Okay, everyone. I am so extremely sorry that it's taken so long to get this chapter out. But, let me tell you, it's been a bitch. This will, hopefully, be the least sexy chapter in the story, which is probably one reason it's taken me so long to write it. I guess this is what I get for giving the boys an actual case to solve.

Sam looked up at his brother as his hips surged into Dean's tight heat. The older man groaned and braced his hands behind him on Sam's thighs – a move he'd no doubt learned from one of his many one-nighters. His face was pulled tight in pleasure and pain as he thrust himself up and down on Sam's cock. Dean's amazingly green eyes were clenched shut as was usual for him, but not Sam's. No, he was drinking in his fill, unable to tear his gaze away from his brother's perfect features. God, he really was fucking gorgeous, he thought.

He let out a moan as Dean took his full lower lip between his teeth, the plump flesh giving way under the pearly whites. Dean's movements became harder, faster as Sam reached up and gently fisted his cock. Suddenly, Dean's lashes parted and Sam was staring directly into dazzling, familiar green eyes. That was all it took to drive him over the edge and –

Sam awoke to blinding pleasure and Dean's name on his lips. He clenched his jaw as he rode out the last waves of his dream-induced orgasm in silence. Christ, that dream again. He'd been having that one a lot, probably because it wasn't really a dream; it was a memory, one from the third and final day of the curse. He didn't want to say it was his favorite, because he was ashamed to be thinking about it at all. However, next to the thigh-fucking memories, it was the one that really revved his engine. Both were times where Dean had been in charge of things. What that said about Sam, he didn't want to contemplate.

He got up and went into the bathroom to clean himself up. He avoided meeting his own gaze in the mirror, too ashamed to even look at himself. He was completely and utterly out of excuses. His attraction for his brother wasn't brought on by magic and it wasn't confused bisexuality. He flat out just wanted to fuck his big brother. And, as sick as that was, he also felt just a little relief. Even though it wasn't the answer he'd wanted, it was a rock-solid one. No more "what if's" to tease him. He had his answer and he would deal with it in the only way that he could: repress, repress, repress. That was pretty much the family motto, after all.

Just as he was finishing up in the bathroom, he heard the outer door open, followed by Dean's voice. "Sam?"

Right then. Time to face him, just like he had done every morning since the curse. He barely even gave a thought to the fight they had had last night. Ever since it, they'd both been on edge a lot of the time. Sparks were bound to fly.

He went into the main room to find Dean placing bags of Mickey D's on the table. "You seemed to be sleeping in, so I figured I'd get breakfast." He took a seat and tore into one of the bags.

Sam paused as he rooted through his duffle bag for clean clothes and tossed an old t-shirt at Dean's head. "I was not 'sleeping in.'" He checked the clock. "It's not even nine."

"For you, Sammy, that is sleeping in." Dean threw the shirt back at Sam and attacked his breakfast. Without looking up, he said, "I'm sorry about last night."

Sam frowned at Dean's back, clean shirt in hand. It wasn't like Dean to offer apologies. He usually just ignored things until they went away or tried to kill him. "It's alright, Dean."

"Bullshit." He polished off his first breakfast muffin. "I was a dick, and I picked a fight with you."

Sam drew his shirt on and took a seat at the table across from Dean. "I won't argue with you there." He pulled one of the paper sacks towards himself. As far as he was concerned, the previous night's argument was forgotten. He had bigger things on his mind, not the least of which was the town's resident shapeshifter.

"So, anyway, while you were out, I did some quick research on our case." Dean wrapped his lips around the straw of his drink and took a pull, his cheeks hollowing just a little with the suction. Immediately, Sam's pants tightened. He forced himself to look away and focus on his breakfast. Dean continued, oblivious to his discomfort. "The article that brought us here was pretty tight lipped about the victims, but a quick google search gave me a little intel. Did you know all the vics were gay?"

"Were they?" The article he'd found hadn't listed any specifics about the other five suspected killers, only the last one.

