"Do I have to go?"

Sam couldn't help but smirk at Dean: he had got exactly as petulant as his real brother would when being forced to do something that he really did not want to do! But then he tried to force himself to at least look serious.

"There was another killing yesterday: a lady went missing on her way home from work. What was left of her was found late last night. It's got all the hallmarks of werewolves, Dean, but the full moon ended the night you arrived! We have to stop these things, Dean. And I'd really appreciate you being there, so hold still and put the suit on!"

His brother fidgeted as he tried the jacket on. "But I can't walk in to somewhere and convince them I'm FBI, Sam! Look at me: I'm useless! I can't do anything but be a mother!"

Sam tutted at him: he knew what this was about really. He had, to his relief, managed to wake slightly earlier that morning in time to feel Dean, who had asked to sleep in his bed again, beginning to work his way with his mouth down Sam's large strong body, and to stop him.

Not that he had wanted to.

God, no!

He had wanted Dean's lips around him again and his tongue doing... whatever ...it had the previous morning when he had awoken Sam with that incredible blowjob. But he knew he had to.

"You don't have to please me, Dean. I'll look after you for as long as you're here, you don't have to feel that you have to... I won't abandon you, I promise."

"You didn't like me doing that, Sam? I'm sorry, I..." He had been upset, and Sam's heart broke: he hated seeing his brother upset, he had caused far too much of that throughout his life already.

"No, Dean. I really did like that! Far too much! You...I... I can't, Dean! You're my brother! It just... I shouldn't want you like that! It's not okay here, however much I enjoyed it."

"But I'm not your real brother, Sam, so it's alright! And I enjoyed doing that to you, you made the same noises as my Sam: it made me think I was home, just for those few minutes... And I don't have any other way of thanking you for..."

"You cooked an amazing meal for me, Dean. And I like your company. And I will get you safely home somehow, you don't have to thank me. But I also have to face my brother when he comes back, Dean! And I can't if I'm thinking about...well, if I'm thinking about him being in my bed. That's not something that... I can't let myself think about him in that way, Dean."

And that, Sam hoped, had been the end of the conversation. He had enveloped Dean in his arms and kissed the top of his head, settling them both down to go back to sleep without the other being able to wander at all, either with his hands or his mouth.

Because if he had... well then, the dreams that Sam had had about his brother last night: they had all resurfaced from where he had so carefully buried them years before, and anything happening this time would not have ended with just a blowjob...

But now he stood and buttoned Dean's jacket, making sure it was the same fit on him that it was on his brother, and showed him how to produce his fake badge, and tried to assure him that he could act with the necessary confidence that would be needed.

And Dean regarded him with a strange cross between anxiety and sullenness, and a nervous pout that was making Sam desperate to attack it with his own mouth. He quickly forced the impulse down and tried to concentrate on doing his tie up. Which at least caused Dean to remove the pout and instead to tut himself, as he removed Sam's hands from the offending garment and proceeded to tie it for his brother with the confidence of someone who did it every day.

Then to Sam's amusement he was inspecting the younger man, making him turn on the spot, and removing non-existent pieces of lint. "Can we not have smarter suits? Tailored ones? You look so good in your new dark-grey one... "

"We'lldo! Come on!"

"But do I have to?"

The killing this time had been closer to home, in Coffeyville. Sam hoped that Dean would feel happier walking around there as at least there wouldn't be as many people as there had been in a large city like Kansas City. Although his anxiety about anyone looking at him was causing Sam to worry more and more about his lost brother, and he found himself sending up a quiet prayer to Castiel for advice as he drove, in the hope that the Angel might have some idea about where Dean, the real Dean, had gone.

He had researched the few new details of the case carefully: the woman had never made it to her small jeep where it had been parked in her office car park. Her husband had called the police when she had failed to return home, and her remains had been found in the early hours of the following morning. Sam was grimly aware that if they could only have caught that thing that day in the warehouse, they could have saved this woman.

They had to stop whatever it was this time.

He debated with himself about taking Dean to the mortuary with him: just how would this Dean react to seeing what was going to be horrific? But the only alternative would be to leave him out in the car, so...

At least by nature of the place, it was quiet. Hardly anyone around as he cajoled, argued and eventually ordered Dean to accompany him through the door, and all but slapped his hands down from nervously fiddling with his fake badge.

