turning slightly to look out at the sky, but still looking mainly at Sam.

“That’s for sure,” Sam said, not looking at the sunset any longer. Dean was the only thing he could see these days, the only sight that truly came into focus, the only person that it mattered that he see.

After thinking about it for another hour or so, considering all the angles on how to even bring up such a question Sam realized that he just plain didn’t know how to ask Dean. He didn’t want to interrupt his brother’s apparently good mood. And there wasn’t much of a solution that Sam could even offer at this point. It reminded him too much of being soulless and teasing Dean about servicing Oberon, king of the fairies.

If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding

Back there in Rhode Island, just a few hours ago in the basement of the Men of Letters’ chapter house, Capitulum Seven, Dean hadn’t talked much about the gory details. Not even after getting unchained from the altar and cleaned up from the tentacle residue and all that. There just hadn’t been enough time. And Marco and Ophelia had been there. But if Sam knew anything in this world, he knew that he knew his brother, and something was not right. He sighed to himself, hopefully softly enough this time that Dean couldn’t hear it over the Metallica blasting through the speakers.

~()0O0()~

Once they got back home to the bunker, Sam noticed within a few days that Dean was sleeping a whole lot more than he usually did, and he had stopped drinking almost entirely which was the strangest thing of all. Neither of them brought up traveling to the other other world to try and save their mother and Jack, which was maybe even a little more weird. Sam wished he was still sleeping in the same room with Dean. After their lifetime of sharing motel rooms, having separate rooms, heck, separate hallways in the bunker meant he didn’t know for sure if Dean was having nightmares or not. Given the dark circles under Dean’s eyes and his general twitchiness, Sam was guessing the answer was yes, but he couldn’t ask, couldn’t put the strain of having that conversation on Dean after all that had gone wrong lately.

If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding

That remark still resonated a week later, and Sam had started researching, while Dean was sleeping the days and nights away. The Men of Letters had a lot of information on H.P. Lovecraft’s activities that was downright fascinating. Sam found the Letters’ dry reports much easier to read than Lovecraft’s overwrought and thoroughly racist writings. There was even an interview with Eleanor Visyak which mentioned the portal to Purgatory opened in 1937 that she had slipped through. Sam almost showed it to Dean, but didn’t want to bring up the subject when his brother was still recovering.

~()0O0()~

That first night after they got home, Dean thought he was going to be fine, just fine. It had been scary, sure and like something out of a grade-B horror movie, but it was over. He honestly didn’t want to think about it too much. He showered for a long time, scrubbing at imagined remnants of the sticky tentacle guck. The smell of it assaulted him in the steam of the shower, even though there wasn’t any left to be scrubbed away. It was like it had invaded his skin somehow and the heat of the shower was bringing it out. Salty and fetid, rotting seaweed with a hint of dead sea creature that had dried on some unimaginable shore.

He shut off the hot water and leaned his head into the tile as the cold water washed the smell away. Instead of the horrible smell he was assaulted with echoes of Yokoth’s sweet voice as she’d said all those things about how he was hers and only hers forever. It had been so much worse than Amara’s claim on him. A deep dread in the pit of his stomach turned over, what if she’d been right?

Every night he dreamed, long and hard and horrifying. Images of himself heavily pregnant with Yokoth’s world-killing babies. Each night Yokoth murmured to him ever so sweetly about how he was so much better than Glythur and that his babies would be stronger than Glythur’s had been, how much more unstoppable, even more fierce than Glythur’s ever were. Her voice seemed to take him over and remove his ability to function or be himself. Even in the dreams he thought that was the worst part of the whole thing.

In these dreams Yokoth kept stroking Dean with her tentacles to keep him calm and suffused with this prickling almost pleasure. The almost pleasure was maddening, but he could take it in the dream. But the calmness wasn’t as easy to take, even in a dream it was very hard to be calm when you’d been bred against your will. The tentacles would wrap around him from all angles and sides, holding him completely immobile while they endlessly stroked at his skin. The hardest thing to bear was the pleasure when the tentacles would inevitably find their way to suckle at his nipples. Sometimes one at a time, other times both at once. The sheer erotic thrill of it would make him ill, even inside of the dream.

But always, the tentacles would surround his belly and massage at the stretching skin. Sometimes he could see dark shapes of tentacles inside there through that barrier, the only thing that was keeping them out of his world, was his own body. He felt so helpless in the dreams, because of how completely his mind and body would be overtaken, but it was her voice, Yokoth’s otherworldly sibilant voice crooning at him that would keep his resolve firm. He would use whatever means necessary to keep these monsters from coming through into his world.

