Warmth. So warm. Sam sighed and curled into it, his body pressed solidly against Dean's, a comfort he hadn't allowed himself since he was a small child. Dean's chest was firm against his back as Dean held him there, his arm draped across Sam's middle. Strands of Sam's hair moved a little, tickling his cheek, as Dean breathed in and out softly, obviously still oblivious to the world. He laid there like that, not wanting to wake Dean, not wanting to get up just yet; all he wanted was to breathe Dean in—the smell of his shampoo, his deodorant, his cologne.

Sam didn't know how long it was, but if he was just guessing, he'd say it was fifteen minutes before Dean's body started shifting, pulling Sam further into him. This time Sam didn't flinch when he felt Dean's erection pressed against him, poking him. He was caught somewhere between the urge to groan in annoyance or spread his legs in invitation.

"Mmmm...mornin.'" Dean muttered, brushing his lips lightly against Sam's neck.

Sam debated rolling over to give Dean a real kiss; Dean was a great kisser all the time, but Sam loved to kiss him in the morning, before he was fully awake and aware. Those kisses were softer and lasted longer, and even though he'd never tell Dean, he craved the intimacy of it. Sam wondered for a moment if Dean kissed all of his girlfriend's and one night stands with the same delicacy in the morning, or if it was especially reserved for him.

The thought was filed away in his brain under the category of 'weird and never gonna consider it again,' for several reasons; one, Sam wasn't really a girl; two, Sam certainly wasn't a one-night stand; and three—which is where it became confusing and slightly unbearable—he wasn't Dean's girlfriend. He was Dean's brother. And when this was all over, and Sam knew that with Bobby here it was getting closer to being over, that he would go back to being his old self again; his old self with his old body. Would Dean want him then? Would he want Dean then? Sam was about 150% sure he knew the answer to the last question, but it was the one right before that that made him stop and consider things.

"Sammy," Dean continued kissing the back of his neck, nibbling his ear gently. It was becoming harder to remember what he was so concerned with a second ago.

"Jesus, Dean, stop poking me with that thing. Do you ever wake up not horny?"

"You love it, bitch."

He pulled himself up on his elbows and rolled Sam over onto his back. Pretty soon Sam was staring up at his messy morning hair and bright green eyes, wishing for the life of him he had the guts to ask Dean what was going to happen when he wasn't small enough for Dean's arms to easily wrap around his upper body.

Sam opened his mouth, convinced he might say something to start the dreaded conversation, but Dean effectively cut him off with a small kiss. Sam leaned into it, but Dean broke it off early. He fought the urge not to whine but it was hard not to, because Dean was hovering above him, smiling with those gorgeous lips, purposely teasing him.

"I'm gonna get a shower," he whipered. "I could use someone to help me get the hard to reach places."

Sam could hear the wink in his voice and rolled his eyes. "Is that so? Sounds to me like you just wanna use me for shower sex."

"That too." He made his way to the bathroom, stripping all the way over. Dean didn't look back, he just kept walking like he was confident Sam would follow. And he was right.

After an incredibly satisfying, deep cleansing shower, they agreed to meet Bobby at the diner down the road for a late breakfast/early lunch. Sam was pretty uncomfortable with the idea of Bobby in the room, even though he was pretty sure they didn't have any incriminating evidence lying around. It still felt like an invasion of privacy; which was weird, because having Bobby over was never uncomfortable—until now.

"So, I did some pretty extensive research last night," Bobby said, taking a drink of coffee.

The boys nodded, waiting for him to continue. "I also examined that wine that you snagged from the professor's house. It appears to be normal, but I'd bet my life it has the essence of Dionysus in it."

"What's that mean?"

"It means don't drink it. It's a quick and dirty way to get a small 'buzz' without having to be right beside the god himself."

"That crazy bitch's apartment was filled with that stuff."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it was. Completely."

"We need to figure this out, asap."

"Look, boys—er, guys. Let me tell ya what I know, and we'll go from there."

"Lay it on us, Bobby."

