Dean roared, his face crumbling into shocked agony. Sam was already half-way off the bed, muscles electrified. In automatic retribution, Dean slashed at the slave. His claws carved into the soft skin of his cheek and throat like butter, severing several arteries. The slave stumbled back; his weapon abandoned deep in Dean's belly. He clutched his gorge with both hands, blood gushing between his fingers and oozing down his chest. Choking, the slave's legs gave out. He slammed onto the concrete, spasmed, and went slack, landing face-first. Blood squirted in a fountain with each pump of his failing heart, pooling rapidly on the floor.

Meanwhile, the remaining slaves made a run for the exit. Dean whipped out his tail, catching all three within his crushing embrace, coiling around them. Dean squeezed the slaves until they were pressed against each other. The men shouted, groaned, and cursed, eyes going wide with terror, struggling against the lukewarm, scaly muscle.

By then, Sam was beside the slave pen. He didn't know what to do. He was frozen, eyes dancing between the pipe wedged in Dean's stomach and the blood swiftly soaking his torn shirt, to the dying slave at his feet, to the three panicked captives trapped in Dean's snake half. Dean's face was a mask of rage, his teeth pulled back from his lips in a silent snarl. Behind his wrath, however, Sam saw pain coiling underneath.

"That was really stupid," Dean growled. "Did you really think something as little as a broken pipe can kill something like me?"

The slaves did not respond. Dean squeezed tighter. One slave's face was turning purple. Another gasped, his expression bleeding into one of agony.

"Dean! Stop!" Sam said. "You're gonna kill them!"

"Quiet, Sam," Dean hissed, not bothering to look at his brother. "Go lie back down."

Sam did not respond. Instead, he glanced around the room to see if there was anything he could use to smash Dean. He stopped when he noticed Dean was slowly releasing the pressure around his captives, giving them room to breathe. None of the slaves moved.

Poised several feet in the air, Dean hissed. "Now why pull a stupid stunt like that, huh?"

None of the men responded. In fact, they were looking anywhere but Dean's face. Dean growled irritably, dipping his torso lower. He hovered nearly a foot away from the first slave.

Then, Dean did something that really frightened Sam.

Dean caught the slave's eyes, and the man froze, his own chocolate brown orbs widening. Dean's voice dropped down an octave, taking on a husky, bizarre tone. That wasn't exactly Dean's voice hissing through his clenched teeth, but a seductive, lethal imp.

"Tell me why you attacked me," Dean hissed.

The slave's eyes glazed over, taking on a dead, imprudent gleam.

When his lips parted, his voice was mechanical. "Our last master left. We feared for our lives."

"Why?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't she a vile bitch, too?"

"Yes," the slave didn't even blink. "She beat us, assaulted us, threatened us, but you are much scarier than her."

Dean snorted. "Me? Just because I fucked one of you, that makes me so scary? Don't pretend he didn't like it."

The slave did not respond.

Dean licked his lips and started over. "How did you get down in the sewers, anyway?"

"Our old master kidnapped us."

"Why did you stay with her?"

"She forced us to stay with her."

"With the shit I'm pulling on you now?" Dean asked, amusement in his voice. "When she left the spell was broken, huh?"

"Yes."

"Okay, okay," Dean nodded. "Tell me this: did she ever say how to kill her? I mean, she'd be pretty stupid to tell you directly, but did you get any idea?"

"No."

"That's good," Dean smirked. "Can't have you all decide to gank me."

Sam watched the interaction with horror. Dean was hypnotizing the answers out of the slave. The other two captives had their eyes closed and their heads turned away, desperately trying to avoid Dean's influence. Sam's face paled. What if Dean decided to use his hypnosis on him?

Sam imagined himself: reduced to a docile Stepford Wife with a glance and a few words. Sam coiled back at the idea, his tongue feeling bloated and sour in his mouth. But Dean wouldn't do that to him, would he? A day ago, Sam would've laughed at the concept. He knew Dean would never hurt him like that. But this new Dean? Sam couldn't put anything past him.

"Okay, this is what I want you to do." Dean said. Sam's focus snapped back to his brother. Dean slowly uncurled his tail, giving the slaves more room to move. "I want you to force the others to look at me."

The other slaves whimpered and squirmed, but the hypnotized slave attacked his fellow captives, forcing their eyes open and turned towards Dean. Although the men hit and pushed at him, the moment their eyes accidently flickered to Dean's face, they were caught in his hypnotic stare, going docile in his grasp.

"That's better. Let's get one thing straight: I'm your new master. Now, I want you all to first put on your clothes. I am going to write up a list of things I need. My credit card will be in my jean pocket somewhere. Find my blue jeans and bring them to me. Next, you will take my list and my credit card and find an exit far away from the Sunset Plaza. Can't have any of you guys getting caught, you know? Next, you will purchase these items and bring them back here. Got it?"

The slaves stared dead eyed at Dean. Dean glowered. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master." The slaves said in unison. Sam shivered at their compliance. Dean uncoiled his serpentine half, setting the slaves free.

"Good." Dean said, looking away. "Get to it."

The slaves moved to search for their clothes. Dean smiled, satisfied, before that smile melted into a look of pain when he remembered the pipe. Dean looked at Sam. Dean did not register the inner turmoil on his brother's face. Instead, he pawed at the sharp metal sticking out of his human stomach.

"Well," Dean hissed dryly, "that's one way to get penetrated."

"Dean, that's not funny," Sam breathed.