"Confidence! Deep breath, you don't have to talk if you don't feel that you have anything to say of any relevance, but act as if you've every right to be there. We're the authority in the room! Act as if we're in control of the situation! It's easy!"

He sighed as the wide green eyes nervously stared up at him. "You'll be fine, Dean. Really. Just...stay close to me. Not too close! Partners at work, not anything else! Stand tall. It'll be fine."

'Shit', Sam thought to himself as he strode into the coroner's small office, ready to request to see the body. 'No way this isn't going to go pear-shaped!'

But actually his brother had been fine. Better than fine. He had stood nervously but tautly one step behind Sam as he had talked their way into the morgue, but hadn't faltered. Or fumbled the badge, even though Sam could see his hand shaking slightly as he handed it over.

And he hadn't even blinked at the remains. In fact he had examined them with interest, giving a quick glance at Sam to get his attention. Sam had to swallow down his own bile as he reacted to the bloody mess and asked the mortician for a glass of water, drifting innocuously round to the side of the drawer that his brother was standing looking from. "What is it?"

"Two sets of bites."

"What? How can you tell?"

"Easy. The incisors on that one are intact: this bite, this one, there is one not formed properly. Look, by the left canine, it doesn't fit snugly with the other as it should: it turns in on itself slightly. It gives a different mark. Your coroner will confirm that. And there are the same scents as on the roof, all over what's left of this poor female. Same two."

"You sure?"

He fell silent at the disgusted look that Dean gave him, and was grateful for the diversion of the drink arriving. Then there was nothing else to do there, but get the address of the deceased and the next of kin details.

And mumble an apology to his brother as soon as they got outside.

"So, where to now?"

"We talk to the new widower."

The house was in a nice suburb: green lawns; weeded paths; a child's bike by the side of the path. Low white picket fence. A place where nothing unpleasant should ever happen.

Sam knocked at the front door and grasped his brother's hand momentarily to settle them both, releasing it just as quickly when footsteps could be heard approaching the glass. "Confidence!" he hissed.

But it wasn't the man that they were expecting who opened the door. In fact, it wasn't a man at all.

She was pretty: fortyish; blonde hair that was only just giving away the fact it was dyed; gym-toned figure, but she was also pale with dark bags beneath her eyes. She looked startled on seeing them, especially when she saw their badges. "I don't know if I can help you."

"We won't take a few minutes of your time, ma'am. Just a few questions." Sam hit her with his puppy-dog eyes and they were soon in the house.

She led them across to a settee, picking up toys from the floor as she went. "I'm sorry, my brother-in-law went to the office to try and sort a few things out. I think really he just needed a few minutes of normality: this whole thing is just a nightmare. I can't believe it."

"And you are, ma'am?"

"I'm Julie, Sheri's older sister. Russ called me last night when she didn't come home, and I came over to help with the children while he dealt with the police. Then, when they found...Oh God, how could such a thing have happened! Oh, Sheri..." She dissolved into tears, but quickly tried to wipe them away as two young girls ran into the living room.

"You okay, Auntie Ju? Who are they?" Then to the surprise of the other two adults, they were both veering immediately to climb onto the small separate sofa that Dean had chosen to sit on, each finding it perfectly natural to snuggle in either side of him. "Who are you? Can you tell us a story?"

The responding smile was genuine and warm, and made Sam almost want to join them as Dean distracted the youngsters and began to read from the book that had materialised from somewhere. It took him back to his own childhood: Dean himself would sometimes struggle over a few of the words, only being that few years older than his insatiable little brother, but he would put on different voices for all the characters, never once forgetting which was which. Sam had learnt to love books because of Dean.

He shook off the urge to simply listen to the deep voice and instead began to quietly question the woman, learning that she was a divorcee who had moved closer to her only sister and family as part of a new start. The events of the last twenty-four hours had shaken her to her core, and she kept looking like she would collapse with the shock of it all. It seemed only the presence of the children was keeping her from falling apart.

Finally he stood up, and nodded to his brother to follow suit. As Dean suggested to the children that they return to their rooms to play a while, Sam got the address of the husband's office and began to politely say his goodbyes and condolences to the bereaved woman.

Then to his surprise, Dean was stepping forward to stare straight at her with nothing short of contempt in his expression. "No wonder you're so ashamed. You should be! Was he worth it?"

