A/N: You know the drill, if you've already read Hunger (Is the Purest Sin), you know the freaky crap I'm into. Enjoy the weirdness, beautiful people.
Dean Winchester was surrounded by spiderweb. It was as fine as mulberry silk and as tough as polyester rope. If he were to press himself against it, he'd get stuck (like a screeching mouse on a sticky garage mousepad) and it would be one hell of a time getting out. The web was everywhere, extending so high against the walls and ceilings it made Dean feel like he was entombed in a bizarre, alien world, so wholly unlike the greenery just outside the massive steel box. The space surrounding him was like a scene from Eight Legged Freaks. It wasn't so far from the truth.
He was in a decrepit, abandoned meat packing plant located in backwoods, nowhere, U.S.A. Outside the warehouse, rain came down in a torrent. Droplets pinged off the rusted steel roof and siding, made its way through broken glass to drip onto the dense web. Sitting on the cold, concrete floor, Dean couldn't help but lean his head against the bare wall, eyes on the wide steel doors dozens of yards away. Sam had made a path from the doorway to the untouched space where Dean now sat, spiderweb dangling from the make-shift trail. With the webbing covering the windows and the rain darkening the skies, Dean wasn't sure what time of day it was. It wasn't like it mattered. Not really.
Six cocoons were suspended within the spider web.
Dean tried to keep his eyes off them.
Dean knew the doors were unlocked. He'd escaped through them before. In the thick, dark woods, Sam had already captured him, dragged him back to the warehouse, cursing and thrashing, and Dean wasn't sure if was going to try again. Maybe in a few days.
Sam was never far away from the warehouse.
Dean got up and turned towards the old manager's office. He walked inside. The room exulted the aroma of mold and rot. Dean undid his fly, pissed on the cracked, leather office chair and dusty oak desk, shook his dick, zipped up his pants, and returned to his spot on the floor. Surrounding him were empty cans of food and jugs of water and an endless expectation. Dean stared at the wide steel doors, waiting for Sam's return.
The latest victim had been a hitchhiker. Sam had kept him alive for two days, the longest he'd had so far, as Dean understood it. Perhaps it was to keep his meat fresh (he was never going to get used to seeing the way Sam seemed to view people now), so he wrapped him up, kept him suspended in that sack of silk and misery, screaming and whimpering, begging for release. Dean hadn't responded to him, hadn't even tried to help him break free from his constraints. He'd learned from the last one, and the one before her.
Dean had understood the procedure of his brother's new eating habits. Once he overpowered his prey, Sam would wrap his victims in a cocoon of silk. Dean assumed that method made it easier for Sam to transport them back to the nest. He would string them up. Then, he would inject venom through his fangs into their soft, tender flesh. The toxin would paralyze the victim and start the process of digestion, liquifying the prey from the inside out. Dean hoped they died quickly. Dean had noted within twelve hours of Sam taking that lethal bite, he'd approach the cocoons and latch on, feeding tirelessly until he got his fill.
Dean itched for a weapon. A knife, a gun. He yearned to be behind the Impala's wheel. If he could only get away from Sam, he could get to Bobby's, could figure out how the hell he was going to change his brother back. How the hell he was going to make sure Sam wasn't consumed by guilt after he had his head on straight and realized he'd spent the last few weeks turning Greenville county into an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Dean had called for Castiel, had screamed for the angel from the top of his lungs when Sam was gone hunting. The angel had not appeared. Chosen one, my ass.
Dean itched for some entertainment. He had his right hand, of course, but Dean had never felt less aroused.
Dean thought of Sam. Dean wasn't sure how much of Sam had been corrupted by his freakish transformation. It wasn't like Sam was exactly expressive. Sam could talk, although his speech was broken, simplified. Like that of a child. This version of his brother seemed driven by an animalistic primal instinct.
