Five weeks after the incident where Dean squeezed Sam too hard, Dean left and did not return for four days. Although in the cusp of winter, the frigid temperatures that had plagued the land had risen slightly, making outside more bearable. Sam could not wait for spring, if not to see the flowers blooming and green return to the baren world. He spent those four days like usual: reading, cooking, sleeping. Dreaming, too. Dreaming of ways to break free. His dreams were speckled with trials and tribulations, but all led to finding that witch and turning his brother human again. When he'd wake, it was with a deep sense of longing, not just for the absence of the large, warm body beside him, but for a brother lost, of a world wholly upended, a domain of bloody entrails and endless hunger.

When Dean did come back on the fourth day, he came back aroused. Sam didn't really understand why, other than that giant Dean was much like any human man, and his sexual appetite came in waves. Unlike a human man, however, Dean's libido was as large as the giant himself.

"Sammy," Dean breathed, a heated expression marring his features, snowflakes landing in his dark, short hair. Sam braced himself as Dean dipped inside the cave.

Dean grabbed Sam up, stripped him, and placed him back on the ground. The splotchy dark blue and purple bruises that had marked Sam's stomach and chest had faded to a sickly yellow and light green. Perhaps that was why Dean hadn't tried anything since he'd hurt him. He was probably too disgusted with himself. Although that sentiment would be reassuring to anyone else, Sam felt nothing but remorse. Perhaps the human Dean was somewhere inside that giant exterior, helpless, screaming and thrashing to stop the monster that had taken over his body. Or, perhaps more likely, some of Dean's personality had been transferred through the wicked transformation, leaving only Dean's unflinching devotion to Sam, and tarnishing everything else to black.

Sam clutched half-heartedly at the slick, cold cave floor. On his hands and knees, naked, Sam, with the bitter wind creeping into the small fissures within the cave, shivered. Sam felt as empty as a wasp's nest left out to dry in the sun, despite the unspeakable ball of wretched excitement worming in the pit of his stomach. He shouldn't become excited from Dean what was doing, but over a year and a half after Dean's metamorphosis he'd become accustomed to Dean's advances. Confused at what was taking Dean so long, Sam glanced behind him, tense, waiting for Dean's touch, his mouth, his tongue, his moans, the fragrance of his sticky, creamy fluid.

Sam was met by Dean's heated expression of barely contained lust twisting his enlarged features. Dean's insanely large cock, thickly veined and eager, stood erect from his coarse, dark bundle of pubic hair. Crouched behind him, Dean touched himself, his fingers tugging at the silken flesh, causing the appendage to thicken, his plump balls to tighten near his body. Sam stared, watched as milky white pre-ejaculation fluid sprung from the head like a trickle of well-water. He rubbed his cock head, getting his fingers moist. Dean removed his hand, reached down, and gently touched Sam's back with two fingers. Sam stiffened, feeling the warm, slickness of Dean's fluids rubbing against his bare, trembling flesh. Sam didn't understand why Dean liked to do this sometimes. Perhaps in some sick, depraved way, Dean wanted Sam to smell like him. Marking his territory.

Sam turned back around, stared at the shifting shadows on the wall from the fire. Sam didn't resist. Sam didn't say no. But he didn't say yes, either. There was no point. He didn't even imagine Jessica anymore, like he used to when Dean had his way with him. Sam made himself stay in the moment. Maybe it was some masochistic urge to feel everything Dean did, as if to punish himself for all the people Dean had killed. This was his chastisement for standing by and letting his brother tear the world asunder.

Dean's large middle finger dipped lower, spreading the fluid between Sam's ass cheeks. Compliant, Sam spread his legs wider, giving Dean better access, and suppressed a sharp intake of breath when a digit rubbed leisurely over his entrance, leaving slick behind. Sam heard Dean dip down closer, getting on his stomach and chest, his warm breath suddenly ghosting Sam's body, the overwhelming inhale and exhale of breath moving the hairs on Sam's legs. Dean rubbed the outer part of his left thigh in seductive, languid strokes, his other finger rubbing the crack between his buttocks playfully. Sam glanced to the side, met Dean's eyes.