"I..." Julie stared at him in surprise.

As did Sam.

He was even more surprised when the woman began to chew violently at the inside of her lip, enough to cause a trickle of blood to escape her mouth. Still Dean stood and glared at her. Then she suddenly blushed guiltily and looked at her feet, tears beginning to trickle down her cheek. "I... I just wanted to feel loved. It was exciting. I knew it was wrong. And then, last night...when she never came home. And I looked at those two little faces... Oh God, what have I done? How could I have done that... to my own sister?"

"Disgusting." Dean almost snarled the word at her and she cringed back into herself, the tears properly breaking through. He stood impassively and watched her cry. Sam was amazed but knew to also remain quiet.

"How did you know?" she finally controlled herself enough to whisper. "You gave no sign that you knew. How...?"

"You reek of guilt: it's pouring off you. And his scent: his scent in this house, it's on you. All over you! Did he think you were going to be an immediate replacement?"

"I...! He came to the spare room this morning: we already knew she was dead, but he... As if Sheri didn't matter! I couldn't believe it: that was my sister! That's why he went to the office: I told him to get out! I'll never forgive myself. Really! You have to believe me!"

With an effort she straightened her head up to stare into Dean's eyes, as if begging for forgiveness, at least from him, even if she would never be able to get it from her dead sister.

She didn't get any from Dean either.

He simply turned and left the house, followed by a silent Sam. Behind them they could hear the noise of her collapsing to the floor, hysterical. But neither turned back.

Sam watched his brother from the corner of his eye as they drove to the new address. Dean's jaw was tense and tight, and he could see real fury blazing in the green eyes. And he thought about how the other had had no obvious reaction, or even discomfort, in viewing the remains when even Sam, with all his experience, had felt nauseous. And he remembered how Dean had gone up the side of that building the previous day: the inhuman speed and agility he had.

Not for the first time, he wondered about how he would deal with this new Dean should something happen to ever make him become a threat. And tried not to think about whether or not he even could.

The office block was smart and modern, and they had to go up three floors and through a lot of corridors to find where the deceased woman's husband worked. Dean's sudden turn of temper had carried him through the front door and up in the lift, but as they got deeper and deeper in and he became aware that he was gradually being surrounded by so many white collar workers, so the anger subsided and the terror began to creep through once more.

Sam caught at his arm to guide him through a crowded section of small booths to the more senior position's offices at the rear of that particular business. "Just stay close." Then he was knocking at the door and introducing them both.

The husband, Russell, was immediately nervous at their arrival, and hesitant to let them in. In his early forties, hair just beginning to turn grey; he was pale in complexion, almost greyish in colour, and had definite sweat patches staining beneath both arm pits of the day old shirt that had obviously been slept in the night before.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir." Sam began, "We did go to your home: we were surprised to learn you were here instead."

"Just a few things to sort out. I don't know when I'll be back. I mean...the kids..."

"We're truly sorry, sir. But we do have a few questions about yesterday..."

Sam let the man talk, knowing full well now that he had been betraying his wife but allowing him to tell them both about how completely perfect his marriage had been and how absolutely desolated he was at the brutal way it had ended. He wasn't really surprised when his brother finally had enough of the lies and suddenly sat forward in his seat to face the man down.

"Your anxiety is spiking!"

"I...excuse me?"

"Your stress levels: it affects your scent. And yours has intensified exponentially since you mentioned how she died."

"I... do you know how she died? Of course I'm stressed!"

"No." Dean stared at him, a really unpleasant expression on his face. "This isn't just guilt from your affair with her sister..." Russell exclaimed in panic and began to try to refute the allegation, but just as suddenly slammed his mouth shut as Dean was somehow around the desk and had both hands tightly on the man's sweaty collar, pulling him to his feet before Sam could blink.

The younger man got to his feet in a slight panic, grateful that the blinds were closed on the door.

"How did you know about me and Ju? I mean..."

"She told us. She, at least, is remorseful about it. But you... You did this, didn't you?" His fists tightened in the cloth, causing a slight cry of fear from the man as he was raised onto the very tips of his toes to stare directly into Dean's eyes.

"Dean!" Sam hissed in alarm. But he fell silent again as they angrily flashed in his direction.

