Without a clear sense of direction, Sam led the captive down a randomly chosen tunnel. The man gasped. It was the shock of the air; it was like stepping back into a cooler. Stepping into a tomb. The man's movements were slow, clumsy. He reminded Sam of a lost lamb, some dumb animal that couldn't comprehend the danger he was in. Sam was struck with both a sense of ripe anger and crippling sympathy. This man didn't deserve to die. None of them had. His pulse drummed in his ears. If only Sam could find the ladder, he could bring this stranger to safety. He could save a life. Isn't that what Sam was good at: saving lives?
Sam kept a firm grip on his arm, nails digging into his clammy, hot skin. He immediately wished he had brought a candle. How stupid he had been to run half-assed into the dark. Sam caressed the wall as he sprinted, palm quickly becoming grimy and wet. Sam's skin prickled with goosebumps. His boots pounded the moist concrete, slapping into puddles. With each lunge, Sam's ass gave a throb; it was a well-used ache. He ignored the discomfort and the memory of Dean's monstrous cock pounding inside him. Had it only been a little over an hour ago that they'd fucked? Time seemed stretched out, pulled like taffy in Sam's brain. His mind-numbing anxiety had screwed with his perception of the world.
"Where are we going, man?" The captive repeated, blood-shot eyes swinging wildly, pulling half-heartedly at the hand encircling his arm. The man's grip was firm, though. The victim had decided this was a bad trip. He quietly reminded himself not to purchase dope from Rocco again.
"Shhhh," Sam whispered. "Just don't talk."
Sam strained his ears, listening to any nuances on the moist air. He was on auto-pilot. The only thing he could think to do was run until they hit a dead end and turn back around. He didn't know if he was pushing deeper into the catacomb or drawing nearer to the light. There was no way of telling. The druggie was no help. In fact, he was falling behind. Sam was taking more and more of his weight. Sam wondered if he had the strength to carry him. Perhaps throw him over his shoulder: a fireman's carry. Would the captive freak out? Or would he understand Sam was trying to save his life?
Just then, Sam heard a strange sound in the distance. A low, dragging slither. Dean had sensed them. Of course he had. Dean's sense of hearing and smell were superior. He could probably detect the vibrations of their footsteps from miles away.
Fear trembled across his lips. He pulled the druggie along faster, faster, faster. The captive's strained, wheezing breaths were deafening at Sam's side. He could hear his brother now: a quick, well-purposed slithering. He was on the hunt.
Sam's chest collided with a concrete wall. A moment later, his unwilling companion smacked against it, too. Their connection was broken. Severed. Sam didn't have time to fumble for him. He coughed, beating his chest with his hand, forcing the air back into his lungs. He braced against the wall. It was then, sucking in quick breaths and blinking the stars from his eyes, Sam felt the pain. Liquid heat scorched across his cheek. His hand flew up. Hot blood gushed between the webs of his fingers.
"Oh, fuck," the stranger slurred on the ground. "What the fuck, dude?"
"Sorry," Sam panted. "Dead end."
A low, spine-tingling hissssss sliced through the air like a serrated blade. Although it was so dark one couldn't see his own hand in front of his face, the druggie's twitching, over stimulated muscles tensed. The hair at the back of his neck rose. The man had felt the change in the limited space.
A pair of glowing reptilian eyes popped into existence a dozen yards away, drawing closer. Closer, closer, closer.
Sam clenched his jaw, feeling the raw aftermath of a new discovered ache: the burden of helplessness he carried inside himself.
"Ssssssam?" Dean's voice hissed sharply from the dark, tinged in barely restrained rage. Sam pictured Dean in his mind's eye: his powerful serpentine muscles slinking to and fro, his face twisted in a mask of unadulterated hunger, foam leaking down his chin.
Sam's feet turned into lead. He was rooted in place. Dean's emerald orbs drew nearer until he was a yard away, poised several feet over their heads.
"Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean snapped. "You're bleeding. Why are you out of the room?"
Fear wedged itself along Sam's spine, twisting between flesh and bone, prodding him to shield the stranger behind him. "Dean, don't. Just let him live. Please."
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" A guttural growl rose from deep within his chest. "Get away from him, Sam."
"No, Dean. I just...I just want you to stop killing people." Sam felt the captive behind him. He was becoming increasingly aware that what was happening wasn't some bad trip. He was shaking, fingers reaching for the back of Sam's grimy shirt, twisting at the fabric. Dean's stomach grumbled in the dark, ominous.
Sam's voice cracked, his eyes becoming misty. "They're innocent people. They don't deserve this."
"This is what I am now. I'm a predator. This is what I have to do to survive, dude. For fuck's sake, we've been over this!" Dean growled, exasperated. "Now get out of the way."
"No," Sam scowled, his lips forming a tight, white line. "No, I won't. I won't stand around while you-"
Viper quick, Sam felt two strong arms snake around his torso and yank him up off the ground. One hand cupped the middle of Sam's back while another secured an arm under his ass. Sam gasped, squirming automatically in Dean's embrace. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but we'll talk after I eat."
Dean turned around and slithered a few paces. All the while, Sam wiggled and bucked, attempting to break free from a nearly unbreakable show of strength. Dean gave a sharp sigh of annoyance and swiftly placed Sam on the ground. Once his ass hit the concrete, he blindly tried to push up, only to be gently shoved back down. With one hand, Sam clawed at Dean's arm, gouging shallow scratches that healed in mere seconds. With his other, Sam tried to pry Dean's fingers from where they were splayed at the center of his chest.