Sam had only a small range of emotions now. Hunger, agitation, affection. He was occasionally territorial, sensual. That's the only way Dean could describe his baby brother's advances. Sensual. Although Dean wouldn't admit it to anybody, it wasn't the first time he and Sam had gotten a little handsy. Sure, it was a couple fumbling hand jobs, a few tentative kisses in lonely, washed-out motel rooms. But did that really count for anything? Not enough to count as incest, that was for sure. When Dean had risen from perdition in September, Sam's personality had been so different, having thought his big brother was gone forever for a full four months. Could Dean really blame him? Could Dean really blame Sam for yearning to reconnect, to hold Dean, to caress him, to know for certain his brother was alive again and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon? No, he couldn't.
They should've never taken this case. If Dean hadn't pushed for it, they wouldn't have even been in South Carolina in the first place. It had been Dean who had went and screwed the pooch.
Now instead of Sam preferring to sleep in the same bed (with his guilty eyes and bitten lip) or glaring grumpily whenever Castiel popped in (quite literally) to spew some cryptic angelic nonsense, Sam liked to pick Dean up, crawl up into his massive, monstrous web, and hold Dean against his body. Tense in his brother's arms and panicked as Sam's lower arachnid body curled around him (eight shiny black legs, too large and too strong, cold and hard), Dean hadn't been sleeping too well.
Just then, the warehouse doors screeched open. The roar of the storm outside made Dean wince. Dean saw a flash of muddy ground, the droplets of rain ricocheting, and a white, soft bundle. Large. Squirming. Spiderweb. The beginning tip of an insanely large spider's leg. With his mop of hair dripping wet, Sam crawled in, dragging a writhing bundle of silk behind him with one of his back legs. The person inside was trying to yell, but the cries were muffled. Sam held a hiker's backpack.
Dean's jaw clenched. He ground his teeth together so hard they hurt. Not again.
Sam's shirtless upper body had stayed mostly the same. His face hadn't changed except his eyes were a deep, fiery amber and his canines were sharpened, lethal. From the waist down, his lower body was that of a gigantic, black spider. Sam's arachnid abdomen was enormous, round and shiny. Plump. Frightening. His eight legs were tall and massive, both graceful and nimble and profuse and powerful. Sam's form reminded Dean of those Centaurs in Narnia, just if it you'd swap out a horse for a spider. Sam's new body was certainly a lot creepier than Narnia, though.
Another thing that Dean found unsettling? He was pretty sure Sam's spider half was female.
Underneath Sam's spinnerets on his abdomen, below the underside to the rear, was a three inch slit. It was glossy, wet. Incredibly deep. On a few occasions he'd spotted it when Sam was spinning a web, he couldn't help thinking it looked like a vagina.
Dean wasn't an arachnologist, but he'd seen enough low-quality nature documentaries growing up to understand that the female spider usually killed the male before, during, or after copulation. Females could be three to ten times the size of the males. Sam was certainly much bigger, towering over him. Dean felt small, vulnerable. He backed nervously into the corner, tried to hold onto a shred of dignity.
But it was hard. Hard with Sam's strange eyes on him, hard when he could feel his brother just underneath the monstrous exterior, there but wholly unreachable.
"Hiya, Sammy," Dean said. He licked his lips, tried to ignore the sweat breaking out on his brow. "You doin' okay?"
Sam cocked his head to the side, "Wet."
"Yeah, it's pretty wet out there," Dean agreed.
Sam closed the door, dragged the victim across the make-shift path, until he settled in the untouched space Dean occupied. Dean watched in horror as Sam nonchalantly glanced down, bent over, and violently bit the sack. The person inside screamed. Dean shuttered (he couldn't-he couldn't take it anymore) before the victim went silent, movement dying down to a sluggish candor. With blood dripping down his chin, Sam stood up straight and turned to his brother, smiling. Dean suppressed a shutter at the slimy layer of blood staining his baby brother's sharpened teeth (not his fault; he's out of his mind).
"Food." Sam said, taking a few steps forward and presenting the bag. Dean stepped away from the corner.
"Yeah, that's right, man. Food." Dean snatched the bag. "Thanks."