"I can smell one of the betas on him. It's very slight but it's there. And something else: human...but not. And that same scent is also in here, but it's being covered by his stress: it's stinking the room out. He did this. He knows who killed her because he was behind it. But I don't think you realised just how violent her death would be, did you?" He turned his attention back to the now terrified man. "The stench of your guilt is as strong as your stress."

"How did you...? Are you like...him?" Russell winced as Dean's eyes became calm and controlled, meeting his wide, terrified ones without any compassion at all. And somehow, he thought, this green eyed man was far more frightening like that than when he had simply only been angry. "Are you... not human as well? I didn't know! Didn't know what they would do. I only wanted her out of the way so I could... When the police told me what had... I swear I didn't intend that."

"Go on." Even Sam felt a prickle of fear sprint down his spine as he heard the threatening growl beneath the words.

"I contacted this...person... paid them...who arranged for there to be an accident. Oh God, I don't know what I was thinking. I thought I was in love with Julie: me and Sheri hadn't been getting on too well since she got promoted and she was always busy with the girls, and Julie... Well, I just... but I never wanted this. And Julie was so upset, and when I tried to comfort her this morning... her face. She thinks I'm a monster! But whatever did this! That's the real monster! Not me!"

The man subsided into nervous silence as Dean continued to stare at him, not daring to take his eyes off the irate agent even as Sam finally recovered himself enough to ask for details of how he had contacted the hired killer or killers. Not even as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a card with just a phone number written on to shakily hand it to the younger man across the desk without looking, his hand trembling violently. "I just asked about...just made enquiries. Then, last week, this was on my desk! Right in here! But I always lock my office! I called, left a message. He called me."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I told him what I wanted. Then..."

"Then?"

Finally Russell dared to break his gaze from Dean's eyes and turned his head to face Sam instead. His voice dropped to a whisper: "He told me to get the money ready, then yesterday I came back from lunch and... he...was waiting in the alley as I went past. It was so strange: he just called my name and I went in, couldn't stop myself! I just obeyed! I handed him the payment, he turned to his 'friend' and..."

"And?"

His attention snapped back to Dean at the snarl.

"And... he...it... changed! Right then and there! He grew...teeth! And claws! And hair! And he went right up the fucking wall, jumping from side to side of the alley and then up the fire escapes as if... And I stared at the man that had called me in and he just laughed at me! Said 'try getting anyone to believe that!' Then he just walked away.

I...almost thought I'd eaten something bad at lunch that had made me hallucinate, but... when she didn't come home last night, I knew. And then when the police arrived and said what they'd found... Jesus. I swear I didn't intend that. I swear it."

He was staring straight at Dean, desperate to get him to understand.

"What did this man look like?" Sam spoke up again. "The one who took the money?"

"Tall. Thin. I don't know. But he was the boss: the other...the thing that changed...took his orders from him. It wasn't human, it was a monster! And I set it on my wife... I set it on my wife. Oh Christ, what did I do?" He was finally breaking, the tears overflowing with genuine remorse for the first time. He just crumpled back down into his seat when Dean finally released his collar and stepped back.

"You're saying a monster did this? You know what?" Russell raised his head to look at him, snot and tears mixed equally on his face. "You both smell exactly the same to me."

And with that, Dean was leaving, glancing at Sam as he passed to exit the room without turning. His younger brother hurried to catch up, grabbing for his arm as soon as the door had closed behind them and they were alone in the corridor.

"Dean?"

"That authoritative enough for you, Sam?" He was smirking, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Sam stared down at him in disbelief.

"That was acting!"

The smile momentarily flicked away and there was a flash of anger in the green once more, then it had gone. "What do we do now?"

Sam continued to stare at him open-mouthed.

Dean shrugged and continued down the corridor, his footsteps faltering as the view from the office corridor opened out into the large area with all the small booths. And all the men and women sitting in them. He hastily backed up and began to turn, to ask Sam for help as nervousness again kicked in and he felt unsure and unsafe once more in this strange world.

He was as much surprised as Sam was at himself, when the younger man suddenly pushed him bodily backwards into the wall and kissed him with a passion that was dangerously close to being fully ignited. Dean recovered himself and caught his hands up into the tempting soft locks, pulling Sam down closer to him and allowing his long arms to wander even more freely than they had suddenly been doing.

And they were wandering.

