A/N: Set in the early days after Dean's transformation, Sam tries to become accustomed to his new role as his brother's companion.

6 weeks.

42 days.

A month and a half.

The sun rose and fell, rose and fell. They meandered through the woodlands, sometimes stopping for a few days until Dean became hungry again, and Dean would grab Sam up and search for a farmhouse or village to silence his incessant appetite. The days began to grow shorter and colder. The fall leaves had been ripped from the trees, leaving naked branches adorned with a light dusting of frost. Clusters of twigs, gnarled and twisted, extended like an old man's hands towards the sky.

Sam contemplated how long he and his brother had been traveling, how long since his monstrous transformation, as Dean found a clearing. The giant dropped down, turning to lie on his back. Sam tensed from his place curled in Dean's hand, but instead of stripping Sam in preparation to play with him, Dean placed the youngest Winchester on the center of his chest, a clear indication that he just wanted to sleep. Sam sagged with relief, a flush coloring his cheeks at the stupid twinge of gratitude he felt in his chest. Gratitude for what? For Dean deciding not to have his way with him tonight?

"Goodnight, Sammy," Dean murmured with a sleepy, content smile, running a feather-light fingertip down his brother's back, pausing at the swell of his rump.

"Goodnight," Sam replied, eyeing the giant as he hitched the blanket more firmly around his shoulders, feeling Dean's enormous hand slide away. In the quiet of the forest, Sam desperately tried to ignore the persistent grumbling and glopping of Dean's engorged belly. If he thought too heavy on the noises, he'd vomit again, and he couldn't much afford that, seeing as he would have to ask Dean to find him more food, and he already despised being so dependent on his monster sibling.

Dean fell asleep almost instantly, his chest rising and falling leisurely. Dean's bare flesh was as warm as a furnace, leeching away any cold. Sam didn't dare move, knowing that Dean was a light sleeper-always had been, even that hadn't changed-and would wake if Sam moved around too much.

The sun leisurely descended from the graying skies a handful of minutes later. Sam turned his head, looked out at the barren trees surrounding the valley. The setting sun cast a faint yellow glow, creating shifting shadows, dancing figurines in the dusk, an illusion of light. For a moment, Sam imagined being surrounded by soldiers, saviors materializing from the deep, dark wood to save not only his pathetic, simple life, but the lives of so many others. Just as the thought occurred, Sam imagined the repercussions of such a rescue, of what would befall his brother, and he wrenched his thoughts away with a shamed flush to his cheeks, simultaneously grieving for the impossibility and the idea of his brother's doom. If they turned him human again-when, when they turned him back-what punishment would befall Dean? Or would Dean's own guilt drive his brother to madness?

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his cheek against Dean's heated, smooth skin. He let out a couple slow breaths, willing the thoughts to break away like shattered porcelain. He concentrated on the slow da-thump, da-thump, da-thump below him. When he opened his eyes sometime again, the moon had risen. The moon, a glowing, nickel-silver in the sky, threw a serene glow across the forest, and Sam gazed out at the trees. He spotted a couple of deer at the edge, their large doe eyes flickering across Dean's gigantic form, before fleeing back into the shelter of barren limbs. Sam idly yearned to go with them.

When he closed his eyes once more, sleep grasped him up and took him deep into a dark, quiet dreamscape. He dreamt of nothing in particular, except the sensation of being underneath his mentor at Stanford, of the man piling books upon books on his wooden desk, of his peer Brady complaining about some conspicuous thing, despite the fact that he did not have to constantly worry about being tossed aside for a candidate of more adequate birth. In his dream it was cold and wet, and when Sam woke once more, it was to snowflakes melting on Dean's bare skin. Groggily, he turned his cheek.

Along limbs that not long ago were adorned with the vibrant colors of autumn lay a thin, unblemished layer of snow. Against the dark mossy trunks, the brilliant white drifts rose in soft curves and fell again to the frozen soil. At first, Sam thought he was dreaming, until he felt the snowflakes speckle his hair. He grinned, despite himself. Ever since he was a small child, he loved snow. On their day off from the schoolhouse, Dean dragged Sam back inside the cottage, guilted him into piling on more layers before releasing him into the wild once more, trailing closely behind him. Sam slowly, carefully sat up, letting the blanket spill at his waist, eyeing Dean's face for any signs of waking. Dean's expression was slack in sleep, his full lips slightly parted, snowflakes drifting to land on the freckled bridge of his nose. Dean did not stir.

