Dean sighed contently as he crossed the threshold into the warmly lit burrow. Sam was passive and silent in his embrace. His cheek was nestled against Dean's shoulder. Dean continued to whisper soft assurances against his sweaty hair. Sam's eyes were distant, his face frightfully devoid of emotion. His expression reminded Dean of a house with every window and door barred, forbidden access.

"Sam, look at me."

Sam did not.

"We're home." Dean placed Sam in the recliner. The frame creaked under Sam's weight.

Having fed, Dean felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His reptilian half was plump and heavy. His senses were duller. His nerves, soothed. He had been in the tunnels for nearly four hours, impatiently waiting for the slaves' return. He'd distracted himself by slithering through the catacombs, letting his mind drift to Sam and his hysterical belief in his mystical pregnancy. What would Dean have to do to stamp down his anxiety, force the slaves to buy a pregnancy test?

Dean studied Sam, both hands braced on the arm rests. His brother would not meet his eyes. His pallor was pale, dark circles ringing underneath his hazel orbs. Sam silently brought his long legs up and wrapped his arms around them, leaning back against the bloated leather. Crusted blood colored Sam's lips and bristly chin like a macabre tattoo.

"Sam, what were you thinking?" Dean rested his hand on Sam's leg, caressing his calf. "Look at me, dude. Please."

Sam did not.

"Did you really think you could save him? Did you think you would be able to outrun me? That he'd be able to outrun me?"

Sam's gaze flickered over to the table, his eyes lazily sweeping across the candles. He leaned his head back, exposing the long line of his throat. Candlelight danced over his features.

"I didn't mean to upset you." Dean continued. "I wish I could do something to make it better. I don't want to see you uncomfortable. I just wish," Dean sighed, "I just wish you'd get with the status quo already."

"Can I have my toothbrush?" Sam shifted in the recliner.

"Huh?" Dean blinked, startled by Sam's random request.

"My toothbrush. I want to brush my teeth." Sam folded his legs down.

Dean stared. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"I still have some of your blood in my mouth." Sam continued. "I want a washcloth, too."

"Okay," Dean said softly. Then, louder: "Fine."

He pushed away from the recliner, slithered to the supplies, and rummaged through the bags until he pulled out Sam's toothbrush, toothpaste, a bottle of water, and a cup. He dug through another bag until he found a pack of white cotton washcloths.

"Here," Dean said, dumping the items onto Sam's lap.

Without pause, Sam uncapped the water and poured the contents onto the washcloth. He scrubbed his face until his skin was a raw, healthy pink. Dropping the rag to the floor, Sam uncapped the toothpaste and squirted a big blue glob onto his toothbrush, not pausing before shoving it into his mouth and brushing furiously.

Dean swooped down and grabbed the rag, glancing down at the pinkish stains. Sam spat into the cup, took another swig of water, and swished the liquid around in his mouth. Once finished, Sam silently thrusted the items out towards Dean without looking at him. Dean paused, trying to gauge Sam's mental state. Sam's eyelids were dropped, heavy with exhaustion. Dean's fingers clamped over the cup. Dean slithered out of the room, dumped the dirty contents of the cup into a corner. Sam had repositioned himself again, legs folded near his chest, his cheek pressed against the leather. As Dean approached, he focused on the connection between them. Like inhaling a potent drug, Dean was struck with a whiplash of emotion coming from his brother: weariness, trepidation, guilt, and loathing. If Sam felt what Dean was doing, he did not show it.

Dean placed Sam's toothbrush and toothpaste on the table beside the grocery sack. Inside laid a small bag of mangos, a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a Gatorade. Dean fingered his amulet; he turned back to Sam.

"Are you hungry?" Dean said.

Sam gave no answer.

"Your lunch looks pretty good, dude."

Sam's tongue darted out, moistening his bottom lip.

"Sammy?"

Sam finally swung his gaze in Dean's direction.

"How were you turned?" Sam's voice was deadened. Cold.

Caught off guard, Dean's brow furrowed. "What?"

"How were you turned?" Sam repeated. "You never told me."

