Summary: Sammy doesn't just smell like a hamburger and he sure as hell doesn't smell onions. (Set in and around S06E05: Live Free or Twihard)

Flipside

It had been less then an hour since the vampire had infected him and already Dean was having trouble focusing on anything – not sights, sounds, not even what he was touching, because there were the blankets on the bed under his hands and his jeans against his legs and old worn cotton socks between his feet and stiff boots and it was maddeningly confusing – because over it all there was a growing sense of smell.

It had started out faint enough that he couldn't tell what it was, but the more time passed, the stronger it got, until Dean finally looked up, searching for the source. It was… god, it smelled good. He couldn't even begin to put into words how good it smelled.

The room was blurred, kaleidoscoping in on itself as he tried to take it all in from where he was sitting on the bed. The overhead light made his eyes burning and he pressed his hands to them, a bus and cars honking and sirens and people talking and he knew it wasn't in the room, but that wasn't helping. Light, he could fix the light. Pointing with one hand, he managed to bite out, "Please, please shut that off."

There was thumping like a hammer on wood and the light flicked off. One less thing, but there were still all the damn noises and the smell. God, what was that smell?

"Dean, are you okay?"

Sam's voice was too loud, too much, but it gave Dean something to focus on. He honed in on his brother's voice, somewhere just to his left and he could feel Sam's heat next to him – comforting – and Sam's heart beat, soft and steady and calm – that made one of them – and… oh, dear god, that's where the smell was coming from.

He looked up and the rest of the room may have been swirling around itself, but not Sam. Sam was focused and clear and present and suddenly the only thing Dean could hear was Sam's heartbeat and the thud of it and the smell and all he had to do was get just a little closer to that throat… Dean threw himself back. "Away, Sam, fucking get away!"

Sam backed several feet away from the bed with his hands up, watching Dean warily, and Dean tried not to think about the fact that his brother's heart beat was still steady. It hadn't skipped a beat.

"Dean, what's wrong?"

He shook his head and tried to think past the rush of sounds in his ears. With Sam further away the smell was still there, but it wasn't pulling at him quite so much and he could at least think.

He was a vampire, he was freaking monster and if Sam hadn't backed away when he did, Dean had serious doubts about his own self control. God, how had Lenore done it? Lenore. He needed to call her, because Sam was going to need someone after he cut off Dean's head.

"Lenore. Sam, call Lenore." Sam hesitated and Dean growled in frustrated, "Seriously, get the goddamned phone and call Lenore!"

After a few moments, Sam shook his head. "I can't, Dean. I called Samuel, already, he's on his way, but Lenore won't pick up."

"What?"

"A few months back, before the Djinn thing, Ely and a couple of the others came at me." What the fuck? "I handled it alright, took their heads off, but when I tried calling to ask Lenore what was going on, it was disconnected. Whatever's happening out there got to her, too."

"And you didn't think to mention this before now?"

Sam shrugged, "Wasn't relevant, and, besides, they weren't coming after you, you haven't been marked in years."

Since Castiel resurrected him and nullified all claim on Dean other than his own.

They'd talked to Lenore then and Dean had been trying to convince himself that taking the mark again was a good idea – for Sam, protect Sam, anything for Sam, went to hell for Sam – although he still hadn't quite managed it, when Lenore informed them it wasn't going to be possible.

"This angel you spoke to, Castiel, marked you when he pulled you from Hell. I've never felt anything quite like it." She'd touched the handprint reverently. "It feels like Heaven." But pulled back quickly, almost like it burned. "That will wash any other claim away. You belong to Heaven now, Dean Winchester, congratulations."

Only Dean hadn't felt good about it then and he didn't feel good about it now. He wasn't sure if vampire blood was something the angelic mark should have protected against, or if that claim had been nullified when they decided to take Adam instead of him, but it didn't matter, because Dean was infected with fucking vampire blood of all things and Samuel better hurry, because Dean wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to keep his teeth out of Sam.

Sam started to step forward and Dean threw a hand up, still very aware that if he opened his eyes, the room was going to narrow down to Sam and Sam's neck and his pulse – which was still so steady and sure of Dean's control – and his smell. "Dude, stay over there. Just… you know what, get as far away from me as you can, okay?"

"Dean." Dean opened his eyes and just like he knew it would, the whole world focused in on his brother. "I need you to slide my bag over."

It took a minute, but he managed to find the duffle on the floor next to the bed and shoved it with his foot. He was surprised when that one little push was enough to send the heavy duffle across the entire room to thud against Sam's feet, but he was more surprised when Sam opened it and pulled out a small plastic bag of something and opened it. A moment later the room filled with a sick smell of herbs and Dean nearly wretched.