"You look so good like this, Sammy. So wet for me." Dean's voice was rough, like his vocal cords were ravaged by sandpaper. Sam shivered as Dean's hot breath crashed against him, like a heat wave in summer. Dean smiled, flashing rows of enormous white teeth, and then moved one digit deeper, lower, further, and flicked Sam's cock and balls, rubbing them up against Sam's stomach. Sam's breath hitched as a crack of pleasure thrusted its way into his groin, stabbing through any logical sense of right and wrong. A moan broke its way past his lips unchecked and unbidden. Sam's cheeks heated and he turned his gaze away from Dean.

Catching the expression on his face, Dean smiled arrogantly, relishing in what he could do to Sam to get a noise like that out of him. "So beautiful. You like that, baby?"

Sam let out a breath, eyes half-lidden, and glanced back at Dean. He didn't say anything, but Dean could be persistent. He pressed down harder, dared to rub a little quicker. Pleasure curled against Sam's spine, hot and tingling. His fingers curled against the cave floor. His toes, too.

"Tell me how much you like it," Dean rumbled. "Wanna hear you moan, Sammy."

Sam couldn't hold it back any longer. He moaned like he was getting paid for it. "Yes. Right there. Yes. Uh. Ah. Mmm. Yes."

Dean's ball sack tightened at the sound, his cock twitching. He rose slightly, and with his free hand, Dean grabbed himself and used his pre-cum as lubricant, jerking off to the rhythm of his own fingertip caressing Sam's petite cock and balls. It was nothing hotter than seeing Sam all hot and bothered, and when Sam climaxed on his finger a few minutes later, Dean let out a low moan, his body tensing. Sam's delicious orgasm yanked Dean into his own. His ejaculate squirted onto the stone floor, splashing up, and speckling the back of Sam's calves, his back, and his pale ass. Dean knew he'd have to clean Sam after, knew that although Sam had never said it, his brother didn't like polluting the cave floor with his spunk, much less his body. But Dean just let himself relish in the waves of pleasure beating him down. Once his head cleared, he dragged his hand away from his limp, spent cock. Dean glanced down at Sam. Sam was lying flat on his stomach, his overgrown, sweaty hair sticking to the back of his nape, his arms folded underneath him. He was panting harshly, looking particularly exhausted. Dean smirked pridefully and bent down to press a kiss against Sam's sweat slick back.

Sam glanced back and up at him, before letting his head fall into his arms once more.

"Did I exhaust you, Sammy?" Dean joked.

Sam gave him a small smile. "Yeah."

"Might have to clean you up." Dean smirked. "I got you real dirty."

"I feel it," Sam admitted. Dean smiled, and stuck out his giant, wet tongue, lapping the bitter semen from his brother's body. Sam relaxed into the gentle motion and let himself be cleaned.

Dean left again in the middle of the night. Watching him from the entryway of the cave, wrapped up in a heavy quilt, his eyes half-lidden, Sam felt a tickle at the back of his neck, like a warning. It was like feeling moisture in the air before a raging storm. Sam rubbed his nape, trying to dispel it. When he went back to sleep, he would have no idea what waited him in the morning.

"The giant's tracks lead here." Masculine. Gravelly.

Sam woke to the sound of horses. The voice came after, yanking him up from a dreamless sleep.

This had to be a dream. The only horse he knew was Impala, and he hadn't seen her in a long time. From the confines of his quilt, Sam roused. He rubbed his eyes, blinking the sleep away, and flinched as the cold winter air threatened to leech the warmth from his bare chest. The fire had been extinguished in the night, only a handful of dying embers left to mark it was ever there. Outside the cave, the morning sunlight danced upon the sparkling snow. Beyond that picturesque view, Sam spotted the men.

There were over thirty men outside the cave. A few were on horses, but most were on foot. One held a large flag, a red dragon flickering on the thin, flaying fabric. The flag whipped in the wind. The men wore identical dark gray and crimson in varying states of wear. Some had crossbows clutched in tight fingers, others had swords on their belts. They all looked haggard, and weather beaten, most of their faces stained a deep red from the cold. Realization dawned on Sam. This was the royal army. He couldn't remember ever seeing a member of the royal army in Lawrence except when they came to recruit.

Sam quickly dipped his hand low, fished his shirt from the layers of fabric, and shoved his shirt on.

The soldiers did not seem real.

The only other human beings Sam had seen since Lawrence were the victims Dean occasionally brought back to the cave for a later meal, but most of them were too injured or too traumatized to speak. It wasn't like Sam engaged in conversation with them, seeing as his brother was going to literally eat them.