The sky was encapsulated in rolling clouds, a hundred greys from deep to pale. The sky was lightning, Sam realized. Morning was gradually pulling away from the shadowy confines of night. He felt Dean stir below him, a sudden change in breathing. He glanced up. Dean was staring at him, eyes tracing over his face, and Sam felt the urge to bury himself deeper in the blanket, no matter how much of a coward move that would be.

"Sleep well?" Dean rumbled, yawning. He rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand.

"Yes," Sam said. "I slept well."

"Good," Dean said and reached his hand down, grasping Sam up, blanket and all. Dean sat up, eyes roving over the white landscape, and sat Sam on one of his hairy thighs, uncomfortably close to Dean's huge, half-risen penis. Even as a giant, Dean was a victim to morning wood. Sam cringed away, his palms suddenly becoming very interesting. Dean stretched. The sound of his joints popping sounded like musket shots.

Once Dean was done, he reached down and began to run his fingers down Sam's back. Suppressing the urge to recoil from his touch, Sam forced himself to look up at Dean's expression. He internally cringed. Dean's cheeks were heated with lust, his eyes dark and famished. The look was so much like hunger that Sam felt frozen.

"You look so beautiful, you know that?" Dean breathed, reaching up to gently stroke Sam's cheek.

Sam turned his head away, rubbing at his palms. Dean pinched the blanket between two fingers, tugging it away, and Sam maneuvered out of it. It was either that or he knew Dean would tear it from him anyway. The previous two blankets Dean had torn to shreds in his haste to get to him. He didn't want to make this one the third.

"Please, Dean," Sam's voice broke. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Dean breathed, curling a finger around Sam's waist, stroking his stomach in slow, creeping swipes. "Don't make you feel good? Don't show you how much I love you?" Dean's voice dropped into a whiskey rough consistency, possessive fervor burning Sam's eardrums, unmistakable in its intensity.

Sam grew quiet. In the beginning, Sam would fight back. He'd scream, cry, bite, kick, punch, scratch. Nothing deterred Dean. If he had his mind set on something, he was determined to have it. Sam eventually learned that if he stayed submissive, he'd reach climax sooner, and that seemed to be Dean's intention: to lap the creamy fluid from Sam's flushed, trembling body, to pleasure him in the most intimate, unspeakable ways. To talk to him like a lover, not a brother. Sam let compliant thoughts enter his mind, made them stick like cotton candy to the roof of his mouth. Instead of the sweet release of sugar, however, there was nothing but the hollowed-out taste of defeat, of being conquered so wholly, of being owned so completely.

"Take off your pants." Dean said.

Sam flinched. "Dean-"

Dean's voice grew harder, although not exactly threatening. "If you don't take them off, I'll just tear them off you, Sammy. Do you really want that? Do you really want me to have to go find you another pair? Because if I have to, I'm not gonna be very nice to the man I take them from."

With shaky hands, Sam pawed at his belt, unclasping the thick brown leather. He slipped the belt from the hoops, dropping it onto Dean's thigh. He began to unbuckle his trousers, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up from the unmistakable excitement colored high on Dean's cheeks. Sam shakily pulled down the material, underwear and all, knowing that pants certainly meant boxers too in Dean's book. Exposed to the chilly air, his flesh protested, becoming littered with gooseflesh. His balls made a desperate retreat up inside him and he shivered as he toed off his boots in order to properly remove the trousers. Bare from the waist down, he let the pants fall onto Dean's thigh, crossing his arms over his chest, and refusing to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean brought his fingers to his lips, spitting on the digits. The saliva glistened in the dusky morning sunlight, sending a shiver down Sam's back. Dean moved the fingers towards him. Sam recoiled.

"It's okay, baby," Dean rumbled. "Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care of my Sammy."

Dean's fingertips, dripping with hot saliva, reached down for his limp cock. Sam stiffened, locked his knees to stop from running, as a jolt of sensual sensation shot through him. Dean prodded his length, pulling him gently between his fingers, thoroughly moistening his tiny pink shaft. Sam glanced down and to the right, noted Dean's colossal erect cock standing from the bush of coarse, dark pubic hair; however, his brother's fingers did not stray from Sam. Sam thought it was worse when Dean wasn't touching himself. At least if Dean was concentrating on his own pleasure, he wasn't so focused on Sam.

