Ok, I got this idea when Dean says that the wolf who had attacked Madison had been trying to get a little breeding action. Hope you guys like it!

Summary: What if, in S2E17, Heart, Sam and Dean were bitten? How would that effect their realtionship, and what...urges would the wolf in them feel compelled to satisfy?

Sam turns to Madison, startled. Her eyes, now golden and slitted, full of a cold, unnatural fury, narrow at him. He stumbles back away from her, trying to get as far from her as possible. She lunges for him, grasping at his shirt. He falls to the ground, landing on his side. He tries to kick her off, but she was too fast. She smacks at him, her nails gashing his cheek. He cries out in pain. The scent of blood seemed to send her into a frenzy. She snaps at him, barely grazing his shoulder. He presses his hand against the wound as he kicks out at her blindly. It lands on her stomach, winding the werewolf. She falls back away. She shakes her head as if to catch her senses and then swings her hungry gaze to him.

Suddenly, sweet, independent Madison turns all predator, crouching low as all her senses go on alert. Her head tilts at him as her eyes rake over his body, almost appreciatively. He wasn't given time to be freaked out as she attacks just after, sending them straight to the floor. Sam brings his hands up to fight, but she wraps her clawed hands around him and pins his wrists to the floor. He tries to buck her off, but to his surprise, she pushes back, almost rubbing against him. He groans, embarrassed that he was responding, but then a flare of pain near his neck ruined his erection. Madison's head was tilted against his neck, her teeth sunk in the soft skin.

He tries to struggle, but she holds him down with her strength. He could feel himself getting sleepy, and his mind tried to fight it; he couldn't fall a sleep now, with a werewolf sitting on his chest! He could also feel her pushing against him again, probably trying to get the same reaction out of him, but he was too sleepy to respond. He hears her growl and he utters a sharp cry as her nails rake along his chest.

He tries to do something, anything, to stop her. His fingers twitch toward his pants, feeling the bulge of his loaded gun resting against his thigh. He pushes his hand into the pocket, pushing back to distract her. She makes a soft sound, almost a purr, and pushes happily against him.

He suddenly swings out at her head; the gun makes a solid smack when it lands and she yelps in pain. Her body flies off him and rolls slightly. She tries to stand, but the hit had knocked off her balance and he could tell he had made her bleed. He hated that he had to pistol whip her, but it was his only hope. She turns her enraged eyes to him, snarling and baring her teeth sluggishly.

She pulls herself onto unsteady feet and Sam raises his gun, aiming straight between her eyes, executions style. She lunges toward him, and he winces.

"Sorry." He whispers shakily and pulls the trigger. He had closed his eyes when he heard the loud crack, but he knew his hand was steady. Years of training forced him to be a near perfect shooter. He slowly peaks through his lashes at the damage. She lies before him, sprawled out, her eyes wide open and human; they were milky and glazed. A perfect bullet-hole sits in the middle of her forehead with blood oozing out; as he expected, perfect shot. She had died instantly. At least he had the solace that she had not suffered.

Tears mar his vision and he blinks them back; they sting the back of his eyes. He lays his head back and slumps wearily down, too emotionally and physically drained to move. His adrenaline rush was gone and his body felt like lead. His heavy lids flutter closed and he succumbs to sleep.

He would deal with Dean in the morning.

Dean's breath comes out in short pants as he tries to find an advantageous place to fight. The werewolf had heard him coming before he had been able to get the drop on the wolfy sonuvabitch. He had already taken out the poor prostitute, her body mangled and mutilated. He felt kind of bad about it, but he couldn't let her death weigh him down, not now.

He could hear the wolf huffing behind him, trying to the catch up. He wouldn't be able to outrun him and he couldn't keep up the chase for long. The wolf would get annoyed and more violent and his body would eventually give out.

A sharp, bone-chilling howl sounds from behind him, and suddenly he was acquainted with the dirty alley floor, a heavy weight on his back. Nails rip at his clothes and nick him in his right shoulder. He bucks backward to throw him off – which works – and flips them over. He pushes the wolf down by his neck, trying to strangle him. The guy weighed much more than him – the beer belly was a bitch – but, with his fingers squeezing his Adam's apple, he couldn't really do anything except snap his jaws at Dean's throat.

However, Dean forgot about his claws, and a sudden pain erupts in his temple. The bastard had swiped up with his claws at the ready, scratching along the right side of his face. His grip falls lax and he was pushed roughly into the pavement. His need to survive made him wriggle almost embarrassingly, but it was serving two purposes: keeping the wolf from being able to bite down and allowing him find the gun he had never gotten to draw.

He cries out again as his shoulder erupts in pain, and he had to stop, his shoulder numb. He didn't think he could move it. It twists his neck to see what it was, and he could feel cold fear swell in him – the man was biting his shoulder. The fear takes over and he smacks up at him. The wolf howls in anger and pain, as Dean had added a little nail to his slap – pay back was a bitch too. His hit, born from adrenaline, had thrown him off. Just as the wolf came toward him, his good hand had brushed against the handle of the gun.

A loud smack of a gun rings throughout the alley. The werewolf – now a human – stumbles back, his eyes full of pure shock. He drops to his knees and then to the floor, blood running down his chin and pooling around him. Dean leans wearily back against the wall, sleep tinging his vision black. His head lolls to the side, his eyes rolling back in his sockets.

He could hear the gurgling sound of life leaving the other man, and he could only think of one thing.

Take it, bitch.

Darkness hits him seconds later.