deedwithoutname

Glossolalia

deedwithoutname — Wed, 21 Jan 2015 22:29:42 GMT

I'm not quite sure when I fell in love with you.

I don't think I could pinpoint it if I tried. This isn't the sort of thing that crystallizes down to just one second. It happened in a million moments, not not just one. And, those, I remember. Sewing up a wound between your shoulder blades, one you couldn't reach yourself, we had to be young because there are so few scars on you in the memory; I remember how you winced and swore under my touch, I remember smelling blood, sweat, alcohol, you. Being shaken awake by you, pulled out of a motel bed that smelled like sex and beer, it was the middle of the night and you were so excited because you had solved whatever case we were working, and I couldn't help but grin and blink away my exhaustion because you were so proud of yourself. Sunlight glinting off of that flask you always keep in the pocket of your jacket (maybe Dad's, maybe Bobby's, maybe just yours, I'm not sure) as you raise it to drink whatever's in there, light flashing into your eyes and illuminating the million different shades of green in there. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I remember every single one of those moments. Maybe not the details, but definitely the way the light hit you and outlined every perfection, how your voice buzzed in my blood and under my ribs, how I felt.

The flask. You know, you drink way too much. But I'm pretty sure you know that, and I guess there are worse ways you could cope, so I won't bring it up.

I fell in love with you over a matter of years. Maybe I would have tried to stop it if I knew what was happening, maybe I would have thought it was wrong, but it's a little too late for that now. How was I supposed to know that, one day, when you clapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned at me with your face all scratched up, blood glistening in your hair as the sun set, my heart would catch and I wouldn't be able to breathe? How was I supposed to know that you talk in your sleep, and sometimes you cry, and how was I supposed to know those half-murmured words about monsters and people you couldn't save and, way too often, me...how was I supposed to know they'd be like a freaking spell? Pulling at parts of me I thought had died years ago, fish hooks sunk into my heart and my marrow, drawing out tears and gasps and a desperate need to fix you. You're broken pieces in my hands, you know that? You're damned sharp, I cut myself on you sometimes, and that probably doesn't even make sense, does it? I keep holding onto you anyway. I don't have the slightest idea how to glue you back together, but at least I can keep all those shards in one place and working in relative harmony. And, y'know, maybe I'm broken, too, and maybe our pieces fit together.

This is the kind of thing that sneaks up on a guy. What I feel for you, I mean. Apparently, it's also the kind of thing that puddles and drips and fills up all of the hollow places inside me. There were a lot more than I knew. It formed in a billion nameless, dingy hotel rooms, came from the sounds of exorcisms and angel's wings, found its way into me when I focused on your breathing in the middle of the night and prayed it would never stop. I don't really know how to explain this to you. How to tell you that your heartbeat is like a song, and I wish I could get close enough to hear it. I can't do this to you. I don't have the greatest track record when it comes to relationships.

I've seen you in those perfect, vulnerable little moments that paint a clearer picture of who you are than any of your self-made slang or your clothes or your music. I can see you right now, face turned to the sun, eyes closed and hair sparkling gold, features splashed with light and arranged into an expression of perfect bliss as you take in the early-morning heat. I can see the little flicker of pleasure around your eyes and mouth as you pull on a freshly-washed shirt; maybe it's torn and burned in places, but at least it smells like soap and not blood or sulfur. I can see you when you brush against me. When we're hunting, when we're in danger, and I stay close enough for you to touch me without even meaning to. You get this look on your face. Just for a second. Someone else probably wouldn't have caught it. Utter peace, and reassurance fueled by the knowledge that I'm right there with you, and I'll always be there...and you're not alone.

I'll try and tell you what you are to me, Dean. Yeah, I'll use your name, too, it's not like I could pretend I was talking about someone else here. Am I talking? Or just thinking? I can't really tell. I never would have told you any of this before, you would have flipped. And I can't stand your anger, your disappointment. Every word you say against me feels like it's being cut into my flesh.

So. Here goes.

