"Dean," Sam whispered, his eyes studious and piercing.
He swore his brother could read his mind, either that or he was just overly paranoid, which was highly likely. There were so many things building inside him he was afraid at some point he'd break. But really, it was like Sam knew. Like he was testing him, teasing the weaknesses out of him till they were laid bare. Till there was nothing and he'd be left helplessly naked. Then he would really see him and know how fucked up he actually was.
"Hm?" Dean answered, delayed. It was a tell, but not a glaring one. There was no way he noticed.
Sam's eyes dropped lower, lingering on his neck just a fraction of a second longer than they should have before they flitted back up to meet his own. "I need to go out tonight."
His heart skipped when he thought about Sam wanting him again. Not that he would ever admit to it, much less give in. Dean was in a pit of his own denial on the subject, as well.
"You mean you need to feed. Just say what you mean, I ain't judging ya Sammy."
Sam huffed a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. His skin had gotten pale since the change. Pale like porcelain, cold but soft with a hardness beneath it. Not that he'd taken too much time to study what touching his brother felt like.
"Forgive me if I haven't gotten used to… to this yet," Sam said motioning to himself.
"Well get used to it." Dean bit back.
"I doubt I will any time soon," Sam murmured, mostly to himself.
"So what are you thinking? I can hit up another blood bank, or we can go on a little road trip, hunt or shop livestock. Whatever you're feeling."
"Blood bank I guess? Game and cattle are just… I can't stand the thought of forcing another one down. Not even if I was starving."
"And are you? Starving?" Dean asked forwardly, knowing his brother would take offense.
"What? No!" Sam scoffed. He felt a warm pull of gratification for being able to get a rise out of him so easily.
Dean made a show of looking him up and down with narrow, scrutinizing eyes. "Huh." He loved the way his brother squirmed, the way his jaw worked when he was frustrated, like he was now. It was easy entertainment.
"What's your deal?"
"I just gotta know what I'm working with. That's all."
"What are you implying?"
"Nothing. I just need to know where you're at, Sam. It's relevant information." And it was, he wasn't lying. But he didn't need Sam to tell him when he was hungry, or if he was starving or not. He was an open book in that way and Dean doubted he could hide it from him even if he tried.
"What, you think I'm just going to- to-"
"Hey, calm down. I don't think you're going to do anything. Since when is the queen of communication and sharing feelings afraid of a little open dialogue?" He teased.
"You're a jerk," Sam huffed.
"Yeah, well you're a bitch," Dean smirked.
Sam shook his head and gave a sore smile. Some things never changed.
"But you know Sammy, if you need a bite for the road," Dean offered, taunting playfully. But still, he couldn't even suggest it without his heart beating just a little bit faster. He wondered if his brother could tell.
"Oh, fuck you Dean."
"Only if we share safe words first," He shot back.
"You're disgusting," his brother laughed, punching his arm.
"You're just figuring that out?" Dean snickered. "Well is this a family outing or am I flying solo?"
"Of course I'm coming."
"Well then, chop chop princess. Let's go."
They hopped in the Impala and took off.
To Dean, this was all starting to become commonplace. The feedings, mismatched sleep schedules and copious amounts of sunscreen. It'd been about two months since it happened and hunting was better than ever. Sam had gotten back to his old self fast. Probably too fast. He never talked about any of it, and hell if Dean was going to bring it up.
Sam turning. The fever. The dizzying sensation of being drained, one swallow at a time. He was obsessed.
It haunted his thoughts and dreams, carving itself deeper and deeper with every pass and Dean was starting to think it was about more than just blood. He wasn't above admitting that he loved feeling so needed even if it was just out of practicality, but something else itched in the back of his mind and he couldn't help the nagging feeling that maybe, it was something else.
The memory of Sam kissing him rushed back and his heart fluttered. And then Sam stirred, unless it was just his imagination placing synchronicites where there were none. Just like how Dean imagined his brother licking into his mouth and how even though his hands were strong enough to crush his spine they'd held him with a gentle firmness that felt like another kind of passion entirely. He questioned if he was recounting events accurately, or if he was just remembering what he wanted to.