"Well, if they weren't, they were doing a damn good impression of it." Dean dug into some hash browns. "The more interesting thing is, none of these were new relationships. The latest vic was the shortest, three months. But one of the couples – the second vic and his partner – were together for something like ten years. The ages are totally mixed up too. Last guy was in his thirties, first guy was over fifty, and the third was only twenty-two."

Sam leaned back in his chair, pondering the information Dean had given him. "So basically, these guys don't seem to have anything in common except that they're gay."

"Pretty much, yeah." Dean took another long drink. "How many gay bars you think this town has?"

He rolled his eyes. "Dean, just because they're gay doesn't mean they automatically go to gay bars."

"I go to straight bars."

"Yeah, well, you're…you."

Dean puffed up briefly but then expelled his breath with a grin. "Yeah, true."

Sam balled up the wrapper of his breakfast and tossed it towards the trash can. "You're right though. We need to check out any bars in the area that they might have frequented. It's the easiest thing to look into."

Dean busily tucked into another breakfast muffin. How his brother managed to eat so much and never gain an ounce, Sam would never know. When his mouth was less full, he said, "So we'll check that out after we throw the monkey suits on and talk to the cops."

"We should talk to some of the families too, but yeah, sounds good to me."

A few minutes later after Dean finally finished his heart-attack-in-a-sack breakfast, they changed into their FBI get up and hit the road. Dean claimed the driver's seat, which was fine with Sam. His head couldn't stop straying places it wasn't supposed to go. He kept looking at Dean's hands. He knew that they were rough and callused from guns and knives, but they held the steering wheel with familiar ease. He watched as Dean would remove one to emphasize whatever he was talking about before placing his hand back on the wheel, grip loose and relaxed. And he remembered those hands clenched tight in cheap motel sheets. Remembered how they felt when they clutched at his back…

He ripped his eyes away and placed them firmly on the asphalt ahead of them. That was definitely not the train of thought he needed right now.

They arrived at the station and, when Sam got out of the car, if his pants seemed to be fitting tighter than usual, he certainly didn't have a clue why.

Inside, they flashed their badges and introduced themselves as Agents Hetfield and Seger. As always, Sam felt a brief frisson of uncertainty as the badges were checked out by the intake officer. However, as always (or almost always), everything checked out and their stories were bought.

"So," Officer Kendricks started, "what brings the feds our way?" Sam didn't like the look of this guy. Besides the fact that he was reed thin with a rat-like face and stringy yellow hair, he held himself like a guy with something to prove.

"We'd like to talk to the sheriff about the string of killings that have been taking place." Dean pretended to check his notepad for names. "Most recently was Matt Booker."

"Oh, those murders." The way he said it told Sam all the man thought about what was going on. From his demeanor, he didn't seem too concerned with the matter. Sam was sure that if it were six women who had been murdered, he'd be spitting mad about it. "Why is the FBI concerned with it?"

Sam frowned at him, shifting into a stance that made it much more apparent that he loomed over the other man. He didn't often like to use his height to intimidate people, but he judged this to be one of those necessary times. For reasons. "You could have a serial killer on your hands. That's right in our neck of the woods."

The officer scoffed. "We know who did the murders. Their gay lovers."

Sam was about to say something, but Dean cut in. "We'd like to talk to the sheriff. Thanks." His voice was brittle. He didn't seem to appreciate the officer's attitude either.

Muttering to himself, Kendricks waved them behind the desk and led them to the sheriff's office.

The sheriff, a robust, balding man, looked up as they entered. "What's this?" He sounded like he'd gotten up and had a big bowl of gravel for breakfast.

"Sheriff, this is Agent Hetfield" – motioning to Dean – "and Agent Seger" – motioning to Sam – "of the FBI. They're here about the gay murders."

The sheriff scowled at Kendricks and rose to his feet. "Alright, thank you for showing them in." When the other man didn't seem inclined to leave, he was given a pointed look. "That's all now."

After he reluctantly left and shut the door after himself, the sheriff came around the desk and shook hands with Sam and Dean. "I'm Alan Mullaney. You're looking into the murders we've had here?"

"That's right," Dean confirmed. "Have you ever had anything like happen around here before?"