"Shhhh," Dean said. "Just breathe."
Sam's attempts at escape doubled. Dean decided to wait him out. After a few minutes of struggling, Sam's movements became hitching and pathetic. Sam was a mess of tears and shame and pleading desperation. Dean's heart clenched. Dean wanted nothing more to soothe Sam, to caress and cuddle him. To make him feel safe and loved and treasured and adored. His Sammy. But not now. Not when his ravenous appetite was tearing him asunder. Not when he was seconds away from shoving Sam away and tearing the head off that delicious, squealing pig-man pressed against the corner. To taste the blood between his teeth, to suck the marrow from his bones.
Dean's snake stomach clenched as tight as a raised fist. Dean's squeezed his eyes closed. He could barely hold back a hiss of scorching agony. His stomach felt like it was eating itself. Dean sucked in a glob of saliva that leaked from the roof of his mouth. His teeth ached to bite, to tear, to devour.
"Dean," Sam said, fingers squeezing his forearm hard enough to leave a bruise. "Please don't."
Dean forced his eyes open. Dean's voice was calm, despite the war waging inside his body. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I'll kill him quick. I promise. For you I'll kill him quick."
Sam's sobs redoubled. Dean's brow furrowed. There was a three inch gash in Sam's cheek, leaking blood. He really should attend to Sam before he ate. He released Sam. Sam didn't bother to get up. Dean brought his wrist to his mouth and sliced a deep cut into his flesh with one leaking, venomous fang. Before the wound could heal, he quickly brought his bloody wrist to Sam's mouth, forcing his lips apart. Sam gagged, hands flying up to claw hysterically at his arm. Blood leaked past Sam's clenched teeth and spilled down his throat.
"It's okay," Dean purred soothingly, trying to ignore the maddening urge to break away from Sam and finally sate his hunger. "Just trying to heal that nasty scrape, dude."
Sam went slack and relaxed his jaw, blood pouring into his mouth and down his throat, heady and dark. Soon, Dean's wrist had zipped closed and he pulled his arm away. Sam felt the odd sensation of the cut on his cheek knitting itself back together. He lifted two fingers and patted at his skin; the digits came away coated in sticky blood. His face was still bloody-but it was healed.
Sam was silent as Dean grabbed under his arms and pushed him against the wall; a silent order to stay put. Sam's eyes were wet and his chest jerked up and down with quick, painful sobs. I have to get my shit together, Sam thought. But I can't. I failed. I failed Dean. I failed Dad. I failed Jess. I fail everyone.
Dean pressed a kiss to his forehead, horribly soft and caring. Sam stiffened, throat working to expel the residue of blood in his mouth. He shrunk back, but he only succeeded in pressing harder against the wall. Dean pulled away and caressed his cheek in one lingering, gentle swipe.
"Dean, don't."
"I have to do this to survive," Dean said, and he was gone.
Sam wanted to press the palms of his hands against his ears, to block out what would happen next. The only blessing was that he couldn't see Dean's savage actions. Dean's glowing eyes disappeared, his snake half twisting and winding. His scales brushed against Sam's calf. He was facing away from Sam. He was facing towards the captive. Cornered, the druggie stared, hypnotized in his horror, at the glowing eyes above him.
There was sharp change of air. Strike. A gasp. A groan. Dean couldn't wait for the venom to infect his prey's system. There was some struggling. Sneakers on tile. A sharp hiss. A weak, stumbling thing being violently shoved against the wall. The snap of a spine severing at just the wrong place. Urine. Loss of bodily function.
A shriek: "Ahhhhhhhhhh!"
And Dean was feeding. Dean shoved him feet-first into his huge, unhinged jaws. The captive managed a hysterical shout of panic. He clawed at the ground, unable to feel anything below his waist. Nails were ripped off. Streaks of blood against the wet concrete. A desperate attempt to stay outside the body that was swallowing him down. The venom had been light. Dean had lied. The man was not dying quickly. He was being brutally murdered. Paralyzed from the waist down, being dragging into a swelteringly hot, impossibly tight throat and into a gurgling, putrid belly.
"Fuck! Fuck! S-stop! Help! Help me!"
Sam slammed his hands over his ears and shrunk into himself. Bile rose in his throat, tangled with Dean's Naga blood, making it all the more sickly acidic. He paid attention to the pounding of his own racing heart-and thought, although perhaps a little hysterically-that he could hear other hearts as well. Smaller. Fainter.
How would be he able to carry these things when they held the same insatiable, bloody disposition of their father?
"Help me! Ahhhhh-"
The ear throbbing scream was cut off abruptly with a loud crunch. Dean had seized the back of the man's head and had crushed it. Of course, Sam could not see this, but he knew. He knew by the sound, the gurgle. Bone. Brain. Blood. Sam pressed his hands even harder against his ears.
Time passed. Sam didn't know how long. He startled when he felt hands on his shoulders. He didn't fight when Dean quietly picked him up and carried him back to the room. Sam chose to ignore the stench of death on Dean's breath and the soft sounds-words, press of warm mouth at temple, squeezing of thigh-of comfort.