But was he? Remembering what he wanted to?
He didn't really think about Sam that way. He loved his brother, of course he did. He needed him, but not like that. When Dean took care of himself later that night, after his brother was better and resting, it made sense that his mind kept pulling to that moment. It wasn't his fault that Sammy had unknowingly pushed all his buttons and left him such a mess. He couldn't have known. And the kiss meant nothing; it was the blood that drew him. That was all he'd wanted.
"Are you alright?" Sam asked, breaking through his thoughts.
Dean drew a breath and nodded, staring at the empty road. "Yeah, yeah of course." He glanced over and smiled at Sam. There were those eyes again, dark and knowing. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Sam shook his head. He looked sad. "Dean," he began softly, and his heart began to race.
"Huh?"
"If I ask you a question, will you be straight with me? I mean it. Please, don't lie to me."
"What? Of course."
"I'm serious."
"Okay, shoot."
"Are you afraid of me?" Sam asked, dread filling every word.
"Of course not. Why would I be afraid of you?" Dean laughed, relieved that the question elicited such an easy, honest response. He didn't want to lie.
They finally pulled up to the blood bank and parked on the street just down the block. It was dark and security was always lax in places like this. It would be an easy grab-and-go job, practically grocery shopping.
Sam sighed with a sad smile. "I don't know Dean, maybe because I'm a monster," he chuckled.
"You're not a monster, Sammy," Dean shot back.
"Yeah, well I'm not human."
"So? It takes a little bit more than that to be a monster."
"You so sure about that? If you asked us a year ago-"
"Well you're asking me, today, and I told you what I think."
"Okay."
"Okay?" Dean glared, frustrated.
"What more do you want, Sam? I think it's pretty obvious, I trust you with my life and you've never given me a reason to feel any different."
Sam chortled and shook his head. "Haven't I?"
"No, you haven't. When you were sick I practically threw myself at you, and you still didn't kill me. You could've, hell, if the tables were turned I don't know if I would've been strong enough to hold back but I trusted you. You've always been the strong one, human or not."
Sam went quiet and sullen. Shame climbed behind his eyes and trembled in his voice. "You… have no idea how hard it was."
Dean wanted to give some kind of witty comeback to lighten the mood but found himself lost for words. He was stuck, watching his brother slide from guilt to longing, teetering on the edge of lust.
He knew he should have ended it, gotten out of the car and finished the milk run. When his brother fed it typically improved his mood. He knew it would get them out of this rut and back on the road. Then they could ignore everything again, act like things were normal. Dean could try to forget the way his brother made him feel and how confusing it all was. But before he had a chance to do anything, Sam was on him.
It was unnerving how fast he moved. In the blink of an eye his brother had him pinned, one hand fisted in his hair and the other cinched tight on his shoulder with his lips dangerously close to his neck. Dean didn't think to try and fight him. He didn't even want to. That was when he realized just how fucked up he really was.
It wasn't uncommon to find captive humans in a vamp nest. They were usually taken as children and made to be living blood bags. More often than not, by the time Sam and Dean had gotten to them, they were too far gone with Stockholm syndrome to be saved. They went down swinging almost every time, and died with their captors.
Dean was worse than that. He didn't even care. He didn't need to be taken and groomed to want this. He wanted to give himself to his brother, to ravish in the feeling of being so wanted. Coveted, even.
Sam breathed against his skin and shuddered, and Dean felt his cock twitch. Not good .
He swallowed nervously. Not this, not again, he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to hide his reaction and he was mortified at the thought of his brother realizing the effect he was having on him.
"You're a liar," Sam growled in his ear. Dean bit his lip hard, trying to distract himself and ignore how alive his body felt, and how much it wanted his brother to take him, in every sense.
"What?" Dean gasped, breathless.
"You are afraid of me," Sam said darkly. "You should be." His lips were dragging on the hollow under his chin, teasing.
"I'm not afraid of you Sammy," Dean whispered, every part of him resisting the urge to pull Sam's hair and grind up against him.