"Well we know how to kill 'em, if we can't get her to reverse the spell—if she's the one who cast it. But I don't wanna go in without a plan b unless we have no other options."

"So do we have one?"

Bobby gave Dean a quick glance, then fixed his eyes on Sam. "You're not gonna like this. Neither of ya. If we can't catch him 'in the act,' and off-guard, we're screwed. And to even do that we're gonna have to get past all his followers, which ain't gonna be easy, 'cause they'll more than likely be possessed."

"And they're practically immortal, we remember," Dean all but groaned. "So whadda we do?"

"That's where Sam comes in. We don't know why he wants you, but we know he does. We can use you as...bait. If you can get him to...do the deed, then we can kill him."

"You want me to have sex with him?"

"The FUCK, Bobby! NO. Absolutely, no." Dean shook his head furiously, as if to punctuate his point.

"Look, I know what I'm askin' is nuts, but I don't know what else to do. We got us a tricky situation here."

"I'm not gonna say it again, Bobby. No way, Sam's not gonna do it. He could die."

"Dean—"

"I don't know what other choice we have."

"Guys—"

"We'll figure something else out."

Their voices were gradually rising, as was Sam's temper. He hadn't been blatantly ignored when it came to hunting since his dad was around. He didn't like it. "GUYS!"

They stopped arguing and glared at Sam—as did half the restaurant, but try as he might, Sam couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed. "This is my decision. And I'll have to think about it."

"Fair enough," Bobby agreed.

Dean looked pissed, but didn't say anything. The rest of the meal was spent in an uncomfortable silence, with any of Sam's attempts at normal conversation thwarted by shrugs and grunts, and Sam wondered briefly if he sounded that stupid when he was irritated. Sam practiced his grunting a few times, a sad attempt to mock and piss off his surrogate father and older brother, but they just ignored him.

They agreed to reconvene at the hotel. Dean was pissing him off; the silent treatment was usually Sam's thing, so when it was directed at Sam, he didn't know what to do with it. He retaliated by giving it right back to Dean. Dean did not care.

"Look, Dean, I know you're worried...but we're running out of options here. We gotta figure this out, man."

"There's gotta be another way, Sam. We don't need to risk your life."

"We risk our lives every time we hunt, dude. It comes with the job—your words."

"Yeah, and their true—when we're talking about me—not you."

"That's a load of hypocritical bullshit, Dean."

"Deal with it."

"You are such an asshole, Dean. You can't tell me what to do."

"You sound like a brat."

"You sound like a jerk."

Dean didn't respond, just smirked and turned up the radio. "Dean, I'm gonna make my own decision here—and you have to be on board on you'll get us both killed. You know you can't deviate from the plan."

"What plan? We haven't decided on anything, yet."

"I know, but if that's what we have to do, I need to know you'll go for it."

"We cross that bridge when we come to it."

"God damn it, Dean! What, are you afraid I'm gonna get hurt, or that you're gonna lose your fuck buddy?"

Dean looked incredulous. "Where did that come from? And what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam didn't know. He'd been thinking about it for a while, but he didn't intend on actually bringing it up. So why the hell did he? He didn't want to know what Dean would say, and he didn't want to know what Dean would do. He was mentally prepping himself for the inevitable rejection that would come once he transformed back—which was a good thing, right? I mean, hello...incest.

"Sammy...what are you talking about?"

"Forget it."

"No way. You don't get off that easy. You always wanna talk, so talk, damn it. You don't just open a can of worms like that and not follow up."

"What happens when I change back, Dean?"

"I use more lube?"

Sam didn't know how to respond to that. He wanted to slap Dean; he wanted to laugh at Dean; he wanted to scream at Dean. "This is serious—to me."

"Jesus, Sam. It's serious to me, too, me too."

"So what, then?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, to answer, but they pulled into the stupid hotel and Bobby chose that very moment to be standing there outside their room, waiting. Dean shot Sam a look, a 'don't say anything in front of Bobby and we'll talk about it later,' look, and Sam nodded. This sucked.

