"I do not love men: I love what devours them."-Andre Gide, Prometheus Illbound


When Dean screamed, his lips slid so far up his teeth that the rarely exposed gum looked like shiny, flayed meat. This blinding image tore Sam from his sleep. Morning light bled through the motel's pastel blue curtains. Sam's heart pounded in his ears, his fingers wringing the abused sheets. He gazed at the bubbled ceiling, the dream fading from his retinas.

"You okay there?" Dean said, poking his head out from the bathroom doorway. Foamy lather coated his mouth like cocaine.

"Yeah," Sam rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I think so."

"Another vision?" Dean gargled. He turned and spat a glob into the sink.

Sam licked his chapped lips. "I, uh. I don't think so."

"You don't think so," Dean said dryly, rinsing his toothbrush.

"No," Sam sighed. "Just a really bad dream."

Sam sat up in bed and stretched for the bottle of water on the bedside table. Unscrewing the cap, he took a long swig.

Dean eyed him for a second before shaking his head and turning back to the sink. "Can't lie to me, man. I can practically smell it at this point."

"I don't want to talk," Sam said, glancing out the window. The curtain blew softly from the air conditioning system underneath.

Dean scoffed. "Now you're the one who doesn't want to talk? What about all that sharing is caring crap you're always going on about?"

Sam grew quiet. Dean sighed, hitting the light. He walked across the room and stood in front of him. Sam peered up at him.

"You gonna get breakfast?" Sam asked after a long minute.

"No, I was thinkin' we go out." Dean said, "Wanna try that place up the block."

"Yeah, then we really have to get on this case."

Dean nodded. "Alright, I'm gonna go fill Baby up. Back in ten." Calloused fingers grasped Sam's face, lips leaned down, and Dean pressed a kiss to Sam's stiff mouth. Sam jerked his head back, leaving Dean's hands outstretched, grasping at nothing.

"What was that for?" Sam sputtered, looking at Dean like he'd grown two heads.

"What? I'm not allowed to kiss you?" Dean scoffed, crossing his arms over his AC/DC t-shirt.

"Yeah, I mean you can," Sam's cheeks heated. "But you-"

"Oh, it's only after hours, huh?" Dean smirked. "I see how it is, little brother."

"Don't call me that." Sam scowled.

"What? Little brother? That's what you are to me, Sammy."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It's just weird as hell, especially, you know, now."

Now that I've let you fuck me. Now that I fucked you in return. This thing between us, tangled and depraved.

Dean's expression evaporated, became devoid of emotion. "I'll be back in ten."

"Dean, wait." Sam started, but Dean was already out the door.

Sam sighed, glancing at the empty plastic bottle. He pelted it at the door. The bottle pinged off and landed on the crusty yellow carpet. At his childlike display, embarrassment licked up and down Sam's back in blushing swipes, but there was no one to see it. He heard the rumble of the Impala tearing out of the parking lot. Sam flopped back down.

His dick felt like it would fall off. Sam rubbed the back of his neck, remembering what he and Dean had spent a small but impactful chunk of last night doing. Dean had ridden his cock for a solid twenty minutes. Sam recalled Dean sinking himself onto his member, fully seating himself, straightening and squeezing him to test Sam's hefty girth. He remembered the pleasure burning through any rational thought, Dean's throaty voice groaning pure filth, the sensation of Dean rising and falling back down on him, squeezing his shaft. Then, when Dean set up that brutal pace, bouncing on his cock like a man possessed, Sam grappled blindly for the smooth slopes of his hips, holding on for dear life.

Afterwards, Dean had snuggled against him. Sam didn't know what freaked him out the most: the mind-blowing sex, or the fact Dean had told him he loved him. Sure, Sam knew Dean loved him. He'd proved that through action more times than Sam could count, but Sam never recalled Dean actually saying the words. Sam rubbed his forehead, trying to chase away the last echoes of his headache and the words Dean had spoken to him last night and the words he hadn't said back.

Two days before they'd been traveling to this small city. Dean had eased the Impala up to eighty miles per hour. The sky had been so blue it hurt. The red rock canyons of Sedona, Arizona had given way to windswept dunes as the plunged west, toward the California border. Dean had swung by a Mom and Pop roadside stand, grabbed a bag of burgers and a fine woman's number, and had been off again, towards Needles, California. From Needles, it was an eight-hour drive to Sanford. Even if his dream of returning to his former life had been destroyed with Jess burning to ashes on the ceiling, Sam couldn't help but contemplate his old college as the Mojave Desert ate away his breath.

For the past five months, there had been a bizarre number of missing person cases in Needles. Sam originally thought it could be human trafficking. It wasn't uncommon in this part of the country. But then there had been a string of thefts as well, specifically for expensive jewelry, clothes, and furniture. Although that wasn't uncommon, either, the masked perpetrators all seemed to just disappear off the cameras. Like they'd vanished into thin air.

But that wasn't what caused the brothers to expect a supernatural being was at work. It was when local authorities had found a large pile of fecal matter containing human bones and hair. Then they'd found another: a mound of steaming shit containing digested human on the sidewalk outside a flirty little boutique. Authorities didn't know what to think other than some kind of animal was eating up the locals. Six days later, the boys were in Needles.

