One slave stood on the left side of Dean's Naga half. The two others were on the right. They wore matching expressions of quiet obedience, eagerly waiting for their next command. Sam was surprised the first captive hadn't drawn unwanted attention; his face and throat were littered with bruises. Dean yawned, untangling himself from Sam's embrace. Sam sat up in bed, scooting back to lean against the headboard. He hadn't been able to nap like Dean. The grotesque noises emanating from his serpentine lower half were enough to keep anyone awake. Now, Sam felt like his skin was two sizes too small for his body. He itched to use Dean's momentary distraction to his advantage. But he didn't think he'd get too far, especially since he was barefoot.

"Thanks," Dean hissed. "Put that shit down by the table and get back in your cage."

The slaves shuffled to the table and set the bags down, turning around and meandering back to their pen. Once inside, they shuffled to a corner and sat down. Silent. Vacant eyed. Sam licked his lips, eyes drawing over their emaciated faces.

"Dean, don't they need to eat?" Sam said, pulling his legs up to his chest.

Dean glanced back at him, smirking, "My brother, the sympathizer."

Sam scowled. "It's called human decency. Just because you don't have it anymore doesn't mean I don't."

Dean rolled his eyes, picking at the bedspread with his claws. "Fine. After, though."

Sam's throat tightened. "After what?"

Dean smiled. "After I feed you."

"I'm not hungry." Sam said stubbornly. Although that was a lie. His stomach felt as empty as a wasp's nest left to dry out in the sun. In fact, he was a little lightheaded.

Dean chuckled, flashing his fangs. "Liar, liar."

"I'm not," Sam bit.

Dean caressed Sam's ankle. Sam lurched his legs closer to his chest. "You're eating whether you like it or not, little brother."

"Screw you." Sam said, glaring.

Dean tisked. "I wish you would."

Sam's scowl intensified. Dean rose from the bed, hips rotating back and forth sensually, shimming down the length of the mattress. His bottom half unraveled from its tight ball, elongating across the room. He twisted from the bed and slid to the bags left underneath the table. He checked several before finding the one he wanted. Sam didn't know what to expect when Dean dug his hand inside and pulled out a styrofoam container, but the aroma wafting from it was evident: fried chicken. Dean burrowed in another bag and drew out a can of soda.

Grinning like a man who'd just won the lottery, Dean glided back onto the bed. Sam stiffened, fisting his jeans. Dean maneuvered onto his back, pressing against the headboard until they sat side-by-side, only a few inches between them. Sam started to shift away but Dean dropped the soda onto the mattress and gripped Sam's arm, keeping him in place.

"Nope, don't even think about it," Dean said, rubbing his thumb against Sam's racing pulse point.

"I'm not eating that." Sam said, nodding to the container.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Why not?" He released Sam to open the container. Inside lay a few hot, crispy chicken strips with a side order of greasy, soggy fries. "Sure it's not that rabbit food you're usually shoving down your throat, but it ain't bad."

Sam's stomach gurgled at the sight. Still, he didn't know if he could keep it down. Despite his hunger, Dean's barbaric displays of cannibalism rolled in his head like a movie reel. It was better to abstain than to upchuck all over himself.

"Just take a bite." Dean encouraged, plucking out a fry and moving it towards Sam's lips. Sam jerked back, pursing his mouth shut and turning his head away.

Dean made an exasperated sound deep in his throat. "Just this one fry, okay? And if you don't like it? I won't push."

Sam opened his mouth, "You're ly-"

Dean shoved the fry inside, silencing him. Between choking and chewing, Sam chewed. An explosion of salt and fat erupted in his mouth. His hunger doubled down, and he gave in, swallowing. He sighed, ashamed, and reached for another.

But Dean jerked the container away.

"Hey!" Sam croaked. "What the hell? Didn't you want me to eat?"

"I want to feed you," Dean said.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I can feed myself."

"Yeah, I know. But I want to do it."

"Why?"

Dean's expression melted into one of unabashed heat. He leaned in. Sam twisted his head away, his cheeks reddening. Dean pressed his nose against Sam's raging pulse point, inhaling deeply. Slowly, he sniffed upward along the long, warm line of Sam's throat until he reached his ear.

"Maybe I'm trying to fatten you up," Dean teased. He licked around the delicate edge.

"That's not funny." Sam said.

Dean chuckled and pulled away, "Here. Have another?"

Sam peered down at the fry dangled inches away from his lips. His shoulders slumped and he gave in, allowing Dean to feed him. The more fries he ate, the deeper the arousal flushed on Dean's face until his eyes were half-lidden and his cheeks were glowing a rosy pink. Sam was surprised his brother's monster cock hadn't popped from his serpentine slit by the time Dean reached the bottom of the container.

Dean popped a fry into his mouth and slipped his hand down his brother's throat. Sam tensed, his mouth full. "What are you doing?"

"Wanna feel you swallow it." Dean purred, claws dragging across his adam's apple. A shudder sprinted down Sam's back.

Sam debated the intelligence of spitting a chunk of chewed potato at Dean's face, but settled on passivity. If Sam was going to get him to drop his guard so he could escape, he needed to make Dean trust him. Sam closed his eyes and swallowed. Dean's clawed index finger scraped delicately with the scrap of food, following the morsel down to Sam's belly. Once reaching his stomach, Dean flattened his palm.

Sam squirmed, uncomfortable with the attention but trying to stay unreceptive to Dean's bizarre touch. Dean moved his hand, rubbing in a soft, circular motion. Dean's giving me a belly rub, Sam thought. Dean's heated eyes were trailed to Sam's belly. He paused, pushing up under the soft cotton, and palming his bare skin.

"You full yet?" Dean whispered huskily, eyes flickering to Sam's face.

"What?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. "No."