Every single time he woke up from one of these dreams, he found he was holding the lower part of his belly. One hand curved around the small solid pooch that definitely didn’t used to be there. He didn’t know how to ask Sam for help with this. He thought Sam probably knew, or at least suspected that something was wrong. Dean imagined his brother trying to help, but what were they going to do? Call up Dr. Robert and have him perform a supernatural abortion for Dean’s dream monster babies from another universe? It seemed so ridiculous he couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud.

~()0O0()~

Eventually there came a night when Dean’s screams were loud and prolonged enough to reach Sam’s ears. He ran at full speed through the hallway that separated their rooms, not hesitating or stopping to knock on Dean’s door. His brother was on the bed writhing and screaming his lungs out.

“No! I don’t want this!” Dean screamed, clutching and clawing at his lower belly. His fingernails had scratched through his own skin leaving trails of blood.

Sam couldn’t wake him up no matter how hard he tried, he held Dean’s wrists so that he’d stop harming his own body, but that seemed to make him scream and thrash even more.

He was desperate to help, and the only thing he could think of was to hold Dean like he’d held Sam when he was having nightmares as a small boy. The moment Sam laid down half on top of Dean, pinning him to the bed with his full body weight, Dean stopped screaming. His brother’s body relaxed and he thankfully fell back into a deep sleep.

Sam ended up holding Dean the rest of the night, trying his best to stay awake in case he needed to soothe his panicked brother. He managed to finally relax and fell asleep himself, just in time to get a few more hours of sleep.

Dean woke him up again because he was talking, but not clearly. His body was rigid like he was fighting or ready to fight. Sam could make out Dean’s mumbles, it was something about not wanting this, that it wasn’t right, he didn’t have the equipment. Hearing all that only fed into Sam’s worries, almost confirming them without having to ask Dean outright. When Dean jerked up out of bed and vomited in the trashcan, that pretty much settled things. He tried to get Dean to wash his mouth out, but it was like his brother was sleep walking (sleep vomiting?) and it wasn’t possible.

~()0O0()~

Dean woke up early in the morning with Sam wrapped around him from behind. He realized he finally felt rested after all those sleepless nights. He must have had a hell of a nightmare, because this wasn’t at all like Sam. Dean felt warm and safe and almost normal even though his gigantor of a brother was holding onto him like the world’s most enormous koala. Before he had a chance to consider how utterly perfect it felt to have Sam holding him, he fell asleep.

Later that morning Dean woke up again, but this time he was alone in his bed. The taste in his mouth was disgusting, like something had died in there. Had he actually barfed at some point? That hadn’t been a dream? He moved and found that his shirt was stuck to his belly, there was dried blood soaked through. He could feel something deep in his belly, something moving, it was a small brushing tickle against his insides, like he’d swallowed tadpoles. Before he could think about it too much more or freak himself out much further, Sam appeared in his doorway with a tray. He’d brought Dean some herbal tea and toast.

“Thought you could use something after last night,” Sam said, setting the tray next to Dean on the bed. He sat in the desk chair and seemed to examine Dean, that all-too-familiar worried look on his face.

“What happened?” Dean asked, sipping the tea and then lightly buttering the dry toast. He decided to skip adding the jam that Sam had added to the tray. It seemed like too much for his stomach to handle without getting ill again. Had he dreamed Sam being in bed with him when he’d woken up earlier?

“You…uh, you were screaming last night, and I couldn’t wake you up. You were hurting yourself pretty badly and the only thing that worked was holding you,” Sam said, blushing a little which Dean was surprised to find was all kinds of adorable.

“Thanks…uh, for helping me,” Dean said, “I’m not sure what that was all about last night. I’ve been having bad dreams every night since we got back.”

“I figured, it was a bad scene back in Portsmouth from what little I saw of it myself,” Sam said.

“That’s for damn sure,” Dean agreed, finishing the tea.

“I know I missed a lot though, because I came in towards the end. I really don’t know what happened and since we didn’t talk about it too much…” Sam trailed off like he wasn’t sure what to say next.

“I wasn’t up for describing the gory details, but I guess I might have to spill given what happened last night,” Dean said. “Did I say or do anything that stood out?”

“Once I got you calmed down, you started talking in your sleep. It was something about not wanting this, that it wasn’t right, you didn’t have the right equipment, and then you got up and barfed in the trash can.”

“That’s why my mouth tasted like ass this morning, I was wondering,” Dean said.

“Any idea what you were talking about?” Sam asked.

“Some, yeah,” Dean said, grimacing at the thought he couldn’t possibly say out loud.

