Sam sat in the bathtub, dumping more and more ice into the already cold water. He should have been frozen, possibly near hypothermia and yet, he was still hot. Blazing. His skin felt as if he were sitting in liquid fire instead of ice water. He had been this way for a few days now: his nails growing faster, sharper; his incisors becoming sharp as well. His senses kept getting clearer. While he and Dean were hunting a ghost, Sam kept getting distracted by the myriad of scents, sights, and sounds - of a little kid eating strawberry ice cream, a woman wearing a Calvin Klein knockoff, a man jogging while listening to a rock station - all of which scared and exhilarated Sam.
He knew he couldn't tell Dean. After he bit him on the thigh, Dean wasn't exactly seeing eye-to-eye with Sam. So Sam stayed quiet, added this to the list of things he stopped telling Dean. Sound of scrapping feet against the ground caught his attention. Dean was back. Sam dumped the rest of the ice in the tub and hid the bag behind the toilet.
"Sammy?" Sam heard Dean drop his keys on the dresser, heard him shuffle to the small table near the window and set down the bags of fast food, the smell of the cooked meat sending shivers down Sam's spine and a shudder from his mouth. He sunk lower into the water, his body refusing to cool off. Another bag of ice was needed, but he didn't trust himself to act normally.
"Sammy?" Dean knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you in there?"
"Yeah, Dean. I'm here." Sam grabbed an ice cube and bit into it, shattering it and letting the pieces dribble down his chin. He ran his tongue over his teeth, carefully going along the length of his cuspid tooth - his fang - and raised his hand, staring at the sharpness of his nails. He closed his eyes and sunk lower into the water, letting it swallow his head.
A few moments later, he came splashing up, his lungs screaming for air. The water warm again, his body temperature was scorching again after that temporary reprieve. He pulled the plug and stepped out, wrapping his towel around him. When he stepped in front of the mirror, a gasp left his lips. His eyes, only they weren't his eyes. They were still brown, only more yellowish in the iris, giving him an animal look. "Perfect look with these teeth," he snorted.
"Yo Sammy! Burger's getting cold, man." Dean licked the ketchup off his fingers. "Quit jerkin' it and let's go!"
"I'll be out in a minute!" Sam hollered back. He glanced back at his reflection in the mirror, the yellow shimmering like golden topaz under the fluorescent light. He could hide his hands and teeth, but Dean would notice his eyes. He wasn't that dumb. His stomach rumbled, begging to be fed.
God, he hoped Dean wouldn't notice.
The End.