Sam slowly walked to the cave's entrance. He quickly caught the attention of the man who had been speaking. The man was tall, dark skinned, and had a serious expression marring his features. He held a horse by the reins. The horse reminded Sam of Impala and he felt his heart clench. Sam materialized from the dark mouth of the hollow. The general took a step back, eyes widening. Sam didn't have time to wonder what the man thought before he spoke, gaining his composure.

"Are you one of the giant's prisoners?" He asked, strangely calm. The practiced voice of a soldier. Sam stared. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard a human voice not saturated with terror.

"Can you speak?" The man said.

Another soldier beside him said, "Perhaps he's mute."

"Can you speak?" The general asked again, growing impatient.

"He's mute, I tell you," the other countered.

"Yes," Sam managed. "I can speak."

The general nodded solemnly. "Are you all alone here?"

"Yes," Sam said, finding the words easier now that the shock had worn off. "I am."

"Are you the giant's prisoner?" The man repeated.

"Yes," Sam found himself saying. He was, wasn't he?

"Where are the others?" The second soldier asked. This man was shorter, paler skinned.

Sam turned away, abhorring the dozens of eyes on him. Despite the cold morning air, Sam felt hot and sweaty. How was he to explain that the giant was his brother, that he'd been taken not as a meal, but as a companion? They would surely bludgeon him to death for not only his familiar relation, but for his apparent willingness to participate in the carnage.

"He…" Sam shivered, not wholly fabricating his subtle horror. "He ate them."

The general gave Sam a look of sympathy. A few soldiers shuttered.

"I see. Well, you are safe now. We are here to help."

Sam suppressed a look of disbelief, his eyes tracing over the small, feeble army with its pathetic swords and puny crossbows. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

"My name is Victor Henderson, but you may call me Henderson. We are with the royal army." The general continued, leading the horse with him as he approached Sam. He reached his hand out and Sam found himself taking it, shaking it. It was such an incredibly odd gesture-so wholly human-having not touched a normal sized appendage in such a long time.

Henderson let go and stepped back, "How long has it been since the giant left?"

Sam's thoughts raced. He couldn't give Dean away, could he? No. He couldn't let these men hurt his brother, but then again, maybe if they managed to subdue him. No. It was impossible. If these men stayed, it would be Dean engaging in the slaughtering.

"I don't know. Perhaps a day or two. I hid from him, that's the only reason he didn't eat me. I don't think he will be coming back," Sam said.

Henderson eyed him. The back of Sam's neck felt sweaty. Could he tell he was lying, sense it like a bloodhound scented a wounded rabbit?

Henderson shook his head. "No, I don't think so. He will return here and when he does, we'll be ready."

Henderson turned to his men. Sam stiffened, his heart racing in his chest. No! They couldn't stay here. Dean could come back any minute.

The general addressed the army, "We will make camp here! We will wait for the giant!"

"No!" Sam exclaimed, grasping the man's shoulder. Henderson swirled on him. Sam jerked his hand away. Fire licked in Henderson's dark eyes; a kind of fury Sam wasn't expecting. The men began to set up camp.

"Why?" The general asked, voice low.

"He'll come back. He'll…he'll kill you all." Sam waved his hands in an open, surrendering gesture.

Henderson shook his head. "You must have faith. God is stronger. We will defeat the beast once and for all."

"You don't know how big he is." Sam countered.

"We've seen the tracks, have heard firsthand accounts from survivors." Henderson countered. "I have a very good idea how large the monster is."

Sam licked his lips, mind scrambling. He had to do something! He couldn't just stand by and allow these men to get killed.

Henderson placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing. "It is okay, young man."

Sam's shoulders deflated. He couldn't look Henderson in the eyes.

"I didn't catch your name?"

"Samuel."

"Samuel, you will be alright."

The general stepped away, turning to help his men. Sam watched in silence as they set up camp, feeling unshed tears burn just behind his eyes.