You are brilliant green eyes, fierce and wide and defiant even when reflecting Hellfire, and close-cropped hair that looks black in one kind of light and dirty-blonde in another. To me, you are blood being gently dabbed off my knuckles with alcohol, and shirts that smell like that awful cologne you wear because you think women like it (and maybe they do, I wouldn't know-and you definitely bed enough of them), and furious, jagged music. You're the pattern of lights in Heaven's sky. You're stargazing, cold beer, the glossy black finish of an ancient but beautiful car. You're comfort, and about seventy different types of pain no one else can make me feel (jerk), and black smoke and salt and loyalty and resurrection and that little bump on my jaw that I got when you broke it while we were sparring, back when we were kids. You hated yourself for that. I didn't.

I want you to know this, now, because the doctors say you probably won't wake up. They told me you took a really nasty blow to the head and there's not much left inside there. Not that there was much to begin with-sorry. You might still be hanging around, but I bet you took off screaming when I started, if you are. Sorry. I couldn't keep it inside anymore.

I'm waiting to pull the plug. The one that's keeping all these machines going, keeping you technically alive. I haven't done it yet. Part of it's 'cause you have kind of a bad habit of coming back, and I don't want to screw with your plan, if you have one. Or if someone else does. Part of it's because...Dean, I don't know if I can kill you like this. You wouldn't want to live like this, hooked up to machines and brain-dead, just like you wouldn't want to live if something got you and turned you. But you're not a monster. You're still a man, still my brother, and all those tubes make you look so small.

You're a force of nature, Dean, a whirlwind of emotion and noise and life. This isn't you. Where have you gone?

There's nothing for me to fight this time, and I know I'm gonna have to let you go. Let you die. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

What do you believe you're leaving behind? Nothing, probably. You think death will end you completely, wipe every trace of you from the Earth. You didn't so much as keep a diary.

And you forgot about every life you touched, every child you pried out of the jaws of a monster, every innocent you refused to let die. You forgot about me, too. I've been with you from the beginning, and your story might as well be tattooed on me, carved into my bones like Enochian cloaking runes, for how deeply it's seared into my memory. If someone cut me open, they could read all about a courageous, righteous, resilient man, who did what he could and what he had to and hated himself for it, even though he left a path of saved lives behind him. A man who fought off Satan, defied the will of God to do what he knew was right, a man who died for the only family he had left-multiple times. A man named Dean Winchester.

I love you. I don't know how long it took me to realize that, but I do. More than anything else.

I'll go, as soon as you're gone. I'll pick up right where we left off...saving people. Hunting things. I will tell everyone I meet about you, Dean, about who you were and what you did and why the entire human race owes you a debt a mile wide. You made mistakes, I saw how that hurt you-but you made up for them.

You won't be with me, but I'll remember that bond, that instinct, rooted deeper than breathing and hurting like stretching a dormant muscle with every heartbeat.

I'll remember you.

Everyone Starts Somewhere

deedwithoutname — Wed, 21 Jan 2015 03:16:57 GMT

Dorky little drabble. Two years old. Another OC.

Not much else to say, honestly.

Jay Kinneman rolled his wrists uncomfortably in the metal cuffs that attached them to the table in front of him. Coughing slightly, he raised his eyes to the harsh lights above and the dark mirror across from him, and wished for some water. But he doubted they would bring him any, even if he asked.

He felt empty. Numb. He had cried for a little bit, horrified, overcome with grief, but he had stopped once he saw how the two cops bringing him in were looking at him. Like he was just trying to get them to sympathize with him. A monster playing at being human.

God, wasn't that ironic.

Jay squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, wracked by a sudden wave of memory and guilt. His mother's blood on the floor of the kitchen she had spent so much time keeping absolutely spotless. His sister's screams, then her eerie silence when she realized that he wasn't going to stop. His father's struggles fading under him.

Nausea surged up his throat, and he retched, violently. Nothing came up, and he still felt sick. Jesus. What the hell had he done?

He dropped his head to the table, breathing heavy and throat hitching with tears he wasn't sure he was capable of shedding. He almost prayed to pass out, but caught himself just in time. He was pretty sure that God didn't want to hear from him right now-or ever. Jay hadn't been raised religious, and he'd never had any real interest in any church. But he knew, without a doubt, that he was going to Hell.