Sam shuttered as Dean jerked his throbbing cock to life. Dean chuckled. "Feel that?"

Sam turned his face away in shame, balling his hands into fists where they were hidden against his body. Sam's pulse soared. Sam ignored the way his stomach turned, the way his heart fluttered with panic.

Dean idly played with him. He milked him quicker, then slower, then quicker once more. A sheen of sweat broke out across Sam's brow. Dean released Sam's dick and shoved his finger lower. Sam's stance automatically widened for his brother's touch, despite the terror washing through him. He held himself still as Dean's finger stroked over his entrance, flicking up against his testicles.

"You're so little," Dean rumbled with barely contained lust, his breath like a heat wave, like a terrible reminder. "So little and sweet. I love you so much, Sammy."

Sam closed his eyes tightly, picturing Jess. Beautiful Jess with her long, blond hair, her smooth, plump pink lips, her feminine hands carting through his overgrown mop, her breath-the scent of cherries, of honey and goodness-ghosting against the shell of his ear. He thought about the first and only time they made love; it was in her father's barn, shrouded by moonlight. The barn smelled like old hay, earth and wood. Sam spread out a blanket across the hay loft, laid Jess's naked, trembling body upon it. She clutched at his shoulder and the back of his head as he gently guided himself inside her, as he tilted his hips, slipping into her wet, clenching entrance.

The sensation against his ass suddenly halted. Sam's eyes snapped open as he was violently torn from the pleasant memory. Dean was staring down at him with an expression bordering on wrathful. Sam uncrossed his arms, nervously rubbing his bare thigh, scrambling to think of what he'd done to displease his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

Dean's expression melted into something like resolve, his full lips curling into a half-smile. "Come on, man. I'm not stupid."

Sam thought about being honest, of telling him about Jess, but he didn't think this new and improved Dean would react well. He wasn't sure how far away from Lawrence they actually were, or if (God forbid) Jess was still alive, he wouldn't put it pass Dean to seek retribution, not with the jealous, possessive personality he seemed to have adopted along with his metamorphosis.

"You," Sam said, even as the lie burned the back of his throat. "I was thinking about you."

Dean's eyes darted over his face and for a painful, panicky second, Sam thought Dean wouldn't buy it, but the satisfied, smug smile proved otherwise.

"About how good I can make you feel? About how much you love me?"

Sam swallowed thickly, disgust rolling in his stomach. "Yes."

Dean smiled for real that time, flashing his teeth. He reached out, spat on his fingers again, and swooped down, pressing Sam's throbbing cock against his stomach, rubbing furiously. Sam's knees buckled and he fell back, overwhelmed with the pleasure building in his penis. Dean gently pushed Sam over and he collapsed, his legs spaced wide, his cock rubbing sensually against his belly, soaking wet with warm spit and heightened by Dean's increased breathing.

"Moan for me, baby." Dean rumbled. "Moan for me, Sammy."

And Sam did. He moaned so loud Dean's eyes widened before being half-casted with satisfaction. When Sam came, screaming, a few minutes later, Dean wasted no time in bringing Sam's quaking form to his lips, darting out his tongue, and lapping up the warm, salty cum. Once clean, Dean licked his lips, savoring Sam's heady taste. Sam waited for Dean to touch himself next, to relieve his giant erection, but Dean didn't. Instead, Dean pressed a kiss to Sam's clothed belly. In response, Sam's stomach growled. Sam flushed. Dean pulled away, smirking knowingly.

"You hungry?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, "Yeah."

Dean smiled, a predatory hunger flashing in his eyes. Sam quivered. "Yeah, me too. Let's get out of here."

Dean placed Sam back on his thigh. With trembles still racing through his legs, Sam slipped on his boxers and trousers. Dean wrapped him in the thick blanket and brought him to his chest. Engulfed in his brother's body heat and dreading the horror he knew Dean was about to inflict on his fellow humans, Sam tried not to think of what Dean had done to him. What he continued to do to him.

Sam especially tried not to think about how he was growing to like it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

All comments are welcome, whether it's an emoji, a critique, a ten-paragraph analysis, or a keyboard smash. ❤