Dean told himself he didn't want this. It was his body that was desperate. How long had it been since he'd had a good lay, anyways? Too long. That was the problem. He was touch starved and hungry for intimacy and with Sam smothering him like this, he didn't stand a chance.
"Don't lie to me," his brother snarled, dragging his teeth against his skin threateningly.
Dean pulled a hand through Sam's hair and coaxed him encouragingly, pressing his fangs harder against his flesh.
"Mm' not," Dean slurred. He was unraveling, and he wasn't sure he cared anymore. Maybe it was better if Sam saw how pathetic and shamelessly willing he was. It could only go one of two ways.
Sam pulled away and lingered over him. He looked worried, and Dean felt himself fidget uncomfortably beneath his gaze.
"Well, are you hungry or not? Cuz you're giving me mixed signals," he chuckled, trying to ignore the storm raging inside him.
Sam's eyes went to his neck again and he felt another involuntary throb of interest between his thighs. He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself down but it was shaky and there's no way his brother didn't notice.
So he waited. Sam's eyes searched the air in though, his brows and jaw working as he tried to find words. It felt like forever, but it was only a few seconds and before Sam could say anything, the sound of glass shattering broke the silence. Square shards of auto glass showered them both and something hit Sam, making his body go limp.
"Sam?!" Dean yelled, his hand circling to the back of his brother's neck. He pulled out an empty dart- dead man's blood.
In the next moment the passenger door was wrenched open and Sam's body was being dragged off him, out of the car and onto the pavement. Before he could react someone flung the driver's door open and snagged him out. Hunters, Dean realized with dread.
"Well, well, what do we have here? Dean Winchester and his pet monster." A male voice snickered. He was pinned to the pavement with a boot flush squarely on his neck, so he couldn't see who it was. The voice didn't sound familiar.
"I don't know, seeing hows he almost got drank just now, I'd say he's the pet." The other voice sneered, rough and lower in pitch.
The boot moved down between his shoulder blades, making it difficult to breathe and a hand yanked his head to the side, revealing his neck.
"Oh baby, we got ourselves a walkin blood bag!" The man's voice shouted, fingers pressing roughly over the bite scar from when Sam fed on him.
"You asked me a few months ago if the famous Dean Winchester would ever stoop so low to be a fang's bitch, I wouldn't-a believed it." The other man laughed.
Dean struggled against the boot while he slowly reached for his side, where his gun was holstered in the waistband of his jeans.
"Well, I'm so excited, I'm practically beside myself with what to do with you boys."
"Sam's never hurt anyone. What the hell's the matter with you?!" Dean snarled, his hand just near the grip of his gun. Two seconds, less than two seconds, and he'd have this one shot dead.
"Oh sure, well I'll let you in on a little trade-secret. A fangs a fang, through and through. And they always kill, eventually."
"And sides', we can't let you two go round callin' yourselves hunters when one a you's not even human. It's practically sacrilege."
"I'm only gonna say this once. You and your partner, walk away. We'll let you live." Dean said evenly. The boot between his shoulders came down harder, crushing the breath from his lungs.
"I don't think yer in the position to be makin' any kinda propositions, boy." The man laughed.
Fair enough, Dean thought. His pistol was in his hand in a flash and he shot behind him, aiming roughly for the hunter who had him pinned and got him good on the first shot.
The man staggered back a few steps, clutching his shoulder while his other hand flew for the knife he had holstered at his side. Dean put three more bullets in him, perfect center mass shots every time. By the time the man fell to the pavement, he was sure he was dead.
The other man rushed at him stupidly and Dean landed a headshot that time. The man fell across the body of his partner and they laid there, leaking blood onto their clothes and the pavement.
" Fuck, " Dean heaved a sigh, stepping over the bodies to get to Sam who was still collapsed, mostly unconscious on the other side of the Impala. They needed to get out of there fast before the cops came. And for how loud the altercation had been, gunshots and all, he was sure they'd be on their way soon.
Sam was heavy in his arms, but not so much that he couldn't shove his dead weight into the Impala. He slid back into the drivers seat and peeled out with the dead, nameless hunters shrinking in the rear-view.