As the day wore on, Sam found himself becoming accustomed to being surrounded by other humans. It was like slipping on an old, well-loved blanket. Always on guard, however, the men were poised and ready for attack, even while cooking bowls of soup over several open fires. Sam found himself liking their company, especially when they spoke of home. They were mostly young men, dreaming of the lovers they left back behind in the kingdom, the fame that would touch their lips like wine once they slaughtered the fearsome giant. Sam went along with it, listening keenly to every story, soaking them up as if they were the last he'd ever hear. After every wonderful tale, though, Sam wanted to grab the man's shoulder, shake him, shout at him to run, to get as far away from there as possible if he valued his life.

By the time early afternoon bled into evening, Sam could tell the general was becoming antsy. Sam imagined Henderson did not want to risk battling Dean at night. Sam planned on slipping away anyway, using the dark to his advantage. Despite the men who would be keeping watch, Sam knew his willingness outweighed any skill, and he would get free.

But he never got the chance.

An hour before sundown, Henderson came up to him with two burly men on either side. His expression was cool, calculating. Sam stood up from where he'd been sitting by an open fire, conversing with a short soldier named Andy.

"I'm truly sorry for what we have to do." Henderson said. Sam raised an eyebrow, confused. The men on either side pounced, large, burly hands grasping Sam's arms, wrenching him back. Andy protested but was made silent by a single pointed stare in his direction.

Sam grappled with the soldiers, trying to pull out of their iron grasps, but they held tight. Their hands were like vices clamped onto his bones. His heart pounded in his ears. "What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Henderson stood in front of him. He gave Sam a genuinely sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry, Samuel. Your sacrifice is for the greater good of the entire kingdom. You will be remembered, always."

"What?" Sam spat.

Henderson slipped a dagger out of his boot and with one clean, practiced swoop, cut Sam across his forearm. The skin sliced apart like butter. A moment of nothing, then fire. Sam shouted. Hot, wet blood slipped down the cut, drippling onto the snow. Henderson shoved the knife back into his boot as Sam cried out in pain, desperately trying to get out of their hold, to try to staunch the bleeding.

"While the monster feasts upon you, it will give us ample time to ambush him." Henderson explained, yanking something out of his back pocket. It was a strip of cloth. It only took a second for Sam to understand the man's intentions.

"You…you don't understand! No, stop! St-" the man shoved the gag between his lips, quickly tying the material behind his head. Sam shouted into his gag. A wave of queasiness swept over him as the soldiers dragged him away from the camp and through the snow and towards one of the many boulders protruding from the field of white.

Next came the ropes. Sam couldn't think clearly, not with the pain shrieking in his mind, but he knew they were tying him down. Before he knew it, Sam was staked out like a sacrificial lamb onto the smooth gray rock. His arms were tied on either side, stretched outward, and his legs were bound taunt together. He looked up at Henderson, his eyes pleading, desperate, if he could just tell him, just come clean, just…

Henderson reached down and gently ran his thumb against Sam's sweaty forehead. A silent apology, perhaps. Sam wrenched his head up, yelling into the gag. Henderson shook his head, his mouth twisted in noble determination, and he was out of sight. Sam was left staring up at the darkening sky, listening to the crunch of steady, retreating footfalls. He let his head fall back.

Eventually, after perhaps fifteen minutes, the bleeding ceased. Sam turned his head and saw the nasty, blood crusted gash in his arm, the crimson pooled onto the rock, and shuttered. Cold bit into Sam's body as the sun set and a sliver of moon rose in the blanket of stars. He listened to the army fall silent, every fire extinguished, the men lying in wait, armed and ready. Despite his solitude, the tension could be cut with a knife. He could feel their eyes on him in the dark, several yards away. Sam's teeth chattered. He shook uncontrollably.

For once, Sam contemplated the idea that he might freeze to death here waiting for Dean's return. He already couldn't feel his toes and his arms were numb from their fixed position. He didn't know if it was particularly a bad thing, dying. Just as the idea sprang into his mind, he quickly shoved it away. Despite everything, Sam cringed at the thought of Dean being left all alone. What a horrible thought that was, to be all alone.

Perhaps an hour later, Sam heard the rumble of distant footsteps. His heart clenched at the sound of his brother. He squirmed against his confines but stopped when a flair of pain burst behind his eyelids. His arm throbbed with every beat of his quickening heart. A minute later, Dean was in view. It didn't take much for his brother to spot him. He shuttered to a halt. Even in the dim moonlight, Sam could make out Dean's expression.

