A/N: I forgot to mention: Every Breath (You Take) is set between S2 E10 "Hunted" and S2 E11 "Playthings."


Sam lied perfectly motionless. Afraid that even a readjusting of his body could jar Dean from sleep, Sam watched the slow rise and fall of Dean's chest, the flicker of movement behind his closed lids. Dean was nearly busting out of his t-shirt. Along his visible side, the shirt's cotton was torn at the seams, exposing a strip of pale flesh. The reason his brother's shirt was practically falling off him was because Dean's upper torso had grown along with his transformation. Having been so caught up in the utter fright of his sibling's serpentine bottom, Sam hadn't exactly had time to notice.

Dean's upper body was larger than Sam's. That was really saying something, seeing as Sam had been called the "Jolly Green Giant" by a few of his peers at Stanford. Sam carefully rubbed the bruises already forming on his forearms. It hadn't been his imagination when he thought Dean's hands had felt like snares around his flesh. Sam eyed down to where Dean's claws fisted the bedspread. Sam imagined if he pressed his palm against Dean's, his brother's fingers would top his own by a few inches.

Sam wrinkled his nose. He couldn't remember the last time his hand had been smaller than Dean's. Fourteen? Fifteen? After Sam was slammed with puberty, he'd shot up like a weed, every body part growing to freakish proportions until, eventually, his torso had caught up with his extremities. Now, looking at Dean's unnatural bulk, Sam was hit with terror. Not only did Dean have his new Naga abilities-some Sam still had a sinking suspicion he was yet to witness-Dean had his hefty size. He could overpower him with that alone, not counting utilizing his venomous fangs, supernatural strength and speed, or his colossal snake half. Sam never felt more outmatched.

Sam tore his eyes away from Dean's slumbering form. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, peering at the canopy overhead. His heart hammered in his ribcage. He needed to get his thoughts straight. First, he had to count his blessings. Dean didn't seem like he wanted to kill him; he just wanted to keep Sam with him. Second, Sam knew that there had to be several exits within the innerworkings of the sewer system. The slaves would not have been able to bring their previous master's luxurious furniture down here without it. Third, Sam knew Dean greater than anyone. That is, Sam wasn't above manipulating his brother if it gave him a chance to escape and find help.

Sam gradually turned his head. Just then, his skull gave a particularly sore pulse. Sam rubbed the back of his skull. His injury reminded him of the visions that had been plaguing Sam's waking hours for over a year. Rubbing his head, Sam remembered the vision he'd had that morning: Dean screaming. Sam's whole body went cold, then hot. Sam had denied the dream was a vision. He was so sick and tired of being a freak, of being somehow connected to the Yellow Eyed Demon, that he'd told Dean it was just a bad dream. And Sam wanted it to just be a bad dream. Desperately so.

After Dad's death, Sam had been nearly ripped asunder with visceral nightmares of John being torn apart by a sea of filthy, rotting arms. Sam had assumed the dream last night had been another torment of his fractured mind. But, it hadn't. That had been a vision. Tears welled in Sam's eyes. He pressed his fingers against his flushed cheeks, sobbing silently.

How could he have been so stupid? So thoughtless? If a guy who's prone to having visions of the future has a vision that his brother is screaming in agony, you'd think he'd take steps to prevent it. This is all my fault, Sam thought, his chin trembling, I'm a fucking idiot.

Just then, a hand snaked over his belly, claws scraping against his shirt. Sam stiffened, slowly turning his head, expecting Dean's glowing green eyes. Instead, Sam was met by Dean's passive, slumbering face. Dean gripped Sam's side. Sam's heart hammered with fear. Dean was unconsciously pulling him nearer. Was his snake side in control? Was Dean's primal brain sensing a tasty, defenseless little morsal right next to him?

Sam's vocal cords tensed to shout, but the cry died in his throat.