Jay closed his eyes against the harsh lights. The most horrible thing a person could do, and he hadn't even had the balls to finish. Even before the neighbors had heard the screams and called the police and sirens had sprung up in the distance. He had stood and backed away, to lean trembling against the wall and press his bloody hands to it as he sobbed and gagged, completely unable to carry on with what he had set out to do. His dad had still stirred weakly on the floor, breath rattling in his throat. And then he laughed. High and weak and scornful. He had spoken, as well, and convinced Jay that everything he had suspected was true, but he still hadn't finished. And then the police kicked down the door.

No, you've gotta believe me, they weren't-they were-

Jay shuddered a little. He had had such a hard time getting his motives out coherently. Somehow, he'd been sure that they would understand if he could just say it. But they just assumed he was stark-raving nuts. Or high. Actually, probably both. He supposed he really couldn't blame them. He certainly felt more than a little unstable right now.

The door suddenly opened, and he opened his eyes and raised his head, just a little. There was a cop standing slightly outside the door frame. Older, with gray in his hair and lines around his eyes, still fit. And trembling with hate, though he hid it well.

"You're entitled to a lawyer," he said stiffly, his tone and eyes perfectly conveying the you soulless, scum-sucking animal that he didn't add. "Some poor bastard volunteered."

"That really necessary?" asked a calm, if slightly weary, male voice. The officer just stepped aside, vanished into the depths of the station. Jay studied the man behind him, who stepped through the doorway, very nearly having to stoop to do so because of his impressive height.

He was white, with strong, prominent features that rendered him attractive, in a rugged, exotic sort of way. Even Jay, a straight male, could tell that. His eyes were green, narrowed in the hostile glare of the lights. He wore his dark hair long enough to be a sharp contrast to his immaculate suit. Jay regarded him tiredly as he pulled out the chair tucked under the other side of the table and sat down across from him, folding his large hands in front of him. There were scars on the knuckles, Jay noticed. Like he had once spent a lot of time fighting.

After offering him a quick, tight smile, the guy who was apparently his lawyer leaned forward to quietly say, "So, your name is Jason Kinneman."

"Jay," Jay automatically corrected him. He nodded, accepting the nickname.

"I'm Sam," he said, extending one scarred hand just far enough that Jay would be able to reach it, even with the cuffs on. But he kept his own hands in his lap. Honestly, it shocked him that this stranger would be so casual about touching him. Didn't he know what he'd done?

Sam pulled his hand back after a couple seconds, not looking particularly bothered by the fact that Jay hadn't reacted the way that he was supposed to. He studied him with the look of someone who knew how to pick out flaws, mild curiosity evident in his gaze, as well as...sympathy. Jay felt a sudden surge of anger. Why the hell should he feel sorry for him?

"You're wasting your time," he said suddenly, speaking through gritted teeth and looking away.

"Why do you say that?" His voice was way too steady, in Jay's opinion. He glanced up, feeling the ache of grief behind his breastbone.

"Don't you know what I did?" he asked, voice dull.

Sam sighed, breaking eye contact. There was a rustle of smooth fabric as he crossed his legs.

"You killed your mother and your sister," he said. "And you tried to kill your father." He leaned forward, hunching his broad shoulders. "Wanna tell me why you did that?"

"I'm nuts," Jay replied, looking down at his hands. "Obviously. Didn't the cops tell you what I said?"

"Yeah. That your family wasn't human. That they were monsters, and you had to go after them." A pause, during which Sam shifted in his chair. "Jay, what exactly made you think they had turned into monsters?"

"Why? Are you gonna try for an insanity plea or something?" he asked bitterly.

"I don't think you're crazy."

Jay raised his head, and focused on green eyes. There was something cold and steely in their depths, something that reminded him of a more mature version of what he was feeling right now. But he didn't think Sam was lying. Or, if he was, he was really, really good at it-which, considering his profession, might be the case.

"You will," Jay began quietly, "if I tell you why I was so sure I had to kill my family."

"We'll see. I'm a little more open-minded than most people." He smiled, and it was all but humorless. "Trust me on that."

Jay hesitated.

"No matter how nutty you think it sounds, believe me when I say I've heard worse," Sam told him, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "Hell, my dad and my brother send my wife and I letters every so often, and the things they say-" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

"You have a brother?" Jay asked. It was Sam's turn to hesitate.

"Yes," he said, nodding slowly. "I do."

"Older or younger?"

"Older."