A look of horror was etched into Dean's features, almost comical on such a large, ferocious form. He swiftly crouched down and grasped Sam up, rock and all, holding him in his palms.

"Sam, oh God. What-?"

Sam jerked against his binds, trying to expel the gag from his mouth, shoving his tongue against it.

"Sammy? What happened?" Dean breathed, his fingers twitching, trying to untie him from the rock. Sam jerked madly, shouting, trying to warn Dean. Dean managed to get him free from the rock. The boulder tumbled back to the ground, making an audible thud. A single arrow zipped through the air, slamming into Dean's kneecap. Although the weapon was small, Dean let out a sharp hiss through his teeth, his face scrunching up in discomfort, his eyes scrambling to spot the threat. More arrows flew, burying into Dean's legs. Realization quickly dawned on Dean's features. He glared, baring his teeth in a silent snarl. Instead of facing the threat he could now see clearly at the mouth of his cave, Dean brought Sam to his chest, and turned. He ran away.

Sam pulled the gag from over his mouth, let the cloth settle around his neck. He closed his eyes, pressed his chest against Dean's soft skin, listening to his thundering, throbbing heartbeat. He brought his rope ensnared wrists to his brother's flesh, trying to keep himself grounded as he bounced with each long, earth quaking stride. He focused on Dean's warmth, let it warm him in turn, and tried to fight back the motion sickness spearing with each throb of his wounded arm.

Before he knew it, Dean had stopped.

"Sam? Sammy? Wake up," Dean said, gently jostling him.

Sam's eyes fluttered open, and he peered up at his brother. Dean looked panicked. Sam glanced around. They were in an unfamiliar part of the forest. The wind gently rustled Sam's overgrown, sweat soaked hair. He shivered, pressing closer.

"I'm okay." He said, peering up.

Dean shook his head, unbelieving. "I'm never leaving you alone again."

"Dean," Sam breathed. He sagged, closing his eyes. Exhaustion leeched from his bones. Droplets of blood trickled down onto Dean's palm. Shit. He'd reopened the wound.

"What happened?" Dean demanded.

Sam opened his eyes again. He explained everything. The royal army. Their plan. How they were going to use him to distract Dean. As he spoke, Dean's features grew harder until he was flushed with rage.

He crouched down and gently placed Sam under a large pine. Sam didn't want to be let go. He clung to Dean's fingers.

"Don't go." Sam said desperately.

Dean gently pulled away from Sam's grip and said, "Work on undoing those ropes."

"Why?"

"I will be right back." Dean said in a tone that could freeze hell. Dean pinched the arrows out of his legs and tossed them away as if they were nothing. Only little pinpricks of blood were left behind.

Panic surged in Sam. "Please, Dean. They…they didn't know. They were just doing what they thought was right."

"By hurting you?" Dean snarled. "By cutting you up, by binding you to a rock, by leaving you to die?"

Sam flinched. How could he possibly explain to him that the soldiers were following orders, that they had loved ones that waited on them, that they were trying to do the right thing, to vanquish the monster? Hell. Would he even care? No. No, he wouldn't.

Sam changed tactics. "I need a doctor. Someone to stitch up my cut. I'm cold. Don't…don't leave."

A sympathetic expression flashed on Dean's face before quickly hardening into stubborn determination. There would be no negotiating here. "You're going to stay here. I'm going to deal with them and when I get back, we'll leave. I'll find someone to help you. We can't stay at the cave anymore. It's been compromised."

"Dean-" Sam began but Dean stood up.

"I'll be right back, Sammy." Dean reassured.

Sam stared after him, watching his giant form meander back the way they'd come.

Sam imagined he could hear the royal army. Their shouts, their whizzing of puny arrows, the cuts of pathetically small blades. He pictured the rendering of flesh, the disembowelments, the tearing of limbs from shuttering, mortal bodies. He thought he could hear the panicked neighing of scattering horses, the brutal crunch of shattered bone, the spray of blood in the air.

But he was too far away. Imagination could be a horrible thing, Sam knew.

It only took twenty minutes.

The only evidence of the carnage was the blood drenching the bottom half of Dean's face, his hands like identical red gloves. Dean swiped his hands against the snow, cleaning them, before he picked Sam up, pressing him protectively against his chest.

Fighting back tears, Sam closed his eyes and pressed his face against Dean's warm, familiar skin, as his brother took them away once more.