Three days passed. Due to the lack of natural light, Sam only comprehended the changing of days by following Dean's routine. When it was time for bed, Dean snuffed all the candlesticks out. In the morning, he lit the candles again. Dean must've possessed a sixth sense because when Sam asked, his brother always knew exactly what time of day it was; although Sam could chalk that up to Dean lying, he didn't think his brother had any interior motive.
Even though it had only been three days, for Sam, it felt like three weeks. Since he was determined to gain Dean's trust, he'd focused on making himself as unresisting as possible. Thankfully, Dean's advances did not go anywhere below the belt. The most physical contact Dean bestowed upon him were kisses and cuddles, which Sam was shamefully grateful for. It wasn't like his skin didn't crawl every time Dean's venomous fangs nibbled across his gorge, but it was better than being the recipient of Dean's monster cock.
Dean continued to hand feed him, much to Sam's chagrin. Sam didn't fully understand Dean's fixation with providing for him. Did it give him a sense of control? Was Dean just tremendously infatuated with food? Sam knew Dean's obsession for food was there before he'd been turned into a Naga, now it seemed like it was Dean's personal goal to feed Sam until he popped. There were several times Sam had to push Dean away and say enough for Dean to retract his arm. Or maybe, Sam thought, Dean really did like taking care of him. Wasn't one of the love languages gift giving?
Silently, Sam took note of the changes in his brother. For one, even though Dean's personality had turned darker, more sadistic and primal, his brother had kept the majority of his personality traits: the good and the bad. Dean took naps several times a day. Perhaps it was because of his size or his metabolism or the fact that down in the moist, dark sewer system there wasn't much to do. Along with several clothing items, Dean had purchased a wide range of reading material for Sam. Books like Catch-22, The Sun Also Rises, and On the Road. Sam tried to read while Dean laid asleep beside him, but it was difficult to concentrate on a man trying to survive the madness of war when Sam had become a poster boy for madness himself.
Progressively the thick bulge in his brother's snake half had shrunk, leaving a small knot behind. Sam didn't know how often Dean needed to eat. He hoped it wasn't often because he didn't know how many victims Sam could bear on his conscience. It wasn't like he was the one devouring civilians, but Sam had never been good at distancing himself from his brother's actions. Maybe he could convince Dean to eat animals instead. Yeah, Sam thought bitterly, like Dean would ever go for that.
By the third day, Dean seemed to have dropped his guard. A little after they had woken up, Dean said he was going to explore the sewers. Sam couldn't believe his ears. He sat in bed, staring at the room's entrance, waiting for Dean to pop his head back inside and say, Gotcha! But after fifteen minutes and no sign of Dean, Sam slowly swung his legs down from the mattress, looked for his shoes, and grabbed a candlestick. The flames flickered, hot and glaring, in his hands. He dared to give a peek at the sleeping slaves before turning back to the entrance. The inky blackness looked like a maw yearning to devour.
Sam couldn't help but think this was too easy. How could Dean be this trusting of him after only a few short days? Then again, they had been as thick as thieves as children and even more so as adults, so Sam couldn't say he was shocked. Sam had Dean wrapped around his finger ever since Dad thrusted his upbringing onto Dean's small four-year-old shoulders. It was no wonder Dean had succumbed to Sam's affectionate attitude so quickly.
Sam's heart slammed in his chest. His hands shook. The candlelight bounced across the moist metal walls. He mentally tried to map the location of the manhole they'd gone down the first night, but each step closer to the entrance sounded like canon fire. Had his steps always sounded so loud? Maybe he needed to take off his shoes? No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't risk slipping and falling in his socks.
Sam licked his lips, listening keenly for slithering. He was met by a low wet dripping, a deep rumbling from the traffic above, and creaking pipes. He stepped outside the room. He held his breath, expecting something. Expecting anything. But all he was met with were two tunnels, just like he'd seen days prior. Sam thrusted the candlestick out, lighting the way. He took a tentative step forward and began to walk. With each step, Sam's stomach wound tighter and tighter. He expected Dean to burst from every dark, moist corner. But after five minutes, Sam figured he had a real shot of escaping. Dean must've been in a completely different part of the sewer.
Just then, Sam heard a sound. Distant, but distinguishable.
"Sam!"
Sam's stomach plummeted into his guts. His heart stop beating. Sam's muscles sparked, became electrified and screaming. Sam bolted. His feet pounded against the wet concrete, the flame flickering wildly in his hand. He skittered to a stop moments before slamming into a dead end. He twisted around, sprinting in the opposite direction.
"Sam!"
Nearer. Sam could note the wrath writhing beneath his name. He pounded the pavement harder, his muscles screaming with each stride. His breaths came in harsh pants, his lungs tight. Every tunnel appeared identical. Everywhere he turned: a cold, wet dark. Like an open grave.
"Sam, where the fuck are you?!"
Painfully close. Sam sprinted faster. He heard a slithering somewhere behind him. Rapid movement, the tugging of powerful abdominal muscles. Closer. Everywhere he turned he was met with a dead end-a cluster of pipes. He backtracked, rushing back into a larger tunnel. Closer.
He was plunged into darkness. His candle. It had gone out. Trembling, Sam took a step back. The candle clattered to the ground. His back hit cold, moist metal. He jumped away, his boots smacking against the concrete. The sound could hardly be heard over the rapid slithering. A pair of jade spheres popped into existence a mere yard away.
"There you are," came an angry hiss.