"What the hell is that?"

Sam smiled in amusement at Dean's disgust. The intoxicating smell of his brother faded into the background due to the overpowering smell of whatever the hell it was Sam was holding. Dean suddenly found it was easier to focus on other things. The odor was green and noxious and Dean felt himself snarling at it without any conscious effort on his part.

"Sam, what. The hell. Is that?"

"Just a mix of some really strong smelling herbs. Before I convinced Lenore to mark me, she had me hold onto something like this to keep the rest of the nest off me. It's not full proof, or anything, but it should help some."

It did. It helped, but Dean could feel the sounds and lights getting stronger and the smell too and he knew it wasn't going to keep him off Sam forever. "You'll have to cuff me to the bed, Sam."

Sam shook his head. "Not yet. Let's wait for Samuel."

"Either take my head off, or cuff me to the bed until Samuel gets here to do it, because your magic little herb bag is only going to work for so long."

"I know." He did, too, he believed what he was saying and he didn't care. "If I need to, Dean, I will, but for now, let's just wait."

Dean wanted to argue, but a bus honked outside the window and his head exploded in pain, because without the draw to Sam distracting him, his senses were overloading again and he hunched over, burying his face in his hands while they waited.

Eventually, they did have to cuff him and Dean actually felt his fangs begin to push through when Sam touched his arm to close the handcuff around it and Sam's heart didn't stutter, not once and Dean knew something was wrong, but then Sam was backing away, unscathed and maybe he was right. Maybe Dean's protective instinct was strong enough that it was overriding that need to feed on something, but Dean didn't really think so. He figured if they waited long enough, even the cuff wasn't going to be enough to keep him off Sam.

Then Samuel came in the room and everything felt like it just stopped, because it was different. It was so different.

It smelled good, because it had been hours now and Dean's body was begging to be fed, but it was so, so different. Like Bobby had said, Samuel smelled like a hamburger, but compared to that, his Sammy smelled like a fucking Ribeye steak – one covered in too many herbs, but herbs that were slowly being overpowered by the pull of Sam's blood.

He dropped his head back down for a moment and gripped the comforter, concentrating on the texture of it against his palm until he had himself under control. Finally, he lifted his head, then slowly sat up and waited.

Samuel set his duffel on the table and nodded at Dean as if he wasn't cuffed to a bed with vampire running through his veins. "How are you holding up there, Dean?"

He'd managed to adjust to his other over-stimulated senses for the most part. Not completely, but he didn't plan on being around long enough to completely adjust to anything. The smell, though? He got the feeling he wouldn't ever adjust to that and he had a new found respect for Lenore pulling her teeth back with Sam's blood leaking onto her tongue.

His second teeth tried to push out at the thought, but he held them back and leveled his gaze at Samuel, resolute. "Not great. Let's get this over with."

"If you insist." He looked at one of his sharper blades on the table and then back at Dean, eyebrows raised in that same amusement Sam had shown earlier with the herbs. God, there was that familial resemblance, like Dean didn't already have enough to deal with. "Or I could just turn you back."

What?!

"What?!"

Sam words mirrored Dean's and he looked surprised, too, but his heart rate still hadn't changed and Dean was starting to wonder how much of Sam's calm had to do with his faith in Dean and how much of it was that something else Dean had been worried about for the past month. More important things right now, though, like, had Samuel said, 'turn him back?'

"I didn't drive all this way to kill you, Dean. I'm here to save you."

Old Campbell Family recipe and wouldn't that have been nice to know? If Dean's opinion of the Campbells was shoddy, this certainly wasn't helping it, because a cure to vampirism? Well, that would have been really handy for god only knew how many other Hunters out there.

Whatever thoughts and words he had to say on that, though, would have to wait until this was over. Until he wasn't cuffed to a bed, because he refused to be in the same room with Sam un-tethered, while he watched Samuel make the cure. Sam had pulled out more herbs, but they were having less of an affect and Dean was starting to think…

"You know, Dean, I'm surprised with you." Dean turned to Samuel, started out of his thoughts, "It's only been, what, four, five hours since the change? I've met average Joes with more self-control than you at this point in the process."

"Screw you." Because Samuel couldn't possibly know what this was like. Sam shifted on the other side of the room where he was leaning against a wall and the rustle of fabric on fabric drew Dean's attention to him, sharpened his focus and Samuel better fucking hurry, because Sam was smelling better and better.

"Huh. Sam, can you go to my car and get my other bag, I think I left something in it."

Sam eyed Dean a moment longer before moving and it put him a little closer to Dean before he was out the door, but then he was gone and the door closed and Dean could track his footsteps receding down the hall, moving to the stairs…

"It's not you, it's Sam, isn't it?"