Dean's fingers slipped lower. "Didn't think so. You know what, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed, suddenly nervous at Dean's intensity. "What?"

"I just love feeding you," Dean admitted. "Just love knowing that you're well taken care of."

Sam blinked. "Dean, you're a freak."

Dean chuckled, caressing the soft space below Sam's belly button. "Yeah, I know. But I'm not the only freak, right?"

Sam winced. Although the insult was probably unintentional, it reminded Sam of just how he had seen himself ever since he was a kid. Freak. Unlovable. Abomination.

"I think I can finish the rest by myself," Sam said dryly.

Dean slipped his hand out from underneath Sam's shirt. He patted Sam's belly. "No, I can do it."

"Why do you think you need to feed me?"

"I just like to know that I'm taking care of you. I like taking care of you," Dean purred, nuzzling underneath Sam's chin.

"Why?" Sam jerked away, meeting Dean's gaze.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed a tight, white line. "I don't know. Just feels right, I guess."

"You guess?"

Dean shrugged. "I just like knowing you're well fed."

Before Sam could protest further, Dean snaked his arm out, closing his palm around Sam's lips.

"Here," Dean purred. "Just take a bite."

Dean reached for a chicken tender and pulled it apart. Steam rose from the white meat. He drew his arm away and pressed the chicken towards Sam. Sam opened his mouth and took a bite, chewing slowly. Soon after, the container was empty, and Dean opened the bottle of soda. Dean tilted the bottle back past Sam's unresisting lips.

"That's it, baby," Dean purred, tilting the bottle further up, flooding Sam's mouth with cold, carbonated sweetness.

Sam couldn't help but feel as helpless as an infant. It took everything in him not to tear the soda from Dean's grasp and force Dean to let him drink it by himself. But if Sam was going to get his brother to trust him without a doubt, rejecting his advances wasn't a step in the right direction. Once the last drop of soda trickled down Sam's throat, Dean crushed the can, shoving it into the empty container.

"Do you want any more food?" Dean said, caressing Sam's thigh.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Dean kissed his throat, murmuring, "Thanks, baby."

But Sam wasn't exactly sure what Dean was thanking him for. Dean gathered the container and slithered off the bed. Sam burped into his closed fist. Unlike Dean, Sam had never been one for carbonated drinks. He watched Dean glide back to the table and drip low, thrusting the container into an empty bag. He dug through the bags. After a minute, Dean spun around, clutching a strange object in his hand. It was small, velvet, and black.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed. What is that? Dean meandered back to the bed, grinning playfully. "Peter Bowers sure ran his credit card bill up this month."

"What?"

Dean scoffed. "You know, the alias on the credit card. Damn, Sam. Stay with me now."

Sam's eyes trailed down to the object again. As Dean approached, Sam realized it was a little black box. His stomach roiled with anxiety. What the hell was in it?

Dean crawled up onto the bed and laid on his belly, elbows poised on the mattress. He gripped the box in his hand.

"What is that?" Sam asked.

Dean's smile widened. He pulled it apart. Nestled inside was a…

No, Sam thought. No fucking way.

Dean smiled. "I remembered your ring size. You should be proud of me. When is the last time you wore a ring?"

Sam's mind instantly drifted back to Jess. He had bought her engagement ring days before the fire. The symbol of his absolute devotion had burned a hole in his pocket days before Jess burned on that lonely, white ceiling. The ring before him resembled Dean's favorite rings in shape and size, but not in color. This ring was gold. Expensive.

"Dean, are you insane?" Sam said, mouth stuffed full of cotton.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean shrugged, a smirk curling on his lips. He plucked the ring from the holder and stuck out his arm, a silent request.

"I'm not wearing a…" Sam paused, watching the ring shimmer in the flickering candlelight, "wedding ring. We're not married."

Dean's smile faltered, but quickly recovered with a smirk. "Really? I would totally consider us married."

Sam's jaw dropped. "How?"

"I mean, come on. I know you better than you know yourself. Oh, don't give me that look. We fuck like newlyweds. We sleep in the same bed most of the time. We fight like an old married couple. We're practically Siamese twins."

"Conjoined twins."

"Whatever. Point is, we're practically married. Why not make it official?"

Sam blinked. "Dean, we're brothers."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "but would you call what we have between us normal?"

"That's besides the point. We can't get married because we're related."

Dean snorted. "I'm not talking about actual marriage, Sam. For fuck's sake, I have no goddamn legs. What am I supposed to do, compel a priest to marry us? No. It's a gift. A symbol of my love for you. I want you to wear it."

"No," Sam shook his head. "I'm not wearing a creepy ass wedding ring."

"Creepy?" Dean said in mock offense. "That's hurtful."

"No," Sam glowered. "It's perfectly reasonable."

"Here, just let me put it on." Dean said, grabbing Sam's hand. Before Sam could tear out of his brother's grasp, he slipped the ring onto his finger. There it sat, glaring and obvious.

"It looks great, dude." Dean smirked, gripping Sam's fingers and gently inspecting his hand. Sam tore his hand out of his grasp.

"Wear it for me?" Dean said, voice pleading. Sam stared down at the ring. He had to admit, Dean had gotten his size correct. It didn't look bad.

Sam blinked, disbelieving. "I'm not doing anything for you."

"Bitch." Dean scoffed.

Jerk was on the tip of Sam's tongue, but he couldn't bear to say it. Dean looked disappointed at the obvious rejection. Sam stared down at the ring, his mind ping-ponging back and forth. To wear or not to wear, that was the question. He could easily rip it off his finger and fling it over Dean's shoulder.

But that wouldn't get him one step closer to gaining Dean's unwavering trust, would it?

So, Sam slumped against the bedframe, meeting Dean's eyes. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll wear it."

Dean's smile could light up a room.