"Mmm, Sammy," Dean murmured. Sam found himself nestled against Dean's body, his head taking up the rest of Dean's pillow. Dean made a content noise, hissing between his teeth, and nuzzled Sam's hair. Goosebumps exploded on Sam's arms, his lizard brain screaming at him to get away from the predator pressed against him. A pang of sorrow twisted into Sam's chest. To think of Dean as a predator now, that was a hard pill to swallow.

Sam inhaled and exhaled, calming his racing pulse. Dean's breath puffed against his locks, his mouth stationary but warm and soft. Sam let his eyes wander back to the candles perched on the table. The wax was low, pooling heavily onto the mahogany. Sooner than later, every candle would be snuffed, delivering the room into solid black.

Sam tried not to imagine what that would be like, listening to Dean slither around, no doubt unaffected. Debilitating. That's what the lack of light would do to Sam's psyche. Stop it, Sam told himself. Stop thinking about it. Sam closed his eyes, forcing himself to think of anything but the waning candlelight. Soon, Sam's mind grew heavy. He fought to stay awake, but the horrors of the night weighted down on him like a wet, sticky blanket. Sam fell asleep.

Abruptly, he was torn awake by a hemorrhaging headache. No, it was worse than a headache. His skull, it was being crushed, split into two. He grabbed his head as if trying to keep the two sides together, back arching off the mattress. Sam wasn't in pain. He was pain.

Images flickered in his head. Blurry and unfocused. Swiftly, they became crystal clear.

Two men. Average-looking Joes. In the room. In the sewers. Smiling wickedly. Approaching him. One had a knife. All alone. Sam was all alone, pressed against the wall. The men's eyes were normal. Now they weren't. Black eyes. Beetle eyes. Demon eyes. Laughing, taunting. One spoke. Sammy Winchester, nice to finally meet you. Do you know how hard it was to find you? The other. Don't be scared. We aren't going to hurt you, kid. We just need you to come with us. The former. Turning his head. Wait, what's that noise?

Like a book, the vision snapped closed. Sam gasped, blinking. His eyes were open, but he was swallowed by black. Panicked, Sam thrashed upward.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, grabbing Sam's flailing limbs and pressing him back against the bed. "Calm down. You're safe."

"I can't see." Sam croaked.

"That's because the candles snuffed out, dude," Dean said from somewhere above him. "Just chill the fuck out."

Sam squinted, going limp. No. It wasn't completely dark. He could see two faint glowing eyes. The eyes momentarily disappeared for a second before popping back into existence.

"Oh, shit. You're bleeding." Dean murmured. Sam's eyebrows furrowed. From where? Besides his head, he didn't feel like he'd cut himself. The eyes floated closer to his face. Sam felt a long, wet tongue lick at his lips and curl underneath his nose.

"Ew, ah. That's disgusting. Stop," Sam snapped, shoving Dean's broad shoulders.

"Just getting you clean," Dean sighed, snatching Sam's wrists and pinning him to the bed. "Stop squirming."

Dean licked up the blood spilling down his chin. Sam grunted in discomfort. Once every trace of blood was lapped up, Dean let go of Sam's wrists, palms descending down his body to press on either side of his stomach. Sam rubbed his arms, peering up at the glowing orbs.

"Did you have another vision?" Dean demanded.

"No," Sam said. "Just a bad dream."

"Don't lie to me," Dean said. "It was another vision, wasn't it?"

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek, his stubbornness fading. He adverted his eyes. "Yeah."

"What did you see?" Dean hissed, reaching down to caress the strip of exposed skin wrenched up by his t-shirt. Sam shoved his hand away.

"Get off me," Sam responded.

"Tell me what you saw." Dean's voice was clipped. Ice cold.

"I don't feel like it," Sam glared.

"Tell me," Dean growled, grabbing his wrist.

"If you don't let go," Sam snapped, "I'll punch you in the throat."

"That's cute," Dean sneered. "But it probably won't do much."

"Let go."