Sam forced himself out of bed. He went about his normal routine: showered, brushed his teeth, threw on his clothes, brushed his hair. He heard Dean come in halfway through shoving on his jeans, but he didn't bother to open the door. He gave himself one last check in the mirror before ambling out of the bathroom.

"You got a paper?"

Dean sat at the table, sipping on a coffee. An identical cup sat in front of the opposite chair. The newspaper was spread out on the tabletop.

Dean licked his lips. "Uh, yeah. We need to know if there were anymore break-ins."

Sam sat down. Dean flipped to the front of the paper.

The headline read: Husband Murders Man to Steal Kidney for Dying Wife. A middle-aged man stared blankly out from the smudged black and gray ink.

"Isn't it crazy what people would do for love?" Dean snorted.

"I wouldn't call that love."

"It's love alright," Dean sighed.

"Is there anything in there?" Sam said, taking a hefty gulp of his coffee. The brew burned his tongue, but Sam hardly felt it.

Dean pointed to an article underneath. "Yep. Right here." The article read, Security Amps Up as Another Break In at Sunset Plaza Shopping Center.

"Wanna go find that manhole cover now?" Dean asked, taking another sip.

"In broad daylight, with tons of shoppers," Sam snorted. "Yeah, that would go over well."

"We search the tunnels tonight then." Dean supplemented, folding the paper up.

"Dean, we don't even know what this is."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. "So? We've busted into places with less info."

"Yeah, but this monster could be a dozen different things."

Dean sighed. "Then we bring a dozen different weapons. We come prepared. Come on, man. We'll be fine. I promise you, we'll find the thing, gank it, and be outta here by tomorrow afternoon. Where do you wanna go next? I'm thinking Hollywood sounds pretty good." Dean wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe we can tag team a couple of porn babes, huh? Huh?"

"Dean," Sam laid his palm flat on the table. "I think we should try to find a connection between the vics first, see if there's a link between the robberies and the remains the cops found."

Dean scoffed, "That's your problem, Sammy. You're all about asking questions first and then shooting. You gotta go at it the other way around."

Sam glanced down at the strain ring on his coffee cup before bringing it to his lips, "Fine. We'll do it your way. On one condition."

"And what's that?"

"We go after midnight so absolutely nobody is around."

Dean's face broke out into a smile. "That's what I'm talking about." Dean peered passed Sam at the door. "Man, I could eat a horse."

"Let's go then."


That night, under the cover of darkness, Dean parked the Impala in an alley near the back of a pizzeria. The Sunset Plaza shopping center was an open area with a plethora of stores. With a mix of local venues and corporate franchises, Sam noted a couple were boarded up from the smash and grabs. The brothers slung backpacks over their shoulders and with their eyes trailed over the moonlit square, they searched for a manhole cover. After ten minutes, Dean spotted one across from a small pawn shop. Following his lead, Sam stayed low to the ground. From this angle, they could not be spotted by the flashing security camera. Grabbing one side, Sam lifted the heavy metal as Dean began to hook his fingers to help lift.

"Freeze!"

The voice cut through the air like a razor. Stunned, Sam lost his grip and the covering slid back into place. Dean stepped back, wincing as a shaking flashlight swung toward his face.

"I said f-freeze!"

The security guard was a chubby man, his white shirt pulled tight over a plump gut. His cheeks gleamed with a thin layer of perspiration as he shakily waved his flashlight over the brothers. The man looked no older than a college student, his eyes wide with fright, as if he hadn't expected to encounter any criminals when he took the job.

"We don't mean any trouble." Sam began. Dean's eyes darted over the security guard's body, the hunter in him assessing all the places where he could land a blow that would hurt like hell, but not cause any irreversible damage. The guard, Dean noted, was not carrying a firearm.

Dean nudged Sam's shoulder. "Let's just go down, Sammy. He can't do anything."

The guard stammered, appearing offended. "I-I sure can. I can arrest you."

"Sure, buddy," Dean said, bending down and pulling at the manhole cover. Sam eyed the guard but when the man made no move to intervene, Sam crouched down and took the other side.

"Okay, one, two, three," Dean said, and they shoved the cover open.

"Hey, you're not allowed to go down there!" The guard swung the light right into Dean's eyes. Dean batted at the beam as if it was a tangible thing.

"Listen, dude, we don't have time for this." Dean said, swinging his legs into the hole and finding the ladder. "Sammy, at my back."

"You can't do that." The guard said, "I won't let you."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean huffed, quickly descending. Sam gave the guard a sympathetic look and followed behind. As they descended, Sam suddenly saw legs and the moonlight was abruptly obstructed by black slacks.

"No, go back up!" Sam called.

"Woah, woah, woah. You're not following us." Dean snarled below Sam.

"Yes, I am." The guard said stubbornly. "You aren't getting away with this."