"So," Jay said, leaning forward and putting his hands on the table. "Do you think you could fight with him until he stopped struggling? Ignore him begging for you to stop? Hold him down, and-and-" He stopped, gritted his teeth, fought back a wave of nausea. "-stab him? Until he quit struggling and you were...you were sure...beyond all doubt...that he was dead...?"

Sam regarded him for a few seconds, before quietly asking, "Why'd you do that to your sister?"

"Her eyes," Jay spit, tightly closing his own. "For months now, they'd glance at me, all of them, and their eyes-"

"What about their eyes?" Sam prodded gently, leaning forward again.

"They were black. Solid black. Like a bird's, but...it just looked wrong." Jay shuddered a little. "There was other stuff, too. Just little stuff, at first. Like, Mom stopped cooking with salt." He swallowed painfully. "That was weird."

"What else?"

"Marie. My sister." He paused, trying to gather his thoughts.

"Wait. Marie and Jason?" Sam's tone was a little skeptical.

Despite himself, Jay smiled a little. "My parents. They were, uh, diehard Ludlum fans. They thought it was kinda clever."

"And what'd you think?"

"I liked to be called Jay," he replied quietly, glad to change the subject, even if just for a second. "I mean, named after Jason freaking Bourne-kinda hard to live up to."

"Your parents expected a lot out of you?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I guess. Not, like, international assassin stuff, but just normal things." Jay tugged at the chains attaching him to the table. "They definitely didn't expect this." He opened his eyes and looked up, suddenly frightened. "I didn't kill them because they put a lot of pressure on me. I didn't resent them or anything. They were just-they were trying to help me. I never hated them for that."

"It's alright, I believe you," Sam soothed. He smirked a little. "Yeah, I understand what it feels like when your parents think they've got your entire future planned out, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who'd kill his family over that."

"Thanks." Jay twisted his fingers together.

"So. Your sister. Marie," Sam began. "Tell me what happened with her."

"She was twenty, but still lived at home. So she had a curfew." He swallowed. "One night, she came in after it, and my parents didn't say a thing to her when she passed them downstairs. That was weird enough, but I didn't really think about it until she came up the stairs and into my bathroom. I was brushing my teeth, water running in the sink. Marie just shoved me out of the way and stuck her hands under the water." He closed his eyes again.

When he didn't continue, Sam shifted in his seat and prompted him with a, "So?"

"She was covered in blood," Jay said numbly. "Her hands, her arms. Her shirt. I didn't even know what to say. It's not really something you expect to see, y'know? I think...I think I asked her what the hell was going on."

"And then what'd she say?"

"She told me it was fine, and not to worry about it. Someone had just...come too close? Gotten too close? And so she'd had to take care of it. That was all." Jay drew a shaky breath. "Then she walked over to me, and whispered in my ear. She said it'd all make sense soon, and all I had to do was be patient."

Sam was quiet for a few seconds, before asking, "So what did you do?"

"I freaked out. I jumped back and screamed at her about how I wanted to know what was happening. She just smiled at me, and her eyes were black. She said, 'Don't worry about it, Jason, there's not really anything you can do right now.' And she left." He smiled bitterly. "I guess she really didn't expect me to do what I did."

"And that's when you decided to go after them?" Sam asked.

"Not right then. But I started thinking about it." He squeezed his hands together. "I was just so afraid. I knew they weren't my family anymore-I could feel that something wasn't right with them. But I didn't really know what to do."

"What made you think a knife would work?"

Jay smiled widely, humorless. "My mom cut herself while she was cooking, one night. I figured that as long as they bled like humans, I could kill them like humans." His smile vanished. "It wasn't as easy as I expected, though. It took a lot to make them stay down, and-oh, God." He dropped his head into his bound hands.

Sam let him tremble violently for a couple minutes, hiding his face and trying not to cry again. Then he heard his chair creak as he leaned forward, and felt a large hand on his shoulder.

"Jay," Sam said, his voice full of all the compassion and understanding that Jay had been unconsciously craving. "You can't hate yourself for this."

"What? You don't think it was wrong for me to brutally murder my entire family?" he snapped.

"I think you were really scared and in a whole lot of danger, and you handled the situation better than a lot of people would," Sam replied. "Definitely a lot better than I would've when I was your age."