Dean's focus slipped and Sam's footsteps were lost among a hundred others, making Dean's head spin. If he'd thought having Sam close was a problem, this was worse. He wanted to know where Sam was, keep him near, keep him there, don't lose him, can't lose him again…

"Dean?"

His voice was soft and persistent and without the draw of Sam's smell, Dean managed to turn his attention to Samuel and the driving need for blood was there, but it was pulling away the further Sam got and Dean relaxed against the headboard. "Oh, thank god."

Samuel nodded, more to himself. "I'm right. It's Sam."

Dean swallowed thickly, his body feeling lax with relief. He could almost ignore Samuel, at least for now. "Yeah, it's… it's Sam. I can't… with him around, I can't think straight."

He hadn't stopped measuring out ingredients and checking his book to make sure he was getting them right, but he was glancing at Dean, too. "You know, Sam's marked."

Dean nodded vaguely. "I was, too, for a while."

"Until the angels brought you back from hell." And then, at Dean's started stare, "Sam told me."

"Fucking Sam. 'S none of your damn business."

"I'll keep it in the family."

Dean couldn't help laughing, because that was freakin' hilarious. That was all Dean and Sam did – kept it in the family.

"I know you don't like me, Dean, but I have years of experience on you. I have a whole lifetime of it, so let's talk about why you can't keep those teeth in your mouth when your brother is around, because that mark of his should repel you."

Huh, he hadn't thought about that. Onions on a burger and Dean may have teased Sam about loving onions, but there had been a point to that. Sam should smell at least a little like something he wasn't going to enjoy eating. Hell, at the very least, Samuel should be more appealing, but he wasn't.

"Let's talk about exactly how long you've been sleeping with Sam."

Dean's brain stuttered to a complete and utter stop. "You… no, 'cause I… no… what… could possible have made you think that?"

By the time he got those last words out, they were faded and weak and not just a little bit desperate. Samuel frowned at him, cutting into something on the table that smelled foul.

"Like I said, lifetime of experience, Dean. The only time I've seen someone react like that when they were first turned, was when they were around a lover. The longer you've been with someone, the more recent it was, the stronger the pull and you don't strike me as a weak willed man, Dean, so answer my question. How long have you been sleeping with Sam?"

Well, fuck.

"Six years. Seven if you count the year he abandoned my ass."

Samuel stirred the ingredients wordlessly and Dean closed his eyes for a moment. He could actually smell Sam through the open window and now that Dean could smell him, he could hear his footsteps again, slipping on the pavement outside, coming back towards the hotel.

From this distance, Dean could control himself, he could breathe it in and… it smelled like them. Not just Sam, but Sam and Dean, like Sam was soaking in him and it was heady, it made Dean want to get closer to his own slipping humanity. It made him want to crawl up inside Sam and if he really thought about it, he could smell the repulsion of the mark, weak and faded in comparison to their mingled scents, but there and… something else.

Dean breathed it in deeper and Sam was a little closer, just outside, under the window, and now that Dean was really trying, he smelled something off – something different, something missing when he compared it to Samuel's scent. Not that it made a damn bit of difference in Dean's desire to get at Sam's neck, because Sam was in the hotel, coming up the stairs and Dean's fangs were itching to push out.

Samuel cursed under his breath and pulled out the crappy little flip phone he carried with him, dialing a number that Dean recognized as Sam's just by the rhythmic little tune he could hear from across the room.

"Sam, you need to leave."

Dean could faintly hear Sam arguing on the other end, "But, your bag…"

"No, forget the bag, turn around and disappear for the next twelve hours - preferably somewhere on the other side of town."

He heard the curt little, "Fine," from Sam on the other end that sounded far too complacent to be his brother. Sam would have argued more, Sam wouldn't have wanted to leave Dean alone, Sam would have at least asked for some kind of explanation. But he hadn't. He'd said fine and Dean could actually smell him fading and hear him getting into his car and driving off.

Samuel looked back at Dean for a moment before tipping the contents into a metal bowl and setting it on a small, plug in burner.

"This needs to heat for ten minutes, then I'll shoot you up and we're gonna sit here, nice and quiet, and not talk about the fact that you're having sex with your own brother."

Great, just fucking perfect, because what he really needed right then was another person judging him, because, honestly, he was doing fine on that all by himself. With Sam gone, it was easier to stay calm, though, and to think and he needed to think, because there was that something missing in Sam's smell.

It was a lot to process and Dean closed his eyes and focused on not smelling Samuel. Once this cure thing was over, he was going to have a nice long talk with Sam and they were getting to the bottom of this, one way or another.