"Sam-"

Something suddenly shifted in Sam's demeanor. It was like flipping a switch. Sam's arms flew out, his large hands gripping the armrests, and he leaned forward, spittle flying out of his mouth.

"How!?" Sam shouted, his teeth bared, "Tell me how!"

Dean's eyes grew as wide as saucers; he leaned back. "Sam, calm down."

Sam threw a finger up, face flushing. "No, you don't get to keep that from me! Tell me! Now!"

Dean grimaced. "Fine!"

Sam looked at him expectantly, his chest rising and falling erratically.

"She fed part of herself to me."

Sam blinked. "What?"

Dean scowled at the memory. It had been a traumatic experience. He'd been so helpless and afraid. Afraid for Sam, mostly. Even with that massive female Naga crouched over him, Dean could think of nothing more than making sure Sam got out of there in one piece. That was his job, right? Watching after his pain-in-the-ass little brother?

"She tore off a chunk of her arm and forced it into my mouth. She made me eat it. It wasn't pretty."

Sam studied his face. His expression was a silent question, Are you telling the truth? After a handful of tense seconds, Sam must've found something in Dean's demeanor that confirmed, yes, he was being honest. Sam sunk back, all the energy suddenly sucking out of him like a plug being yanked out of a sink. He dragged his hand across his face, abruptly looking much older than his twenty-three years.

Dean slithered forward, drawing closer to Sam. Sensing Sam's need for space, however, stilled him.

"Why didn't you..." Sam paused. "Why haven't you turned me?"

Dean's eyes widened in shock, as if a sudden jolt of electricity had coursed through his veins, leaving them momentarily stunned.

"I think I know why," Sam continued. "I'm easier to handle this way. Easier to control."

Dean swallowed thickly, ignoring his own pounding heartbeat. "That's not it, Sam. You've always felt like a freak. Ever since we were little kids. Why would I put this curse on you?"

"You're lying," Sam shook his head, his gaze tight and pensive, "You just want to keep me human. Keep me weak. I'm not an idiot, Dean."

Dean turned around, finding he couldn't look at Sam. Sam wasn't wrong, was he? Even if his Naga instincts had driven him to mark his brother with his mating bite, it could have just as easily driven him to turn him. He could turn Sam now, if he so chose.

Dean ground his teeth together, a bloom of scarlet coloring his cheeks. Was it such a sin to keep Sam all to himself?

"You never want me to leave you." Sam's voice trailed off. "You've made sure I can't."

Dean spun around. "Yeah, so what? I'm a selfish bastard. Isn't that what you said? I'm a selfish bastard?"

"But you don't have to be."

"No, Sammy," Dean's bared his teeth in something nothing like a smile. "I'm a monster, remember? You said it yourself. This is what monsters do."

"You can let me go."

"No," Dean snarled. "I can't. I won't. Do you have any idea..." Dean paused, dragging a hand down his face and rubbing furiously at his eyes. "Do you have any fucking idea how much it hurt me when you ditched us for Stanford?"

Sam stiffened, his eyebrows furrowing. "Don't you-"

"It killed me, Sam. It had always been Dad, you, and me. Always. We were a goddamn family! And you...what you did, tearing our family apart like that, that was fucked. Fucked!"

Sam's face crumpled. "I had to get away from Dad. And...and that life. That life. I didn't want it. I wanted to be normal. I didn't ever, ever want to leave you, Dean. You understand that, right? I didn't do it to hurt you."

"Well, you did," Dean snapped. "But don't worry. You won't ever leave me again."

"Dean, you have to let me-"

"No!" Dean snarled, the tendon in his throat bulging. He swung down, grabbed a leg of a chair, and hurled it at the wall. Bam! Sam jumped. He watched the obliterated furniture crumble onto the floor.

Dean's arms were suddenly poised on either side of his body, his face inches away from Sam's, his emerald eyes ablaze with barely contained rage. Sam shivered, caught off guard by his brother's proximity.

"You're mine, Sammy. You belong to me." Dean hissed lowly, grabbing Sam's thigh, claws biting into the worn, musty denim.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "Dean-"

"And I intend on keeping you, do you understand?"

Sam's eyes danced over his brother's flushed face, "You can't keep me forever, Dean."

"Watch me."