"Are you just trying to make me feel better?"

"Yes, to a certain extent."

"I killed them."

"You did the best you could, given the circumstances. And you stopped whatever they were planning. I know a lot of people who would think you were a hero for that."

"I'm not a hero," Jay said, his voice barely audible.

"No," Sam agreed. "You're a scared, freaked-out seventeen-year-old, and your life has been pretty much ruined by three demons who just happened to take up residence in your family members."

"...demons?"

"Yeah, demons." And they're not the only things out there-or the worst." He paused, taking a deep breath. "But my point is that you didn't just roll over and die. You chose to defend yourself, to do what you somehow new was the right thing, despite how hard it was and what it meant for you."

"Yay me," Jay said.

"I'm sorry for what you had to do, and what happened to you," Sam told him. "And what's going to happen to you. But I know what it's like, and I think I know what type of person you are. So I'm going to give you another choice. Alright?"

"Alright."

"You can accept that you killed your family and you got caught," he said matter-of-factly. "We'll go to trial, and I will do my best, but there's only so much I can do for you if you choose this. You'll spend the rest of your life in a lock-up ward, or prison, or on Death Row. And people will hate you for what you did, because they won't understand." He paused, studying him. "But the thing about that is that all the weirdness ends. No more black eyes, no more trying to figure out if something bleeds or not, no more wrongness. It'll be over."

Jay considered that. He'd have to live with what he'd done-he was pretty sure that you had a lot of time to think in all the places that Sam had listed. But he would know that he was atoning the way that he was supposed to-and he'd have the word of a long-haired lawyer that he'd done the right thing.

"What's the other option?" he asked.

"I'll give you a couple of phone numbers," Sam answered, fingers laced together on the table in front of him. "If one doesn't answer, try the other. Last I heard, they were traveling together, but they could have split up. Tell whoever answers your name, and say that Sam told you they would help."

"Then what?" Jay asked, briefly entertaining the idea.

"Then they'll help you figure out why what happened to your family happened," Sam said. "And they'll teach you how to track down the things that did it, and kill them."

Frigid horror shot down Jay's spine. "They're not dead?"

Sam shook his head. "Only the vessels are. The demons probably fled the second you turned your back."

So everything he'd done had been for nothing. He'd failed, and gotten the people he loved killed doing so. Their blood was literally on his hands, he thought, examining a smudge of red-brown on one of his knuckles.

But maybe he could at least finish what he'd set out to do.

"Okay," he said, looking up. "I want to-"

Sam had already produced a pen and a piece of paper, and was scribbling out two strings of numbers. Within seconds, he shoved the paper into Jay's hands. He stared at it, about to ask what he was supposed to do with this with his hands cuffed to a table, but Sam stood up and moved around to his side of it before he could. He crouched, pulling a set of long, thin tools out of his pocket, and went to work on Jay's handcuffs.

His brain wasn't quite able to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. His thoughts were sluggish, and all he could think to say was, "They'll arrest you for helping me."

"No, they won't," Sam replied, standing and putting the tools back where he'd gotten them as the cuffs fell from Jay's wrists. "They're going to think that you slipped your cuffs, knocked me out, and ran."

Jay blinked, slowly standing up, stretching muscles that had been cramping from hours of being in the exact same position. "But the cameras-"

"Turned off." Sam glanced at the nearest ceiling corner, where the dark bulge of a camera lens shone in the bright lights. "I gave them some bullcrap line about lawyer-client confidentiality. They aren't watching us."

"You knew you were going to have to help me escape?" Jay asked. Sam hesitated.

"I...had a feeling."

He glanced down at his unbound wrists, and the paper in his hand. He shoved it into the pocket of his jeans and looked up at the guy who, for some reason, had taken it upon himself to risk everything in order to help a teenage murderer. He had to crane his neck a little to do so. Jay stood at just shy of five-eleven, but Sam had to be well over six feet tall.

"Thank you," he said quietly. Sam offered him a tight smile.

"Don't thank me," he responded. "I've just sent you straight into the same hell that I spent about twenty years trying to get out of."

That sounded pretty damn ominous, but at this point, Jay didn't really care.

"Well, hey, you did manage to get out, right?" he pointed out.

Sam studied him.

"Sometimes, I'm not so sure I did," he said quietly.