The cure was a son of a bitch and Dean was going to be wearing a surgical mask the next time they tussled with vampires, because he did not want to do that again. Sam was stoic through it. He watched and helped when Dean asked for it, but wisely kept his hands to himself which was good, because every fiber of Dean's body was on fire. It reminded him of being marked, actually, only instead of happy pleasant pleasure fire, it was hurting bad burning fire and by the time he came off it, the only thing he had to say was, "I need a shower."

Sam left while he was in there scrubbing off several days of filth and Dean had just pulled on his jeans when Sam came back, holding bags of food from the deli around the corner. He thumbed the button closed, watching as Sam set the bags down and sat half on the table, hands hanging off his lap. "You okay, man? Last couple days looked pretty… rough."

"Yeah, well, it did the trick." Sam looked normal. Perfectly fine and it was almost enough to make him forget what he'd smelled like. Almost. "Hey, Sam, you, uh… did Samuel talk to you, about why he made you leave?"

"No." Sam shrugged, "Samuel knows what he's doing and you were obviously having trouble with the two of us here."

Dean shook his head. "No, just the one, Sammy. Just you. Apparently, vampires are highly attracted to the people they've been having sex with, the longer and more recent, the stronger the attraction and, like you said, Samuel is a, uh… well, he knows what he's doing."

Dean watched his brother carefully, watched his face, but Sam's mouth just turned down in his usual 'oh well' facial gesture, "Guess the cat's out of the bag then, huh?"

"That's it?" Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean reached down, grabbing his shirt off the bed. "Our grandfather find out we're having sex with each other – and, I gotta say he was not nearly as accepting as Ellen or even Dad, for what that's worth – but all you have for me is 'guess the cat's out of the bag'?"

"Well… what do you want me to say, Dean? It's not like you even really know the guy."

"No, but you do." Pulling his shirt over his head, he pointed an accusing finger at Sam. "You spent a year hunting with him and it doesn't bother you that he knows you're on the incest wagon? With another dude."

Sam's eyes cut to the left, his brows coming to together for just a second, like he was thinking about that. Really thinking about it. "Well… no, I mean… yeah, of course it bothers me, but, Dean, it's not like I can change it."

He strode forward to stand in front of Dean and grabbed his jeans at the button, tugging him forward. Dean stepped into it, but kept his eyes level with Sam's, his lips tight and Sam sagged a little, smiling. "Hey, look, I get it, okay?"

"No, Sam, you really don't. You know something is wrong with…"

He stuttered to a stop as Sam yanked him forward the last step and put a hand behind Dean's head, maneuvering him into a kiss and, damnit, this wasn't fair, because Dean really needed to talk to him, but he couldn't do that with Sam's tongue in his mouth and those long fingers kneading the back of his head and the other hand, undoing all that hard work of getting his jeans on.

With effort, he forced his head to the side, breaking the kiss. "Sam, we, really, really have to talk."

Sam hummed against Dean's neck, "I was so worried, Dean. Worried I'd lost you."

It didn't sound like he'd been worried. Worried Sam always had a quiver in his voice, like he was maybe gonna cry and right now the only thing in Sam's voice was a low, husky quality that, along with his brother's teeth grazing at the pulse on his neck, was making Dean's cock swell.

"Dude, just, hold on."

Sam's hand dug into Dean's jeans to rub him through his underwear and Jesus Christ, it was hard to think with Sam this close. Harder to talk with Sam's tongue back in his mouth and Dean had been worried, too. He'd been fucking terrified. Determined to end his life, sure, but terrified about leaving Sam alone again. Terrified of what Sam would do when he was gone.

Dean's hands moved on their own, working the buttons of Sam's shirt, getting to all the skin and muscle and heat and Dean could still remember how Sam smelled like him, like he belonged to him. Sam pulled his hand out of Dean's pants and got it up under Dean's shirt gripping him around waist, pulling them together so Dean could feel how hard Sam was against his hip and he pulled his mouth away and dropped his head to put their foreheads together, his eyes closed.

"The way you were looking at me, Dean. You were practically eye fucking me across the room." Dean bit back a moan, got Sam's pants unbuttoned, pushed them down just enough to get his hand around Sam's cock and Sam smiled, lopsided and eager. "What did I smell like, Dean, did I smell like onions?"

Dean got a breathy, "Fuck you," out before Sam started to push his jeans down and they needed to be on a bed. Now. Turning them around, he pushed Sam down with his body until he was over his brother, straddling him with one leg, the other extended between Sam's. Between driving his mouth into Sam's he managed to get out, "We really, really need to talk."

Sam shook his head and bit Dean's lip just hard enough to hurt. "Not now."

And, honestly, Dean couldn't agree more.