Sheriff Mullaney took his seat behind his desk again. "God, no. We've always been a pretty quiet town. We'd have the odd killing, you know, like any place else. Drug related things, muggings, robberies gone wrong, but nothing like this. And, I'll tell you, this was all pretty clear cut up until a couple of days ago."

Sam took a seat in front of the desk and Dean took the other chair. "That's when you found Colin Baxter's body?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah. I've checked with the coroner three times and he swears that all evidence suggests Baxter was killed two weeks before he killed Matt Booker."

"But you have evidence that suggests Baxter killed him?"

"An eye witness saw Colin Baxter leaving Matt Booker's house the morning before his body was found that same evening. The vic's mother was the one who found him. Coroner's report put his death as between five and seven am. And, to top it off, there were no signs of forced entry on the house. I ask you, who else could've killed him?"

"It's definitely a mystery," Dean said. "Listen, do you think we could get the files on that case and the rest of them?"

"Sure, sure." The man rose from behind his desk and went to one of the filing cabinets. He spoke as he rifled through one of the drawers. "Truth be told, I'm glad you're on this now. Besides the fact that it's caused a stir with some people, I've been damned stumped about it myself. Maybe a couple fresh pairs of eyes will see something I couldn't." He removed a stack of files and offered them to Dean. "You know, I know we're not the smallest of towns, but some people around here seem permanently stuck in the fifties."

Sam nodded in understanding as he rose to his feet. "Some people don't want to change." And some are forced to.

Dean also got up. "Thanks for the info, sheriff. We'll let you know if we find anything."

The sheriff walked to the door and held it open for them. "Let me know if my department can be of use to you, agents."

Out in the Impala, Sam idly flipped open the top file, which belonged to the first victim. "So," he said as he skimmed the info, "you want to look this over first and then talk to families, or vice versa?"

Dean started the car. "Let's do the family thing first." He motioned to himself with one hand while pulling out of the parking lot. "We're already in the monkey suits."

That was true enough. He gave Dean the directions to Colin Baxter's parent's house. They'd get some info on their "killer" and then head over to the Booker residence. He shuffled the stack of files until he could pull out the one for Matt Booker, but, as he tried to read it, his mind strayed. Not even to anything in particular, it just refused to focus on the words in front of his eyes.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked out the window even though his eyes wanted to be drawn over to Dean. These moments were the hardest. It was downright easy when he had something to focus on, like back in the police station. He had a purpose. In these moments, when it was just him and Dean and the road, though, his mind had time to circle around from work to personal drama. Like a moth to a fucking flame.

Mercifully, it was a short trip to the home of Jeremy and Linda Baxter. They approached the front door and rung the bell. A moment later, a tired looking woman with greying hair opened the door.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

They flashed their badges again. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Agent Hetfield. This is my partner Agent Seger. We'd like to talk to you about your son, Colin."

What little light there was in her eyes dimmed. "Oh, of course. Why don't you come in?" She stepped back and let them into the house.

They sat down in the living room. The walls were covered in photographs. Everything from graduations to hikes. Family memories. Sam tried to avoid looking at them the same way he tried to avoid looking at Dean, but for different reasons. Mrs. Baxter quietly offered them refreshments, which they declined.

Dean was the first to speak. "Ma'am, I would first like to assure you that we are not looking at your son as the killer."

She looked at him sharply; it was obviously the last thing she had expected to hear. "Pardon me?"

"Your son was killed two weeks before his partner was killed. The evidence is pretty conclusive about that. So no, we don't think it was him."

Her relief was palpable. Even though she didn't have to worry about her son going to jail, it was freeing to know that his name wouldn't be dragged through the mud by them. "Then why are you here?"

"Your son was the person closest to Matt Booker. We'd like to find out more about Colin and how they were together. Were they happy?"

She smiled sadly. "They were very happy. Every time I talked to Colin, Matt was the only thing on his mind. He had stars in his eyes when he looked at that boy." She looked up at one of the pictures on the wall. It looked like a high school graduation. Colin had his arms around both of his parents, a huge grin on his face. "Agents, if my son was – was killed two weeks before poor Matt was, then who was the man Matt was seeing? My friend, Dotty, told me three days before Matt was found that she'd seen them both at the grocer's."