Sam watched as Dean dug through it, pulling out granola bars, bruised fruit, plastic water bottles. Dean purposefully ignored the IDs, the grainy, well-loved polaroid pictures, the pink pepper spray, the sparkly blue cell phone. Although this version of his brother was more animal than human, Sam seemed to remember the importance of certain items, and how these items could jeopardize being able to keep Dean. And that seemed to be another one of Sam's weird fixations: Dean.
"Dean." Sam said.
Dean glanced up. Sam's hands were outstretched, waiting patiently. Dean handed over the bag, keeping the food and water, and sat down, beginning to eat. He watched as Sam went about destroying the bag, hitting it against the ground, crushing it against his thick, black spider legs. Dean tried not to scowl bitterly as his chances of escape, of his brother's salvation, were obliterated. Once done, Sam turned to the cocoon. He bent down, scooped it up, and went about the tedious task of hanging it from his web.
Dean chewed on his apple, head rising slowly as Sam climbed the wall, legs moving gracefully over the web, finding a proper place for his meal. Once finished suspending the sack, Sam climbed down and approached Dean, a strange look on his face. Almost…yearnful. Sam let his arachnid legs buckle and he dropped down between Dean's spread knees, eyes not leaving Dean's face.
Dean took a quick swallow of his water, fighting the urge to yell at Sam to back the hell up.
"Dean," Sam whispered, reached out and gently stroked his chest. Caught off guard by Sam's sudden affection, Dean put the water on the ground and grabbed for Sam's hands. There they sat, hands clasped together, Dean's heart thrumming in his chest, Sam's breath (sweet like decay) whispering against his cheek.
"Sammy? What are you doing?" Dean said, barely reigning in the uneasiness threatening to smear his voice.
Sam smiled, flashing those terrifying fangs.
Dean licked his lips, feigning bravery. "You better back the hell up, dude. Don't think I can't still beat your ass. You might be an eight-legged freak, but-"
Sam interrupted, pulling his hands from Dean's and grasping his brother's face. "In me."
Misreading Sam's advances as a sign his brother was longing to consume him, Dean shoved at Sam's broad, bare shoulders. "Sam, no! Get back!"
"Inside me, Dean. Want-" Sam struggled for the words. His face scrunched up in concentration.
"What?" Dean spat, tearing Sam's hands away. Sam did not let go of his fingers.
"Want you, inside me. Make babies."
Dean paled, couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Oh my God, dude. No."
Sam pulled Dean's fingers towards his own face, yearning, "Babies, De."
Dean's heart clenched. Sam hadn't called Dean De since he was a little kid. He had a visceral memory of Sammy at ten years old, report card in hand, running straight past John to shove himself into Dean's personal space, waving the card in his face, practically bouncing off the walls to show his stellar grades to his big brother. Sickened by the pure, innocent memory, Dean shook his head.
"We…Jesus Christ, Sammy. We can't make babies. You're…I'm…we're both male."
Sam shook his head, reached for Dean's groin and then patted his own belly. "Fertile."
"You're fertile?" Dean nearly choked.
A smile curled on Sam's face. A shiver raced down Dean's back. "Fertile. You. Babies. Now."
"No," Dean uttered.
Sam's expression turned feral. Dean had seen Sam bite (sucking feverishly at the jellied mess of what had once been a homeless man, blood and fleshy gray matter dripping from the corners of his mouth) into somebody with that expression. Sam grabbed onto Dean's jean-clad thigh, fingers digging into the worn denim, squeezing.
"Now," Sam growled.
Sam hadn't hurt him yet, at least not on purpose, but Dean was paralyzed. What if Sam decided his resistance wasn't worth the effort and killed him? Dean assumed any guy could fulfill Sam's desires.
"Breed," Sam said, scowling, distasteful of Dean's non-compliance. "Breed now."
"Okay, okay," Dean said quickly, feigning a smile, barely holding back the bile scorching the back of his throat. "Just, uh, tell me what to do."
Sam's expression lightened, turned almost wistful. "Want you. Inside. De."