"Sam, do something." Dean snapped, but the guard was rapidly descending. Soon, he'd be stepping on Sam's fingers. Sam glanced down at his brother, clenching his fingers across the rusted metal bar. "Just go down, Dean. He's not stopping."

Soon, Dean and Sam plopped down below, boots soaking in a wide puddle of stagnant water. They turned on their flashlights, two beams shining up at the rump shuffling down the ladder. Unlike the arid desert heat above, the tunnel was cool and moist. A strange air blew from some unseen place in the channel. The guard missed the last step and fell, landing in a frustrated heap on the ground. His flashlight bounced and went out, rolling underneath a cluster of pipes.

"What's your name?" Sam said, helping him up. The man jerked out of Sam's grasp, taking a shuffling step back, his eyes wide as he glanced between the brothers, as if he'd come to the sudden realization: he was alone in a tunnel with two potential criminals.

His shoulders sagged, his face twisting into a defeated frown. "Mateo."

"Hello, Mateo, my name is Sam. This is my brother Dean." He nodded towards Dean's stiff retreating back.

Sam turned, "Dean, where are you going?" His voice echoed alarmingly against the damp metal walls.

Dean glanced over his shoulder, "We got a monster to kill. It ain't gonna be on my conscience if that dumbass gets killed."

"Monster?" Mateo whispered, brow furrowing.

Sam looked between the security guard and Dean before sighing, running to catch up to Dean. After a second he heard the man's heavy steps.

"As a member of the, uh, the California police department I order you to stop!"

"You know what this reminds me of? That case in St. Louis with the Skinwalker." Dean noted, shining his flashlight back and forth as they turned another corner. The passage was growing narrower, but Sam could see an opening up again and a slight light. Dean, having noticed the abnormality, pulled his pistol from his pants.

"Skinwalker?" Mateo croaked behind them.

Annoyed, Dean glared over his shoulder. "Just shut up and stay out of the way. If you see anything weird, you run for that manhole, okay?"

"You guys are nuts." Mateo whispered under his breath.

Sam and Dean crept forward. The light was growing brighter. Candlelight, Sam suspected. As they got closer, Dean signaled for Sam to stay behind him. Sam shook his head no, but Dean glared. An order. No mistaking it. Dean turned back around and rushed through the entrance. He threw his pistol up and saw-

Men.

There were four. Dirty, bruised, and disturbingly, naked. Metal collars clung heavy around their throats. Between the captives and the pair of hunters were rusted metal bars. The men were in a long industrial steel cage. Vacant eyes peered out, void of any overt emotion. Sam had a sinking suspicion they hadn't been the first hunters to break into the monster's lair. The realization sent Sam's heart thudding violently against his ribcage. Either that-or these men were drugged.

The room was massive. It was so large that the ring of light from the burning candles did not reach passed the captives. A great section of it was swallowed by inky blackness. Sam noted that the visible space was decorated with furniture. Throw pillows thrown over a satin futon. A four-poster bed displaying billowy white sheets. A recliner, the leather bloated and tight. The pieces of expensive décor stood garishly against the dark underworld. How the hell anyone had gotten furniture down here, Sam didn't understand. Unless there was another way out.

The light came from a long table pressed against one of the walls, drowned with jewelry and long weeping candles. Thick silver rings, necklaces with fat, glinting rubies. Gorgeous rose gold bracelets and long hooped earrings. Behind the table, on the wall, were pictures. Sam stepped closer to the table, his eyes darting over the cluster of photos.

A grinning groom holds onto a laughing brunette bride. In the next photo, the man is lying on a cracked leather couch, a hand thrown over his forehead, sporting a playful, sleepy smile. In the next, the couple are sitting together by a swimming pool, their legs dangling in the clear blue water, fruity cocktails perched in their grasps, peering at each other with shameless heat. The last photo is of the man again. He's wearing a sombrero and pulling a funny face. The backdrop is the Grand Canyon. At the top corner of the photograph, the blur of a misplaced finger.

"Sam, do you hear that?" Dean whispered. Sam turned away from the wall, cocking his head to the side.

Mateo had reached the entryway and started stammering. "Oh, oh, God. Are those dudes? What the fuck is this?"

The sound was coming from the inky blackness. A low slipping sound, like a hand caressing concrete. Movement. Heavy. Dragging. Even though he couldn't see the creature, Sam felt like they were being watched. He pulled the machete from his bag, thoughts scrambling to figure out with the evidence present what they were up against. But he kept coming up blank.

Sudden silence.

That was never a good sign, Sam knew. He took a step back, glancing quickly over to the security guard, whispered. "Get out of here. Run!"

Bang!

The bang of Dean's pistol discharging was deafening. Mateo made a startled grunt while a high-pitched hiss sliced through the air. The creature burst from the shadows.

Sam had enough time to think. Woman. No. Snake. No. Both. Before a massive bluish-green thing whipped out, slamming against his chest and sending him flying against the wall.

Bang, bang, bang. The sharp odor of gun powder. Mateo's shout. Dean's grunt.

Sam's head slammed into moist metal, ripping him away from consciousness. The last thing he saw was the snake-woman shove Dean to the ground.