Merlin eyed the angled seat of the birthing stool with misgivings. Yes, he knew that it was supposed to ease a woman’s confinement but he wasn’t really a woman. Still, the child would come in much the same way. He just wasn’t sure he had the strength to endure the contractions and keep himself upright as the stool was exactly that-a stool. It had no back, no support of any kind. He knew that usually a laboring mother would lay her legs along the flared wings of the seat and rock herself back and forth until the child came but usually a midwife was there to use her body to strengthen the straining mother. Who would help him? Gaius was amazingly vigorous for a man of his age but he wasn’t really sturdy enough to take Merlin’s weight for that long.
It wasn’t long, barely 8 minutes since the last one, before another contraction forced a strangled moan from Jensen, his head falling towards his chest, face scrunched up in pain. “Breathe, honey, don’t hold your breath,” Jared coached him through it. He fell back against the pillows, a slight hitch in his breathing. Jared comfortingly ran his free hand through Jensen’s hair.
Merlin drifted in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of conversation as he did. None of it made much sense and nothing could hold his attention for long. There was another contraction, more sleep and then yet another contraction. He would wake up while the pain gripped him and then fall back to sleep in between. He was vaguely aware of a hand in his when the pain was on him. He held onto that hand as to a lifeline as he thrashed in agony but was strangely oblivious to the person attached to the hand. It wasn’t until his pains began to come too close together for him to sleep in between that he realized the hand he’d been holding was Arthur’s. He dropped it like a hot coal when he became aware.
"Her name." John explains. "Sarah and I decided that we were going to name her Nora." And he held his breath in wait of Sherlock's response. He remembered the grief that Sherlock had given him when he and Sarah were deciding on names for their son, Rory; how they couldn't have come up with something more unique. This coming from a man named Sherlock who has a brother named Mycroft... Sometimes it was nice to be normal. And darn it if he was going to let Sherlock change...
She struggled to stand. The chains worked against her, keeping her from reaching out. She could hear the cries of other women and sadly took comfort from it. At least she wasn't alone. One woman, her name was Tina, had been taken around the same time she had. She remember being with her, trapped in the kidnappers vehicle when it first happened. Why they had been kidnapped she didn't know. She assumed it was some kind of cult, being as she only saw men. Her thought were interrupted by another cry from her fellow captive. She could only guess that she had gone into labor. She tried to block out the screams, to remain in denial of her situation. She gazed with dewy eyes upon her trembling belly. She dread birth and she knew her time was coming. She had been having contractions for a few days now and this day wasn't any different.
"F-Francis..." Niso mumbled softly, shifting so the tired male could see the baby. He looked down at it too when it began to cry. "N-Niso.." Francis moaned weakly, leaning his weight against the older male, his body still shaking from the strain of delivery. Slowly, he turned to look at the squalling baby cradled in Niso's arms. Francis couldn't believe the baby had come out of him. Before he could dwell too long on the insanity of the birth, his body convulsed and he arched his back, groaning anew when another contraction hit and a torrent of fluids expelled from his anus. "No..no..n-not again," Francis cried, face flushed and shiny with sweat. It was too soon! Niso bit his lip and got up from the tub, finding a towel and wrapping the baby in it. After laying the baby on the floor where it was safe he got back into the tub, gripping Francis' hand now. "It's happening again?" Niso asked, swallowing hard as he looked down to Francis' still swollen stomach with a shake of his head. Francis nodded jerkily. His chest burned with each quick and shallow breath, his lungs desperate for more air. But before he could gasp again, he surrendered himself to another painful contraction and bore down with a vengeance. The pressure in his anus was escalating. He bellowed loudly and squeezed Niso's hand for support. His head was spinning from lack of oxygen and he wanted the pain to disappear but it was only worsening. He paused for a brief moment to collect himself then jerked back with a cry when an involuntary spasm seized his body. The next baby was on the edge of crowning. "I can't," Francis begged and looked imploringly at Niso. He was defeated. "I can't do this..It hurts too much.."Niso just shook his head and kept a tight grip on Francis' hand. "Push Francis!" He ordered him harshly, glaring a little. "I gave birth to your six kids! Now push!" He growled. Deep down, he felt mildly angry at Francis' for giving up so early. He pressed his hand to Francis' stomach and narrowed his eyes at him. "Push.” "S-Stop it! Get offa me." Francis bucked and jerked, trying to wrench himself free from Niso's grips. He felt as though he was tearing in half, his sore anus bulging and straining to release the baby trapped inside his canal. It did not come out with his last push and he gasped for breath then fell forward, groaning as its head edged closer and closer to his anus, stretching him past the point of pain. Grunting, Francis threw his head back and pushed again, face and neck reddening from the extreme effort. Despite the pain wracking his body, he yanked his knees to his chest and bore down, cursing and screaming, when suddenly something slippery and wet emerged between his thighs, gushing fluids. "Haa..haa..h-head's out," he called weakly.
I’m a young, first time mom, heavily pregnant with triplets. I arrive at the hospital in early labor, deposit my husband in the waiting room, and am shaved, given an enema, and catheterized before any medication is administered. Once the meds start to take effect, my legs are strapped into stirrups and my arms tied to the side of the bed. For the next twenty hours, I writhe and scream in agony as the contractions get increasingly stronger. It feels like by body is being ripped apart but I’m too out of it to remember my own name, much less than I’m pregnant and in labor. The nurses mostly ignore my crying and moaning, casually chatting about their weekend plans as they make sure my restraints are still in place despite my desperate bucking.