Sam crawled back to consciousness, fighting the entire way. He wanted to stay in the sweet, comfortable depths of darkness and sleep, but the smell of food dragged him out forcefully. The aroma of fresh bacon assaulted his senses and his empty stomach lurched. He leaned suddenly over the side of the bed to be sick, but he had nothing in his stomach to vomit up.

"No, Dean. Bacon bad!" he muttered, pressing his face against the mattress.

"C'mon, Sam, you've got to get your strength back up." Dean waggled a couple crispy strips at his younger brother who dry heaved again. "Yikes! Sorry, kiddo. I had no idea it would make you hurl. Pancakes?" He gestured to the table which was laden with what amounted to a breakfast buffet. "Fruit? Oatmeal?"

Once he stopped retching, Sam acquiesced to a small amount of fruit and oatmeal, knowing he needed to eat. He was ravenous but ate very little. After what felt like 4 days or so without anything in his stomach, he had to take it easy, but he carefully drank two glasses of water with his meal to ease the dehydration he could still feel in his joints and lower back.

Sam sat back and regarded his older brother who was powering through an epic Dean-style breakfast based primarily around pork. "So where are we? How long have you been here? How did you get here? How do we get the fuck out of here?"

"Slow down, Sammy. Sorry, I mean Sam."

Sam smiled thinly then got up on shaky legs while Dean explained how he'd found himself in their prison after he'd ganked Dick Roman. Sam stretched his slim but muscular frame. His 6-pack was even more obvious after the days of deprivation though the muscles in his back still rippled above the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He wandered over to a stereo system and picked up the ipod and started scrolling through the music.

"It's weird, because this isn't so bad. I mean," Dean explained, indicating their surroundings. "We are being held captive for some reason, but at least our jail is nicer than a lot of places we've spent time on purpose. Plus," he acknowledged the music player, "even though it's on one of those douchey things, we've got Metallica."

Sam sighed.

"What?" Dean asked. "You pretend not to like them, but they really are the best band of the twentieth century..."

"You're not him," Sam stated flatly.

"What? What do you mean, Sam? I'm not who?"

Sam sighed again. "You're not him. You're not my brother. You're not Dean."

Dean walked toward the younger man, who backed up at his approach, wobbling on unsteady legs. "Sam. C'mon. You're not yourself. You were half-dead of thirst. Of course I'm your brother. Who else could I be?"

"You keep calling me Sam. He calls me Sammy."

Dean stopped his approach. "But you hate being called Sammy."

"Yeah, I do. He does it anyway and would never apologise for it. That's what makes him Dean. You're not Dean. Plus..." he held up the ipod and showed Dean the photo he'd just taken with the device's camera. The photo that showed the retinal flare of a shapeshifter wearing Dean's face.

The creature swore and banged the table with his fist. "Shit. You know, I kept wanting to call you Sammy and kept correcting myself because he knows you hate it." The shifter looked up to the cameras in the ceiling. "The jig is up, folks. Time for plan B." He looked at Sam and an expression of malice crossed his beautiful features. "I thought we were going to do this the easy way, but turns out not so much. I don't really mind, though, considering what you did to my father."

"Your father?"

"The Alpha. You and your son-of-a-bitch grandfather helped Crowley get his filthy hands on him, and now he's dead. And now you'll pay. You have no idea how you'll pay."

The door at the end of the room flew open and four large men entered. They overpowered Sam easily in his weakened state and hauled him to the bed. Straps Sam hadn't previously noticed were quickly applied to his wrists and ankles, as well as one across his abdomen, holding him securely to the bed.

"You've got me here, helpless. Why don't you just kill me?" Sam asked, struggling vainly at his bonds. "I spent an eternity in the cage with Lucifer. There's pretty much nothing you can do to me that hasn't been done before. They couldn't break me and neither can you."

The shapeshifter approached the bed with a knife in his hand and traced lazy circles across Sam's bare abdomen with the tip of the blade. "Oh, Sammy," he emphasised the name, "what fun would killing you be?" He slipped the blade under the waistband of Sam's pants and the helpless man's breath caught. "I may not break you, as you say, but I'll have fun trying. I have so many fun games to play with you." With that, the creature sliced the fabric of the pyjama bottoms from the waistband to the cuff on both legs then pulled them away, leaving Sam strapped naked on the bed.

Placing the knife on the mattress, the creature smiled and ran a hand up the inside of Sam's thigh. Sam squirmed, horrified, trying to get away from the questing fingers, but the straps held him firmly. The shapeshifter smiled maliciously and brushed his fingertips against Sam's limp prick.

"No! God, no! Stop!" Sam cried, struggling against his restraints, closing his eyes against the vision of his green-eyed brother touching him that way. "It's not Dean. It's not Dean," he chanted quietly.

"What, Sammy? Don't you like it when big brother touches you like that?" the shapeshifter taunted in Dean's signature growl.

"Get off! Fuck! Stop!" Sam kept his eyes squeezed shut and continued chanting, "You're not him. You're not Dean."

"What about when he does this?" He stooped his head and took Sam's flaccid member in his mouth, sucking deep and rolling the soft skin on his tongue.

Sam screamed like a wounded animal and thrashed desperately to get away from the wet heat engulfing him, but it was useless; he was bound too tightly. He was so weak from lack of food and water that he tired quickly and he lay helplessly weeping as Not Dean assaulted him with his mouth. His extreme fatigue was a blessing in that he stayed resolutely soft, even when the shapeshifter began to caress his balls and press into the sensitive area just behind them.

"Well," NotDean commented, pulling away from Sam's damp prick and wiping his mouth, wearing a look of acute disappointment, "don't you know how to bruise a guy's ego. We'll just have to try again tomorrow after you've had more of a rest." He moved away from the bed and gestured one of the men forward. "Hook up the IV. Let's get him fed and rested. He'll need lots of energy for what I've got planned for him."

Sam felt the pinch of a needle entering his wrist and a cool fluid travelling up his arm. He struggled to stay conscious but the medication quickly overpowered him. The last words he heard as he gave in to the darkness chilled him to the bone.

"Sweet dreams, Baby Brother."