Before Jay could respond, he returned to his chair, folding his lanky frame into it with all the grace of a former warrior. He leaned over, lowering his head until his brow was parallel with the table.

"You're going to have to slam my head into the table, to make it look real," he explained. "As hard as you can. Don't worry about hurting me; I have a thick skull."

Jay squared his shoulders, but hesitated.

"My dad," he began.

"He's still alive," Sam told him, not moving. "Awake, too. He's going to be fine."

"Is he..." Jay gestured vaguely to his eyes.

"No. You got it out of him." Sam paused. "He doesn't remember what you did. Or the last nine months, for that matter."

"Can you tell him something for me?" Jay clenched his teeth and swallowed.

"Of course I can. What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell him that it was really, really obvious to you that I'd snapped. That I was completely crazy, and I wasn't sorry about what I did. Not at all." He felt his fingers curl upwards into fists. "Tell him that Jay's all but gone, and he should consider his son dead."

Sam sat up straight, and looked at him. Jay knew that he probably didn't need to explain, but he tried to anyway.

"It'll be easier for him," he said. "I mean, 'cause...even when I do catch up to the things that did this to us, and it's over, I don't plan on going home." He closed his eyes briefly. "I couldn't."

"I understand," Sam said with a nod, and Jay somehow knew that he did. Perfectly. He returned to his original position. "Now, come on. We don't have all night."

Jay took a step forward, then stopped. "I'm not sure I'm strong enough to-"

"You were strong enough to shove a knife up under your mother's ribs," Sam pointed out. Seeing Jay raise his hands in angry, clumsy preparation out of the corner of his eye, he smiled. It conveyed no happiness. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Thud.

"You, too."

Some Time Alone

deedwithoutname — Mon, 19 Jan 2015 15:48:07 GMT

WARNING: Contains self-stuffing and suggestions of Wincest. Once again, in first person. I think that it's one of the last stories that is, though.

"Okay. That should do it." Dean pressed the adhesive end of the bandage into place, tossing the packaging into the trash can next to the bed with an unreadable expression on his face. Cracking a disposable cold pack to activate it, he handed it to me and swung his duffel bag onto his shoulder. "I'll be back in the morning."

I sighed, leaning forward to position the cold pack on my heavily-bandaged ankle, which was propped up on several thin motel pillows. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Dean told me, crossing the small room. "You tripped over a tree root. It's perfectly understandable." He paused, handle on the doorknob. "Granted, walking on your busted ankle for a week and then not telling me it hurt until it was so swollen we had to cut your sock off wasn't."

I winced. "It...didn't seem that bad."

"Yeah, whatever." He yanked open the door. "Just stay off of it, keep it elevated, and don't wait up for me."

The door slammed behind him. I rested my head against the wall at my back, closing my eyes and hating the fact that I was so useless. Dean was just going on a routine ghost hunt, and it wouldn't take him any more than a few hours. He didn't need me. But I couldn't stop myself from wishing I was with him, instead of laid up here.

My ankle throbbed. It really hadn't seemed that bad when I'd first sprained it. In fact, it hurt a lot more now than it had then. But then again, now, I wasn't chasing down a werewolf with a higher-than-healthy level of adrenalin in my body.

I could try to be a little less useless, at least. Maybe I could do research or something. Automatically, I looked around for my laptop, before remembering that it was in my backpack. And that my backpack was in the car. And that the car was with Dean.

I swore under my breath.

After maybe ten minutes of tapping my fingers against each other, staring at the ceiling, and trying to block out the pain of my ankle, I realized that I was hungry. Relieved that I had something else to focus on, I shook the ice pack off of my ankle. I gingerly lowered both feet to the ground, not putting any weight on my injured one. Dean'd just told me to stay off of it. He hadn't said anything about hopping.

Holding onto walls and furniture in order to keep my balance, I guided myself over to the kitchenette in the corner, and pulled open the door of the small refrigerator. It was really more of something to do than an actual attempt to find something to eat. I mean, it was a fridge in a seedy motel room-I was expecting a few bottles of beer or harder alcohol, courtesy of Dean, or maybe some leftovers from whoever had had the room before us (which would have been disgusting). But that wasn't what I found at all.