"We think," Sam said, "that someone was impersonating your son."

"But how is that possible?"

"We're going to find out," he assured her. Even though she would never hear about it, the shapeshifter would be brought to justice. Winchester justice.

They talked to her for about a half hour before they left. They didn't get anything particularly useful from her (not that Sam had expected to). But the one thing they did get was interesting. Colin had started acting differently about a month before Matt was killed. Normally, he called his mom nearly every day to see how she and his father were doing. Calls had dropped to once a week and then not at all, meaning the calls had stopped about the time that the real Colin Baxter was killed. To Sam, this indicated that the shifter wasn't that dedicated to keeping up the charade beyond the lover he was trying to fool. Additionally, it helped to give them an idea of a timeline. The shifter had been walking around in Colin's skin for at least two weeks before killing the host. That was actually a good sign. It meant that, even if the shifter had already picked a new skin to hang onto, the guy he was wearing was almost certainly still alive.

After speaking to Mrs. Baxter, they drove across town to talk to Matt Booker's parents. They told the boys about the same thing that Mrs. Baxter had. The boys had been crazy about each other. All full of the warm fuzzies. The perfect couple. Until oops, they're dead.

Instead of heading back to the motel to look over the files, they decided to get lunch and then go straight to the only gay bar in town, The Cellar. Sam did his best to maintain conversation while he ate his Cobb salad and Dean made love to his double bacon burger. For some reason, he was having a lot of difficulty keeping his mind out of the gutter. Maybe it had something to do with the reality he had been forced to accept the night before. Not bi, not cursed, just lusting after Dean. It was a hard pill to swallow (haha), despite the modicum of relief that having a concrete answer brought. At the same time, it was also kind of funny in a shitty sort of way. He had always been the one who wanted to be normal. The one who cared about things normal kids cared about. Now he was well and truly the freak.

As they walked into The Cellar around five, Dean stopped to look around. To be honest, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Velvet and throw pillows in the booths. Gaudy table cloths and disco music. Scantily clad men in cages hanging from the ceiling. But, for some reason, what he found was a surprise. It was just…normal. It was a bar. Tables, chairs. The same as any of the hundreds of bars that Dean had been to in the past. The only difference was that it was the women who were flirting with the pretty waitress.

The man behind the bar slid appraising eyes their direction as they approached. At first, Dean thought the come-fuck-me look was for him. He was even preparing himself to be slipped this well-muscled man's number (not that he'd do anything with it besides toss it). Only that look wasn't for Dean. It was Sam who was getting once-overed.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The guy asked in a deep baritone.

"Yeah, I'm Agent Hetfield," Dean said sharply. "This is my partner, Agent Seger."

Sam gave him a side-ways look at his tone, but shook it off and addressed the bartender. "We're looking into the murders of six gay men. The local police at first thought they were killed by their partners."

The guy nodded. "Yeah. Didn't one of those suspects turn up dead?"

"Yes, and that's why we're investigating." Sam took out the pictures he'd taken from the files and laid them on the bar top. "Do you know any of these men?"

The bartender perused the photos, leaning against the bar, noticeably towards Sam. Dean didn't like it one goddamn bit, but he knew it was totally insane. Not only was Sam not gay, he also wasn't Dean's property. Just because Dean was having issues, didn't mean he needed to put them on Sam's admittedly broad shoulders.

"I only know him," he said, pointing to the second victim.

Sam gathered up the pictures. The bartender picked one up to hand to him and their fingers brushed as Sam took it. Dean caught the little smile on the guy's face which made Dean want to punch him so bad his fingers itched. No right, he reminded himself. No right to feel so fucking jealous.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, none of the others came in here?"

"If they did, it was on my night off."

Sam made a little hmph noise. "Can you think of any other spots in town they might frequent?"

The bartender's lips quirked up. "You mean spots they might go because they're gay?" When Sam spluttered, he laughed. "Yeah, actually. A lot of guys I know started going to this new gym, Point Fitness. It's not what I'd call a gay gym, but it's gotten really popular among the scene." As Sam thanked him, he pulled over a napkin and scrawled his number on it. "And, hey, my name's Eric. Give me a call if you need anything."

