The only things that belong to me are the insanity behind this pairing and a redneck named Delmont. Sam/Dean/Castiel belong to Eric Kripke, Alcide/everyone else to Charlaine Harris.

Sam was panting, his lungs burning for air, by the time Alcide pulled away. He grabbed the older man by the shoulders and lifted himself, short nails digging into the unmarked skin of Alcide's back. The man was burning hot to the touch. After a deep inhale he dove back into the kiss, all teeth and crushed lips.

Moments later Alcide had the younger man flat on his back, one massive hand buried in long brown strands of hair. He pulled Sam's head back and to the left, leaning down to leave bites along Sam's jaw line and neck. Sam exhaled, his breathe stuttering, as Alcide nipped the sensitive cords in his neck. The older man dragged his tongue across the reddening skin before trailing down Sam's chest. He got so far as the chain hanging just below the kid's collarbones before cursing in pain, his tongue raw and bleeding. He recoiled from the man beneath him, stumbling onto the floor and quickly backing away until the cuts on his shoulders pressed against the front door.

Sam stared, his eyes wide with bewilderment, as Alcide receded as far from the bed as possible. He glanced around the room, eyes resting on the shirtless behemoth before eventually noticing the smear of blood across his necklace and anti-possession tattoo. Sam's attention shot back to Alcide, whose lips were terribly bloody, and the missing puzzle pieces of his host's past began falling into place. All the growling when angry, the constant feverish warmth radiating from his skin at all times, the gases on his back, the group - no, pack - who had approached that evening... Sam had but a single word to say.

"Werewolf."

Alcide's eyes sank to the floor, the disgust in Sam's voice making him feel all of two feet tall. "Sam..."

Sam sat up, holding a blanket across his chest. "No, Alcide. Just no. After everything I've been through, and you're a God damned werewolf... I'm a hunter, damn it. I've spent my entire life killing monsters. And yo expect me to be okay with this? You expect me to not be absolutely revolted?" Sam couldn't look at Alcide any longer, couldn't bear to accept the man's beastly reality.

"Sammy, please-"

"You do NOT get to call me that! Especially not you."

"Just let me explain-"

"There is nothing you could ever say to make this alright. The last time I got involved with a werewolf, I had to pull a bullet through her heart. The last time I trusted a demon, I lost everything. I trusted that demon with my life, morrow importantly with Dean's life, and it got both of us killed."

"You're not dead, Sam..." Alcide did well in masking his confusion as concern.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about this world. There are things far worse than you, and I've killed damn near all of them. You wouldn't dare to fuck with me if you knew. Or send your little freak friends to do your dirty work, either. I know how your kind thinks."

Alcide was offended, but more than anything he was hurt, and his tone showed as much, "You're a fucking fool, Sam Winchester. If you honestly think that I kill people, or God forbid that I would ever hurt you, you should just leave. Take your shit and stay far, far away from my parish. I'm not the only thing lurking in the dark, but I am the kindest."

They exchanged heated glares, Sam only when he chanced to look at the werewolf, and a tension grew between them nearly to the point of bursting. It pushed them apart, kept each in their separate corner. Both knew crossing the other to be suicide.

Alcide didn't look away from the younger man, he hardly blinked, until the tension faded. He watched Sam relive his past, more than just what he had disclosed. Alcide had gone through a phase after Debbie, dealt with a constant yearning for her. The rage over her death hadn't helped, but when the rage disappeared, so, too, had his desire for his mate. He had gained the opportunity to start anew. Sam, though, he hadn't been so lucky. Whatever was eating at him, whatever was clawing at his mind, it was old and it was permanent. It was enough for Alcide to forgive what had been said, and the tones that were used. He no longer saw a man in fight or flight - the aw a man who needed comfort.

A few small steps were all it took to break Sam from his negative head space. The only emotion on his face was misery; thankfully there was no fear. Alcide couldn't have handled Sam being afraid of him.

"Can we talk now?" Alcide was still a couple feet bed, his steps slowing the closer he got.

"We already talked."

"No," he paused and heaved a sigh, exhaling the weight of the world, "Not enough. Not until you realize I'm not one of those monsters - honestly, Sam, I should be the one curled up in bed, concerned for my life. I'm a werewolf and I chose not to kill. I'm no more harmful tab a lap dog." He forced a smile for Sam's sake, though it was impossible to be genuine when waved with someone in such pain.

"I can't... I can't trust the wolf inside you. The last time I tried, I nearly got my heart ripped out. And then I had to kill that poor woman, I HAD to, Seeds. And I can't go through that again. I can't kill the only person who has given a shit since Dean died. I can't..."

Alcide sat on the edge of the mattress, the corner furthest from Sam. "Can I show you something?"

"What could you possibly have to show?"

Alcide bit the inside of one cheek and slipped out of gist remaining clothes, shifting into an enormous timber wolf. He laid on he corner bed, tongue lolling out of a dopey dog grin.

As soon a the shift registered, Sam had pushed himself as far back against the head board as possible. All he could think of was Madison, the fear she had of herself and of what she could wind up doing, and how devastating it had been to shoot her in cold blood.

The wolf crawled up the bed, scooting on his tummy, until close enough Sam could have pet him. He rolled onto his back, wriggling unto a comfortable position, and let out a heartbreaking whine. Sam could have believed it to be a domesticated dog, especially given the display of submission.

"You're... different. I've never known weres to... I mean, any of this. What are you?"

The wolf growled in response, the noise almost adorable in it's lack of intimidation. Sam hesitated in reaching out a hand, his fingers hovering above the white fluff of its chest. He finally gave a few soft pats before running his fingers through the long fur. The wolf shifted beneath Sam's hand, which he drew back without thought, and rolled back on its belly. It stretched out its neck, reaching forward to give Sam's hand a lick. Sam took notice of the raw stripe across its tongue and the blood-matted fur across its back.

"Did it hurt? I mean, your wounds, did they get torn open when you shifted?"

Alcide returned to his normal state and its lack of modesty. He remained laying on his stomach, grinning when Sam threw the blanket over the older man's bare ass.

"Yes, it hurt. It always hurts. And you know what I all weres are the same. This," Alcide leaned forward and bit down on Sam's forearm, just hard enough to break the skin, and the younger man went completely rigid, not even moving to breathe, "It won't hurt you. You won't become ."

Sam released the air from his lungs in a long sigh. "Warning would have been nice."

Comment, critique, suggest story devices or other characters to bring it, whatever else you can think of. I want your input!

Thanks, dolls.
Chelsea