"Yeah, I heard you, man. You're gonna have to show me. I don't know how, uh, your anatomy works." Which, yeah, was a bit of a lie, but Dean was nervous, practically shaking. He was being forced to breed with his feral monster brother, who wouldn't get cold feet?
Sam seemed to understand. He rose from his crouched position and took a few steps back, turned around, and presented his massive, plump abdomen. He thrusted his backside out, bending his upper human body until his hands were hovering above the concrete. He fully exposed his tight, black slit. Despite the storm outside and the lack of light, Dean could see the ripe wetness of it. Sam's excited, Dean thought idly.
"Hole," Sam said, glancing over his shoulder, damp hair dangling awkwardly on his forehead. "Put in."
Dean slowly rose on shaky legs, reached for his belt, and wretched it out of the hoops. It clattered to the floor. Sam stared at him, his smile growing more prominent, more excited, as Dean approached. Can I really do this? Dean thought. But what other choice do I have? It was either he could do what Sam demanded and keep his brother sated, or Sam might turn on him, figure he was more trouble than he was worth. Shoving down any fear, any disgust, or bias, Dean let his hands settle on Sam's massive abdomen. It felt smooth, room temperature, and hard. Sam's upper half quivered at the touch; Sam leaned his body back against Dean. A small trickle of something wet gushed from his tight hole. Sam's spider half shivered, as if excited, too.
"Yes," Sam said, his voice gravelly, as if ravaged by sandpaper. "Inside. Now. Ready."
"I hear you," Dean whispered and wrenched his cock out of his pants. He jerked the veiny, thick dick a couple times. Responding, he felt his pulse soar, his cock growing rock hard. He gently guided it towards Sam's arachnid slit. The moment he pressed his cockhead past the tight, dark ring of muscle, Sam gasped. Dean paused, caught off guard by such a human sound. He waited for Sam to respond.
"Inside," Sam growled a breathless handful of seconds later. Dean thrusted inside, gasping himself at the tight, wet delicious splendor of Sam's entrance. Sam thrusted his abdomen back, taking all of him, balls deep.
"Faster." Sam grunted, eyes squeezed shut, teeth bared.
Responding, Dean shoved harder, grasping onto his brother's abdomen, pulling him flush against him. Sam's fingernails dug against the concrete, his back bowing, his breath becoming faster, faster, faster. Sam's slit clenched around Dean's dick a minute before Dean's own orgasm. Sam shouted, a mangled cry of pure pleasure. Dean grunted, eyes rolling back in his head, feeling his spunk shoot impossibly deep into the dark fissure. Sam's slit compressed almost painfully tight around Dean's tender cock, keeping him there, keeping him bound. Dean did not try to pull his cock out, didn't dare risk tearing his dick off. He kind of needed that.
Dean didn't move until Sam's entrance loosened, releasing its grip. Dean stepped back, grabbed his cock, shoved it back into his boxers. Sam's tunnel clenched and constricted before laxing again, a string of milky white cum drippling out. Sam turned around and Dean was relieved to see Sam's happy expression.
Sam ran his hand across his spider half before his fingers landed on his human belly. He ran tentative fingers across the ridges of his abs and then to a spot below his belly button. He prodded the skin, rubbing gently.
"Dean." Sam sighed, a lazy, satiated expression marring his features. "Babies. Soon. Ours."
"Yeah, man. I got you preggo. Great." Dean said dryly. Although he really, really hoped not. He didn't need his brother to start popping out little half-human, half-spider abominations. "Who knew turning into a fuckin' spider monster would make you such a girl."
Sam just smiled and reached down. Dean braced himself as Sam picked him up. Sam crawled up into his web, deposited Dean on the bed of thick, sticky webbing, curling around him, freakish legs and all.
Sam rested his head on Dean's shoulder, running a hand down Dean's chest. "Dean. Mine."
Dean stared up at the warehouse ceiling, trying to keep the affectionate love he had for Sam from bubbling up. Of course, it didn't work so well. Despite the fucked-up situation, Dean felt a smile curl on his lips.
"Yeah, buddy. I'm all yours."