This is the first chapter. Think of it as being an introduction. Expect two or three more to follow.

Deanmon/Demon!Dean and Sam/BloodAddict!Sam.

Warnings for later chapters: Non-con, bondage, incest, BDSM, blood-letting, addiction, abuse, sexual content, language. I do not own Supernatural or its characters. This story partakes in season nine, I will try to keep major spoilers to a minimum.

Reviews, follows, favorites are always welcome. Reviews help me figure out what to write next as far as other stories are concerned. Please, enjoy.

Dean felt… good. Better than he had been. Sure, he was a little sensitive, given how many times his bastard little brother had shoved that human blood filled needle into his arm. But he was still himself. He was still disconnected from whatever humanity he had been clinging to for so many years. He was still free in his own twisted mind. That's why he felt nothing but thrill, excitement, as he stalked the halls of the bunker. It felt so good to be on the hunt again. He missed it. But this time, he was hunting down a hunter. Turning his sweet baby brother into prey. And when he caught him… That's when a whole lot of payback needed to be filled.

"Sammy… Come on little bro… You can't hide forever." He taunted, his voice echoing off of the walls as he stalked down them, silently. He could almost feel the air around him swell as if Sam was breathing right beside him, wide eyed and scared like a child. "Sammy." His voice was a lot harsher now. A lot more vicious. A lot more… not like Dean. And Sam was almost expecting to see an axe butchering through the door of the room he was hiding in, his brother's black eyes and smiling face looking back at him like a scene from The Shining. The knife in his hand was trembling. He didn't want to kill his brother, but if he had no other choice… No. He had a choice. He made that choice when he brought Dean here in the first place. He needed to try to save his brother. Even if it cost him his own life.

"Sammy! Come out!" The sound of his brother yelling shook him out of his own thoughts. His hand around the handle of the knife becoming that much tighter. He's so close now, like the sound was coming from just a few steps down the hallway. He couldn't stop from shaking. Sam's free hand came to cover his mouth to try and stifle his breathing, but it was already too late. The wood splintered as the stop ripped through the frame, sending the shards across the floor at Sam's feet. Dean's form filled the doorway quickly, shrouded from the light behind him, casting nothing but a shadow and hiding his eyes. The only thing Sam could do was to steady himself, to try and fight his brother off. Maybe if he knocked him out…

Before the idea could even finish, Dean was moving. He was fast. Too fast. And strong. Stronger than he ever remembered. He knew that Dean was the better fighter, though he had honed in his own skills over their years together, Dean always had more practice than he did. His brother was predictable, but this wasn't his brother anymore. Just as he readied himself to fight back, knife in hand, something hard hit his head and his world went black.

They were back in the dungeon. Where he had been keeping Dean for the past few days. He could tell because it was always cooler down here. Probably to help the Men of Letters get information. His head was throbbing, like war drums in his ears. His brows pushed together and he groaned, signalling to Dean that he was waking up.

"It's about time you came around, thought I killed you for a while there, not that it would have bothered me much." Dean was behind him. Slowly, Sam's eyes opened and he was grateful that there were bright lights shining at him. Just a few low glows from the lamps, and a few candles to add a bit more light. But it was cold, colder than he had remembered. It wasn't until he had time to process that he realized he couldn't feel his arms. They were above his head, chained tightly to a pair of cuffs that hung from the ceiling. If he were any shorter, he would be dangling off of the ground, but he was still balanced on the balls of his feet. "Dean?" He asked, almost to empty air. His brother was there. Just some monster wearing his face. It wasn't until he felt cool fingers drifting over his shoulder that Sam realized he was absolutely naked.

"What's the matter, Sammy?" That voice. It was monotone, holding absolutely no emotion. No sympathy, no regret. Nothing. It was so in control that it made Sam sweat. He was terrified, he was powerless in this position. He wanted to run. Needed to run. "Dean… Let me go… Come on, man… We're brothers… Don't…. Don't do anything. Just let me go and you can leave. I won't come after yo-" He was cut off by a strong, firm hand over his mouth, squeezing his jaw shut with powerful force. "Shhhh… Let you leave? Oh, Sammy… The fun's just getting started."

The eyes that were looking back into his own were nothing but blackened pools of darkness. No soul behind them. Empty. Death. Sam didn't want to admit it yet, but he already knew that he was lost.