“Is it something to do with Yokoth trying to mate with you as Glythur?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Dean said, eyes blazing with the fierce need for Sam to drop the subject.

Sam’s eyes widened when he took notice of Dean’s reaction and he gathered up the tray and turned towards the door. Dean couldn’t help noticing how Sam took up most of the space, how were his shoulders so impossibly wide and strong?

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, knowing he sounded sappy and probably too emotional.

Sam turned to look back at him, eyes still wide, but now with something soft and tender instead of worried or pitying. And that was just what Dean needed, it wasn’t pity Sam was sending his way, it was something else. “I’ve got your back on this, Dean, whatever it takes.”

~()0O0()~

As soon as he was alone in the kitchen, Sam texted both Marco and Ophelia to see if they might know how to test Dean to see if he was actually carrying impossible monster babies.

Sam: I keep thinking about something you said when we were there

Marco: What’s that? I know I talk a lot of shit

Sam: We were talking about Yokoth and you said: If she’s not feeding, she’s breeding

Marco: So Dean’s not feeling too good, huh?

Sam: Nope, you guys got any idea what I can do to help him?

Marco: ….

The three dots beeped and booped silently and didn’t turn into helpful advice, they did nothing until they disappeared. Sam’s heart sank, maybe they weren’t going to offer their help. His phone rang before he had a chance to put away the dishes from Dean’s tray. It was both of them calling from Ophelia’s phone.

“Hey, Sam, you’re on speaker,” Ophelia said.

“Hey, hi there, Ophelia and Marco, thanks for uh…getting back to me so quickly,” Sam said, sinking into a chair at the table. He pulled over his notes and a pen.

“Yeah, we were pretty sure you’d be calling,” Marco said.

Based on their non-reaction reactions this told Sam that they had suspected this monster baby on board thing was a possibility.

“We’ve already gone ahead and gathered the ingredients for a spell to test and then banish Yokoth’s offspring,” Marco said.

Sam didn’t know how to respond to that, except with a heartfelt, “Thank you, that’s awesome. Should we come back up there, I mean…would it work better there, you know, where it all happened?”

“My guess is that it’s a bit safer to be further from their entry point into our world, and your bunker sounded pretty safe and isolated just in case,” Marco said.

“It’ll be okay, Sam, we’re all packed up and ready to come to you,” Ophelia said.

“Is there anything I can do while we’re waiting for you guys?” Sam asked, trying not to be too hopeful.

“It’s going to take us a couple days to get there, here’s what you need to do to keep Dean safe, you ready to write this down?”

Marco described a soul binding spell that Sam could perform to keep Yokoth’s hold from affecting Dean’s conscious mind. The spell would mostly work as a distraction to keep her occupied. Sam did his best to not worry about hiding his worry from Dean, because if the distraction worked, then he wouldn’t be noticing either. Marco cautioned that part of the spell involved Dean being bound to someone to ground him here to the physical plane.

“Who do you think would work better, someone he knows, or a random person?” Sam interrupted, needing to get clarity on the issue.

“Definitely a person he knows well, because the spell might make Dean…uh, needy,” Marco said.

“Needy in what way exactly?” Sam asked.

“Like he’ll need more physical touch, to feel that you’re there with him. His senses are going to be heightened and distracted by the new connection he’ll feel because of the spell,” Ophelia said.

“Got it, I guess we’ll just have to deal,” Sam said. If the spell caused Dean to cling to him, almost 24/7, Sam decided he’d do just that, deal with it. He had a lifetime of stuffing down the bottomless need for his brother, he was an expert at it by now.

“Also, make sure that you have the Seal of Solomon out and ready for us, in case we have to act quickly when we arrive. I don’t want to have to go hunting through all your storerooms for it,” Marco said.

“Is there like a time limit on this? I mean, are we talking about an emergency imminent situation here?” Sam asked.

“We’re not exactly clear on the time part of things, they are cosmic gods after all, their concept of time is probably not even close to ours, much less their gestation cycle,” Ophelia said. “So, in our minds, it’s best to hurry up and get it done.”

“Got it, we’ll be ready for you,” Sam said.

“See you soon, Sam, stay safe,” Ophelia said.

Sam ended the call without making any useless promises about staying safe. He was going to do whatever it took to save Dean, just like he’d promised his brother earlier. Sam read over the list of spell ingredients and memorized the phrases he would need to speak. He thought about when would be the best time to do this, while Dean was asleep or awake, should he talk to him about it first, or just do it so that Yokoth didn’t get a heads up on what was happening? He made himself another pot of coffee and sat down to sketch out a game plan at the table.

~()0O0()~

To Part 2