They sat uncomfortably around the tiny table, beers in hand, just looking at each other. Sam could hear the click of the air conditioner as it kicked on. For once, he was speechless. He had nothing to add to this conversation, so he sat there uncomfortably, sipping a Corona and playing with the drawstring on his hoodie.

It was Bobby who spoke first. "And there's another stretch of bad news I didn't mention."

"Wonderful," Dean grumbled.

"This thing," he gestured towards Sam, "this might not be fixable."

"What?"

"He's a god, Sam. He'd have to change it back on his own free will—and I don't think he's one to be bargained with."

"But once we kill him, shouldn't that take care of everything?"

"Hypothetically speaking, yes. But honestly I'm thinking it's a 50/50 shot."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"It's a definite that all the people he's possessed will go back to normal—but it doesn't look like he's possessed you. This isn't like a witch's spell or some cheap black magic. He's a god. He's warped reality."

"Fuck, me."

That hit Sam hard—his stomach churned, the beer he was drinking suddenly feeling warm in his gut. He felt sick. He sucked in his bottom lip, his eyes beginning to sting with uncertainty. He closed them, unwilling to cry in front of either of the men sitting beside him. He'd figure this out later—right now, they needed to come up with their next move.

"Look...we can spend time speculating or we can come up with a plan."

They both nodded, and Sam pretended he couldn't see Dean looking at him, concern in his eyes. "I still think we need to talk to Caleb," Sam continued.

"God damn it, Sam."

"Who is this guy?"

Dean looked at Bobby. "It's just some jerk that Sammy met while we were doing research. Had his hands all over him and didn't wanna take no for an answer."

Bobby raised his eyebrows, but didn't respond immediately. He looked at Sam. "Does he know something, Sam?"

"He's our best lead—our only lead."

"Sam—"

"Dean," Bobby interrupted. "I understand you're worried about your brother, but if this guy's our only lead, we need to talk to him."

"Fine. I'll meet with him."

"Fat chance, dude. He's not gonna talk to you after you punched him."

"You punched him too."

Sam shrugged. Bobby looked back and forth between them again, rolling his eyes. "Idgits."

"So it'll be a surprise meeting."

"You're suggesting an ambush?"

"No, I'm suggesting I knock on his door and calmly as him a few questions."

"Dean—"

"It's the only way I'm agreeing to it."

"We'll all go, then."

"No. I can handle the college boy. You guys stay here and try to come up with another plan—one that doesn't involve Sam sacrificing his body to a freaky god."

"So we just sit here with our thumbs up our asses because you're feeling macho?"

"Guys! Enough," Bobby growled. "We'll stay here, Dean you go. We'll meet you at that professor's house in two hours. That should be enough time for you to get some answers and for us to do more research."

He didn't say it, but Sam could tell Bobby was just humoring Dean. It worked though, whether it was because Dean wasn't paying attention or was just happy to have won the battle, Sam didn't know. Either way, Sam wasn't gonna lie—he needed a break from Dean's stupid attitude. He also needed to get some fresh air—to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

Dean spent the next fifteen minutes tracking Caleb down. Luckily, Sam kept his number after their 'date,' and Dean used it to track his gps location. Personally, Sam thought it was creepy, but he didn't say anything; he didn't want to start another argument with his brother.

"How do you feel, Sam?"

"About what?"

They were still sitting at the table, the growl of the Impala becoming fainter as Dean drove away. "The plan. You know I was just sayin' that for your brother. Unless we get lucky, tryin to go in fighting is pure suicide. A stealth attack makes more sense."

"I know, Bobby. I feel—shit, I feel overwhelmed."

"It's crazy—and I know it's a lot to ask—but this is gonna get out of hand fast. He racks up followers like ants at a picnic."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the uncomfortable look Bobby shot him. He was used to his new hair, and pretty used to his new body—so sue him. Hopefully Bobby would have a chance to get used to it, either. Holy shit; what if he did get a chance to? No, Sam wasn't going to let that cloud his judgment—at this point, there was nothing more he could do. According to Bobby, he just had to let the chips fall.