"Ya think?" Dean scoffed, gripping the end of the pipe. With a wet squelch, Dean tore the weapon out. Sam gasped. Blood gushed hot and dark from the messy hole. Dean tossed the pipe. It landed somewhere in the dark. Dean pressed his hand against the wound with a low moan. To Sam's shock, when Dean pulled his hand back seconds later, his injury was healing. The tissue knitted back together, leaving nothing but blood behind. Dean pawed at the wound, but the hole was gone.

"Holy shit," Sam whispered.

Dean looked back up at him, smirking, "Fucking cool, right?"

Sam blinked, "Does it hurt?"

Dean scoffed. "Naw, I'm good as new."

Sam took a shuffling step back. His foot caught on something. He looked down. The slave's unseeing blue eyes stared up at him. The man's flesh was pale, bloodless. All his blood had pooled out in a ring around his corpse.

Dean sighed, slithering closer. His expression was twisted in hunger. "Well, it's not like I can let fresh meat go to waste."

"Dean, don't." Sam said, although he knew it was hopeless. He could not stop Dean from doing anything, but the thought of him scarfing down a recently deceased man? It was barbaric. Absolutely barbaric.

"I'm already pretty stuffed, but I think I can fit one more."

Sam glanced between Dean and the corpse, steeling himself to lie back on the bed and face away from the grotesque display of consumption. Dean paused, though, peering down at Sam. A flicker of emotion crossed Dean's face, landing on cool satisfaction.

"Sammy, look into my eyes," Dean hissed lowly, plunging low.

Panic shot through Sam. He slapped his hands over his eyes and turned away.

"No," Sam bit out, taking a few steps forward. He felt a hand on his lower back, curling around his hip. Another hand curled around his opposite hip.

Dean sighed, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder. "Come on, man. Look at me."

"No, Dean. You can't…you can't do that to me." Sam said, his throat heavy with distress.

"It doesn't hurt, I promise. Just look at me, Sammy," Dean whispered, rubbing Sam's sides.

Sam didn't respond. Dean held him close. Sam felt Dean's fingers land on his stomach, creeping underneath his arms. Sam tensed, expecting pain. But then his fingers dug into his armpits, then onto his belly. Sam shook, a bubble of laughter threatening to burst from his throat. He couldn't believe it. Dean was tickling him. Dean hadn't done that since Sam was a chubby twelve-year-old kid. Sam cracked. He grabbed Dean's hands. That was enough for Dean to turn him in his arms.

Dean caught his eyes. Sam stared into his brother's predatory, hypnotic stare and felt…nothing. In fact, the only sensation he felt was pissed.

"You will never leave me." Dean hissed, his voice heavy and thick with influence. "You love me. And I love you." Dean caressed his flank. "You're mine, Sammy."

Sam glared, jerking away from Dean's embrace. "Fuck you."

Dean's jaw dropped and his eyebrows shot up, his arms stilling at his sides. One of the slaves came up with Dean's blue jeans in his grasp but Dean pushed him away. The slaves stumbled back, appearing disordered.

"Why the hell would you ever try to do that to me?" Sam shouted, walking backwards towards the bed.

"Wow," Dean huffed. "Looks like you're immune. Maybe it's like that thing with the Croatoan virus."

"Why?" Sam snarled, fury curling deep in his belly. "Why would you do that to me?"

Dean raised his hands. "Hey, hey. Calm down." Dean slithered forward. "I didn't do it to hurt you. I just…shit, man. I can't without you, you know?"

"No, I don't know." Sam snapped.

"Jesus, Sammy, you're gonna make me sound like a fucking chick." Dean said irritably, reaching for his shoulder. Sam ducked out of his grip, leaving his arm hanging in the open air. The slave with the jeans followed, nudging the material towards a distracted Dean.

"Then sound like a fucking chick," Sam bit out.

Dean's face turned somber, and his gaze drifted down to the floor. Dean rubbed his arm. "I can't live without you."

Sam shook his head. "You're just saying that because you fucked up."

Dean's face became stormy with anger, "No, I'm not. It's the truth."

Sam turned away, facing the wall, clenching his hands into fists, "Don't you pull that 'ride or die' bullshit on me right now." Sam ran a hand through his overgrown mop. "Not when you were gonna make me into your obedient little bitch."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Dean's voice softened. "I wasn't thinking. I didn't do it to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure you couldn't leave me. I'm sorry."

"You're a selfish bastard, you know that?" Sam said, spinning around.

Dean bit his lip, glancing away. "Yeah, I know."

"Yeah?" Sam said, taking a step forward. "So maybe you should work on that."

Dean's eyes flickered back to his face, pain visible underneath his jade spheres. A twinge of guilt sprung in Sam's chest. He never liked hurting Dean, even if his brother deserved it. Just as quickly as the pain was there, Dean pulled on his mask once more, leaving nothing but cold indifference.

"Master," the slave said. "I have your jeans."

Dean peered down, tore his jeans from the slave's fingers, and pushed the man away, "Go. While I make the list."

"Yes, Master," the slave replied and sauntered back to the other two captives.

Dean looked at Sam one last time before he slithered into the dark part of the room. Sam listened to Dean dig through what he imagined were drawers. After five minutes, Dean came slithering into the light with a list and his credit card. He shoved the objects into the closest slave's hand and said, "Remember, don't get caught."

"Yes, Master," the slave replied. Sam watched the men walk out of the room.

Alone for the first time since Dean's transformation, Sam felt suddenly unwell. He rubbed his arm, peering up at his brother. But Dean's focus wasn't on him. He was staring at the dead slave. Sam's stomach roiled in nausea. Dean slithered past him and crouched over the corpse.

Dean's cheeks were flushed in anticipation. He licked his lips, "Now, where was I?"