"Dean," Sam began, but was caught off guard when something huge and scaly and lukewarm wrapped around him. Sam gasped, pushing at the powerful muscles. Sam could hardly believe it. Dean had wrapped him in his coils. Sam's resistance backfired and Dean squeezed tighter. Sam could hardly feel his thighs. He was belly deep in Dean's scales; only his arms were free.
"You think you could outrun me?" Dean hissed, tone dripping with rage. Dean plunged low until his eyes hovered only inches from Sam's own. Dean's breath was hot, gamey.
"Dean, let me go." Sam panted. Sweat poured down his forehead, flicking across his jaw, dampening his overgrown, greasy locks. The floating orbs dipped lower. Sam stiffened.
Dean's tongue found the long expanse of Sam's throat. Saliva, wet and hot, drippled down his skin with each vicious lap. After a moment, Dean pulled away.
"Why would you try to leave me? Haven't I been so good to you?" Dean growled. "I feed you, I wash you, I clothe you, I keep you warm. For fuck's sake, Sam, haven't I treated you with respect?"
"Please, let me go. You're hurting me." Sam said, although that wasn't entirely true. He couldn't move, sure, but it wasn't particularly painful. That didn't mean his situation couldn't become painful if Dean changed his mind.
Dean ignored him, "I've respected your boundaries and you pull this shit?!"
"Just get me out of your coils, alright? You're squeezing me. It doesn't feel good." Sam replied.
Dean laughed, cruel and cold. Sam winced. If he didn't know who had captured him, Sam would've thought there was a stranger in front of him.
"Why? I caught you fair and square," Dean hissed into his ear. "Finders keepers, remember?"
"We need to get you help, Dean. You can't stay like this. You can't be a monster forever."
Dean sniffed but didn't reply. Instead, he tilted away.
"This was your last chance, Sammy," Dean said, a note of disappointment in his voice. "Too bad you blew it."
Sam's heart skipped a beat. "W-what do you mean?"
Dean pressed a kiss to his lips, chaste.
"You're gonna be a part of me forever, baby." Dean predatorily hissed, caressing Sam's hair. His claws scraped Sam's scalp. Goosebumps exploded on his arms.
Terror shot down Sam's back like electricity. This is it, Sam thought, panicked. Dean is going to kill and eat me. Maybe not in that order, either.
"Dean, y-you can't." Sam said, his voice heavy with dread.
"Oh, but I can. This is long overdue." Dean sneered. "I should've done this right after I turned."
Sam felt hot tears in his eyes; he cursed himself for his weakness. He couldn't believe he had begun crying like a fucking civilian. He was a trained hunter, after all. He should be scrambling to get out of Dean's embrace, not just accepting his fate like a fatten lamb for the slaughter.
"Shhh," Dean murmured, caressing Sam's cheek. "It only hurts for a little bit, but then the pain goes away."
Something snapped in Sam's psyche. The primal urge to survive was too deeply routed in his human framework. He decked Dean in the face. Dean's head snapped back. A moan of pain exploded from the dark. Sam squirmed, ignoring his throbbing knuckles.
Dean snarled, unclenching his coils, and picked Sam up bridal style. Dean carried him like a hunter carrying a quartered deer carcass back to his cave. Sam struggled in his arms, but Dean pressed him closer, his arms like iron bands. Dean hissed against his ear, "Stop it. Before I drop you."
Sam did not comply. When they got to the room, Sam could barely look at Dean's face. His mind was overrun with blind panic, with a crushing need to get away from the grasp of a ravenous predator. Dean tossed Sam on the bed punishingly rough. Sam hit at an odd angle, his lower back muscles twitching. Sam scrambled up, but Dean pounced, shoving him back down.
Dean's face was a mask of wrath: his lips were curled over his razor-sharp teeth in a soundless snarl, eyes fierce and feral, his claws poised and ready. Dean raked his claws inches away down on either side of Sam's body with a blood curdling growl. The comforter tore. Puffs of downy feathers floated in the air. Sam hardly even recognized the damage. His throat was tight with terror. The only time Sam could remember Dean looking this angry was when he had left for Stanford, the acceptance letter burning in his backpack, his throat sore from shouting.
Sam decided to change tactics.
"I'm sorry," Sam pleaded, pawing at his brother's chest. Tears spilled down his cheeks involuntarily. "I won't do it again. I promise. I love you, Dean. Please don't do this. Please."
"Begging isn't going to help. I've already made up my mind." Dean said coldly. A smile curled on his face, anything but friendly. In fact, he looked hungry. Ravenous, even. Sam trembled.
"You'll regret this, Dean. Once you calm down and realize what you've done…you won't be able to live with yourself." Sam croaked.
"Oh, I don't know about that." Dean purred, leaning down and pressing his face against Sam's racing pulse point. He nuzzled his neck, humming, "I think I'm going to enjoy this quite a lot."
"Please." Sam said desperately, clutching at Dean's shoulders, his chest, trying to get his brother to see reason, to calm down and think for a second. "I love you. I…I love you more than anyone. You don't want to hurt me. You love me. You said it yourself, you love me."
"Exactly," Dean sneered. "You're mine. Don't you get that? You're made for me."
Dean suddenly wrenched his shirt collar, tearing it down to expose his shoulder. Sam writhed against the mattress. Dean opened his jaws wide, exposing his sharp teeth. He smashed his face against Sam's trembling flesh.
"Dean, no!"
Dean's fangs pierced the curve between Sam's shoulder and throat. Pain sliced through Sam's veins, shocking in its intensity. A broken moan escaped his parted lips. He clutched at Dean's monstrous shoulders. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, tortured by not only Dean's horrific betrayal, but the knowledge he was going to die by the hands of someone he loved.