They sat there talking, sharpening stakes, and coming up with absolutely nothing new. Dean wouldn't be happy but he'd have to accept it; Sam wasn't sure how they'd break it to Dean, but they'd figure that out later. Hey, maybe they'd get lucky and that bitch would reverse the spell. Yeah right—as if any Winchester ever had anything resembling good luck.

"He's late."

"Yeah, I see that, Bobby."

Sam watched the digital numbers on his watch change ten times before they spoke again. "I hope he didn't do something stupid and hurt the guy."

"You read my mind."

"Let's just go in and wait for her to get home. Hopefully he shows up."

They slung their packs over their shoulders, the tips of the stakes poking out of the top of it. Sam looked around, doing his best to ensure that no one was looking, and if they were, that they wouldn't be able to make out their 'packages.' It seemed all clear. This neighborhood was definitely one that went to bed before nine o' clock.

"Holy shit, you weren't kidding."

Bobby eyes flitted across the room, taking in the wine bottles. She apparently saw no need to clean them up. In fact, nothing had moved—at least from what they could see. They couldn't exactly turn the lights on because they didn't want her to know they were there, which made searching the place nearly impossible.

"I'm gonna call Dean."

"Sounds good. I'm gonna search a little more of the house. God damn flashlight."

One time. Two times. Three times. Voicemail every time. What the hell? Dean always answered his phone. Sam told himself to breathe, that Dean was probably just fine—no way that guy could take Dean. Dean beat the shit out of him while he was drunk. So why was it so hard to squelch the bile that was starting to bubble up in his throat?

"Bobby!"

No answer. "Bobby! Come on man, I can't get a hold of Dean. You think something might be wrong?"

"Sam! In here—you might wanna—"

Sam followed the sound of Bobby's voice, stepping over the excessive amounts of wine like a soldier avoiding a landmine. It wasn't easy during the day, and it was absolutely ridiculous to attempt it at night, and Sam managed to knock over at least four of them—so much for being discreet.

"Bobby, what the he—"

Bobby looked up at him. The terror in his eyes was clearly visible, even by the dim light of the flashlight. He didn't say anything, just gestured with his head to the left, waiting for Sam to follow his gaze. It took Sam a minute to get it, to understand what Bobby was silently asking him to do. Finally it clicked and Sam followed his gaze, his eyes straining to make out the figure on the floor.

"Fuck me, you've gotta be kidding!"

"Is that her."

"I can't tell. Hit the light."

Sam closed his eyes, trying to adjust to the light flooding the room. It took all he had to open them back up; he didn't want to see what he knew was in front of him; he didn't want to be there; he didn't want Dean to be MIA. He sucked in a breath, telling himself to just deal with it, and slowly opened his eyes.

It was her. It was definitely her. The white tile floor was stained red, blood pooling around her entire body like a crimson aura surrounding her. Her hair was sticky, matted to the side of her face, pieces of it stuck to her lips, which were hanging open, warped into an expression of terror. Her eyes were wide open, staring right at Sam.

He fought the urge to puke—this wasn't his first dead body, but not many of them looked at him. And it didn't stop there; a quick glance over the rest of her body revealed a blunt hole in her chest. And that was it; it was just a hole. A fucking gaping hole. The flesh around it was torn and frayed, as if were clawed out with a set of blunt fingernails.

"Her heart's gone."

"Oh shit."

Apparently Bobby had left, because when he came back he startled Sam. "I'm gonna scoop up the blood, just in case she's the one."

Sam just stood there, nodding. "Dean—Bobby, I can't get a hold of Dean."

"All right, we'll track his phone when we get back to the hotel. Let's just do this and get the hell outta here."

Sam knelt down, careful not to get his pants in the thick liquid oozing from the body. He scooped the blood into the jar Bobby gave him, doing his best to shake the nagging and disturbing images running through his mind. Dean.