Sam's hands were all over him: slipping under his jacket; pulling out his collared shirt to get to the warm skin beneath; touching what he had always wanted to touch. Reaching to cup round Dean's ass and pull his body even closer until there was no space at all between them.

Then Dean was suddenly pushing him away with a muttered curse: "You're making me slick, Sam!"

"What?" but even as he asked, the scent hit him. The sweetest, most enticing aroma that had ever filled his nostrils. He had already noticed how good Dean smelt, but this new scent was overpowering every single one of his senses like it was something physical. It was more arousing than anything he had ever known before.

And it wasn't only him who was noticing it. Out of the corner of his eye and down the corridor Sam could see the people in the nearest booths beginning to sniff the air and look around for the source of the unusual, but incredibly intoxicating aroma.

"Shit!" Noticing a store cupboard behind them, he opened the door quickly and pushed his brother inside, crowding him in as he closed the door behind them. "What is it? What do you mean, slick?"

Dean's cheeks were red with embarrassment. "It's you! Just then! My body recognises you and your scent as my Alpha and it's readying itself for... well, for you!"

"But...? You mean..." Sam gaped at him. "For sex? For us to have sex?"

The other's face was now almost scarlet, contrasting unfavourably with his hair. "I'm already getting wet: this is going to ruin your brother's suit."

"So how do we stop it?"

"Well, only by... But we can't hide in here for an hour!"

Sam blinked. "You mean... You want me to... You'd let me? I mean... that's the only way to... you sure? That's the only way to stop..."

But he had his answer by the look on Dean's face: there was no need for him to verbally respond.

"Okay. I... You sure? I don't want to force you... I mean... Is this okay? Do I need anything? Lube? Or anything...?"

"I'm slicking, Sam! In a cupboard, for Our Lady's sake! It's like being a newly presented adolescent all over again! Get on with it!"

Sam bit his lip, but turned Dean to face the door with him standing behind him, sliding his hands around his waist to open his pants and pull them loose enough for what was needed. Despite himself, he had to look as he eased his brother's soaked boxers down. He was already hard, but just the sight of Dean's naked ass took his erection to almost painful levels.

Not to mention that the scent increased, filling the entire space of the small room until Sam felt he could drown in it and die from sheer bliss. He moved to cup one of Dean's cheeks and felt the dampness on his hand. It was human nature for him to bring it to his nose to inhale properly. And then it smelt so good that he had to taste, licking his own fingers with curiosity.

And then he licked them again, as the taste exploded on his tongue. A natural sweetness that was even better than the scent and slid like the purest honey over his taste-buds. Better than honey, because somehow it was still Dean: his scent in edible form. And it was immediately addictive: he wanted more. But his brother was fast losing his patience.

"Will you just get on with it, Sam! I don't want to get caught in here!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry! You sure?"

He was answered with a definite growl that sent a shiver both straight down his back and straight to his cock. He quickly opened his own pants, covered Dean's body from behind with his own and pushed in, unable to contain the moan from escaping him as a lifetime of wet dreams suddenly came true.

"Sam! Shush!"

"Sorry...I... oh God, Dean!" He wasn't going to last: he knew he wasn't going to last. This was just too... everything.

It seemed like only a moment before he was coming inside Dean, biting his lip to try and stop himself from shouting his ecstacy at the conquest aloud at the top of his voice. Then he was putting his hand round to give Dean release as well before kissing his brother's neck and holding him tightly, pulling his back tighter to Sam's chest, wishing that there no clothes in between them to get in the way.

Reluctantly he finally stood back, pulling Dean's boxers and pants up for him first before his own. "That okay?"

But he was taken aback as the other turned to look at him in genuine surprise. "Was that it?"

"Yeah. Well, yeah! Wasn't that good enough? I mean...did it...I...do...enough?"

"Yes. Well. Enough for us to get out of here anyway. But my clothes are still wet: will there be another way out of here without going through that open area?"

Sam was still staring at him, but tried to force himself to focus his thoughts on the immediate problem. "There must be back stairs somewhere, or a fire exit."

He felt a little guilty as he pulled Dean away from the door a little more roughly than he should have and led him out of the store cupboard to try and to find another way out of the building, trying to stop his own hand from catching a tight hold of his brother's but failing miserably.

'Was that it?'

Suddenly he couldn't give a damn about hunting down the owner of that card any more.