A flush rode up Sam's neck and he stuffed the napkin into his pocket. Dean lost the battle and outright glared at the bartender. "He's straight," he said, sharp enough to cut glass. He was still glaring as Sam pulled him out of the bar.

"Dude, what the hell was that," Sam asked when they were finally back in the parking lot.

"What was what?" Not that he didn't know. Obviously he knew that he was acting like a jealous boyfriend. He's your brother for fucks sake. Stop feeling this shit.

"Come on, Dean, you were five different kinds of aggressive in there." Sam paced around in front of Baby. "Is this about…is this about the thing? I mean, do you hate gay people now or something?" As Dean reeled back, Sam rushed ahead. "I'd understand, you know. What happened it – it had to mess with your head. I get that. But it's not their fault. You shouldn't take it out on them."

Dean held his hands up. "Whoa, no. Okay, just, no. Stop. I don't – I'm not – I'm not a 'phobe or anything, okay? What happened…the curse, this isn't about that." Well, it was but not the way Sam thought. "I've got nothing against gay people. Or any kind of sexuality. You do you or whatever."

"Are you sure?" Sam looked at him with those brown puppy dog eyes. "It's not that I wouldn't understand why you'd have issues."

"For fuck's sake. I'm sure, Sam. I didn't morph into a bigot just because – " just because you stuck your dick in me was what he was going to say before he thought better of it. "I'm just fine, okay?"

Sam frowned at him. "Then what the hell was that about?"

I was insanely jealous that Eric the pretty boy wanted a piece of your fine ass, because I, sickly, think that that ass should be mine. "It was nothing. Just didn't like him. Specifically him, not gay people."

His brother continued to frown but he finally let the matter drop.

They drove to Point Fitness in silence. Dean tried hard to keep his mind focused on the matter at hand instead of Sam. His little brother had always had a spot at the forefront of his mind, but not like this. Before it had been, "When did Sam eat last? Is he warm enough?" That type of thing. Now his thoughts were a lot more X rated and just generally focused on not-brotherly areas. Even now, he wanted to rest his hand on Sam's thigh as he drove. He never would've thought he'd be so into PDA, but he supposed he must be. He was constantly censoring his actions around his brother now. What he wouldn't fucking give to just be normal again. To stop having these feelings that he had no right to feel. It was ten times more of a curse than the one the witch had cast on him.

Inside Point Fitness, they approached the reception desk. Behind it was a slim, perky blond guy who grinned in that well-practiced sort of way that receptionists did. "Hi there! Can I help you?"

While Sam did the introductions, Dean looked around the place. A fair number of the male clientele were checking both he and Sam out. He tamped down hard on his jealousy and refocused himself on the matter at hand. It looked like Eric the Bartender was right. This would be a perfect hunting ground for an (apparently gay) shapeshifter.

They spoke to the manager. He was one of those nondescript people. Average looking brown hair, dull brown eyes, round face. A face that got lost in the crowd. He was able to confirm that all of the victims, as well as three of the suspects, had been members of the gym.

"That's great news," Sam said. "Do you think we could get a record of members who haven't shown up here in the last month?" It only took Dean a moment to catch on to where Sam's mind was. Much like the shifter had stopped talking to Mrs. Baxter, there would be no need to come in to the gym once the shifter had chosen a new skin. The manager was more than helpful and they walked out of there with a small stack of papers.

Sam was all ready to head back to the motel and do some research, but Dean had had enough for one day. He just shook his head as Sam suggested research. "Look man, I'm beat. Let's just go get dinner."

Sam rolled his eyes but swung himself into the passenger seat. "Just what you need, another cheeseburger."

Dean grinned as he got behind the wheel. "Hey, I may not get a burger. I might get a steak." For a fleeting moment, everything clicked into place and Dean felt normal again, like nothing had changed. They were bantering. Then he looked at his brother and caught himself admiring the way the waning sun shone in Sam's curly brown hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it.

Goddamn him.

I sincerely hope the next chapter will be up next Monday or sooner. I think everybody will like it quite a lot. ;)