"Not until you tell me what you saw." Dean responded. "We can do this all day, Sammy. It's your choice."

Sam licked his lips, fighting the urge to deck Dean in his venomous mouth. Sure, he couldn't see his face, but if he aimed a few inches below those jade spheres, it was pretty hard to miss.

"Demons," Sam admitted, "in this room."

Even without seeing him, Sam could tell Dean's whole demeanor changed. The tension could be carved up with a knife.

"What?" Dean hissed, rage writhing just underneath the word. Sam stiffened at his tone, but reminded himself Dean's fury wasn't directed at him.

"Demons."

"What did they want?"

Sam paused, "Me."

Sam heard a slithering sound from somewhere down the bed. Dean was uncoiling his tail.

"Well, tough shit. They aren't getting you." Dean snarled, the sound reverberating deep from within his chest. He leaned down and gathered Sam up into his arms, yanking him off the bed, "You're mine."

"Dean, ah, you're hurting me." Sam said, grimacing. Dean's hug softened and he lowered him down.

"Sorry," Dean whispered, caressing his side. "I just…fuck, dude. Can't stand the thought of those black eyed bitches even getting near you."

"I hear you."

"When they come, I'm going to tear them apart." Dean growled. "They aren't going to touch a hair on your head."

Sam neglected to mention that Dean hadn't exactly been in his vision to swoop in and save him. But then again Sam's visions were shaky at best. It was difficult to tell when the event would take place. Sometimes they were too late. Other times, Sam was days ahead of schedule.

As if thinking this, Dean said, "Do you know how long until it happens? Any signs?"

"No," Sam admitted. "No clue."

Dean nodded and slipped his hand off Sam's belly. He slinked from the bed. Sam watched the glowing orbs glide away. In the dark, Dean's movement was even more frightening than in the light. There was a low, lumbering dragging against wet concrete, sending every primal instinct in Sam's veins on fire.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, watching Dean's eyes float further away from him.

"I'm looking for some fresh candles." Dean purred, dipping low to the ground.

"Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure it's morning."

Sam kept his eyes trained on Dean's eyes as his brother searched high and low for candles. Eventually, Dean found a whole stash deep within the room, well passed the slave pen. After finding a lighter, Dean lit the first candle. Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Thankfully, his headache was practically gone. Leaning against the headboard, Sam tried not to stare openly at Dean's deadly bottom half. Dean slithered over to the table with an armful of candles, lined them up, and lit each one. With the room bathed in a warm glow once more, Sam's eyes drifted down to the knot in Dean's tail.

The knot was marginally smaller than it had been hours before. That meant…Dean was digesting Mateo's body. If Sam listened closely, he could hear small glurps and grumbles emanating underneath his iridescent scales. Sam's stomach cramped in disgust, his face losing color.

Dean pulled away from the table, turning towards the slave pen, a mischievous look in his eyes. Dean licked his teeth, the tip of his tongue swiping over his fangs.

"Dean, don't."

Dean maneuvered from the table, flashed Sam a mock expression of offense as he slithered passed. "Do what, Sammy? I'm good," he purred. "I wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Dean, please. Just come on. Don't hurt them."

Dean cocked an eyebrow, slithering over to the cage, throwing a smile over his shoulder. "Who said about hurting anyone?"

The slaves were already awake. Watching their new master approach, they rose obediently. Dean paused in front of the door, eyes tracing over his captives. Dean reached forward and pulled the door open, shimming down, his fat bottom half bending and coiling back, letting him get more on level with the men.

"Come out," Dean smirked. "Let me get a good look at you."

One by one the slaves obeyed. At least, three of them. The last one, a tall, broad chested man with a shaved head and haunted gray eyes, trailed behind. Sam noticed the man had something behind his back. It glinted in the candlelight, sharp and shiny.

"Dean-!" Sam began, stiffening on the bed.

The captive broke from the line and lunged, plunging the broken pipe into Dean's stomach.