It was shockingly well-stocked. There was soda on the bottom shelf, both cans and bottles. Several cakes, in a variety of flavors, had been placed on the second shelf. And when I opened the freezer, I found it full of ice cream.

Slowly, I closed both doors, then reopened them. The food was still there. I had no idea how or why, but it was. Oddly enough, I'd been craving something sweet.

Dean wouldn't be back for hours, and I really was hungry. It seemed I didn't have a choice.

Carefully lifting out one of the cakes, I glanced around the kitchenette, hoping for plates, and found a package of paper ones wedged behind the microwave, as well as plastic forks and spoons. I cut myself a good-sized slice and pulled a can of Coke out of the fridge, sitting down at the table and propping my ankle up on the chair across from me. My stomach growled as I shoved the first forkful of cake into my mouth.

It was absolutely amazing. Rich and moist, with a chocolate flavor that didn't taste powdery or manufactured at all. My mouth full, I couldn't hold back a small grunt of appreciation. It had most definitely been awhile since I'd eaten anything this good.

The slice was gone before I even knew it. I was almost shocked when my fork scraped against the plate, nothing but crumbs and smears of icing left. I barely remembered eating it, but I could definitely feel it in my stomach. Heavy and rich. Feeling a little self-conscious, even though there was no one there but me, I popped open the can of soda and drank. It was almost abnormally good. I attributed it to the fact that I hadn't had a soft drink in awhile-Dean pretty much lived on beer, tequila, and whiskey, which meant that I had to, too, apparently. But it was kinda nice to drink something that didn't burn on the way down for once.

As soon as I was done, I had to press the back of my hand to my mouth to stifle a burp. I was full. I could feel my stomach brushing against my belt and jeans, and my hunger was gone. But, somehow, I wanted more. Carefully, I brought my injured ankle down from the chair, and stood. Turning to the counter, plate in hand, I exhaled forcefully. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, but I couldn't help feeling guilty as I cut another slice of cake, the same size as the first. I glanced around the dingy motel room as I maneuvered it onto the plate. Obviously, no one was judging me.

You're twenty-three and capable of killing a ghoul with your bare hands, I reminded myself as sternly as I could. You're allowed to have two slices of cake if you want to.

Telling myself that made me feel a little better, so I sat down and started to eat again.

It really was truly fantastic cake. Again, I barely even noticed I was eating it, just reveling in the flavor. But I definitely noticed as soon as I was done-and not just because it was gone. I was uncomfortably full, though there wasn't any pain, not yet. My stomach bulged against my belt, full and heavy. Sighing, I reached down and loosened it a few notches. Immediately, I was more comfortable-and ready to eat more.

But I hesitated before standing up to get another slice of cake. Something about this felt familiar to me.

College. Yep, that's what it was. Apparently, to get an undergraduate degree from Stanford, you had to do a lot of studying. I usually ate while doing so, in order to meet my deadlines. Which was fine. Usually, I'd settle in with enough snacks to get me through the night, expecting to have a lot of leftovers because food was never really something I was into. Not like Dean.

The problem was that I never paid attention to how much I was actually eating until the button popped off of my jeans, or I tried to stand up and couldn't. Thank God I never had roommates-I could just imagine what would have happened if one of the guys I knew had walked in on me, pinned down by the weight of my overstuffed stomach.

You would think I'd stop doing that. Eating until my belly was so full I couldn't move. But...I didn't.

The proof of that was the small roll of pudge I'd had around my waist when Dean came to tell me Dad was missing. I'd hidden it with loose clothing, and it was gone now-the reason that I had to cinch my belts so tightly. I was fortunate Dean had never noticed the extra weight. He would never have let me live it down.

I stood, moving my ankle very carefully. There was no way I would do anything like that ever again. I had more discipline than that. I took care of myself, my body, and I wasn't my brother, eating whatever I had a craving for and bedding every woman I came across regardless of who-or what-she was. I was in control of my urges.

I paused on my way back to my bed. Urge. Was that really how I was going to classify this? Put it up there with basic animal desires for sex and revenge and freedom?

The sort of thing I had learned the hard way not to repress for too long?

I turned back toward the kitchenette, feeling what I'd already eaten slosh in my full belly. Shoving all but my most basic feelings out of my head, I picked up a knife, fork, and the rest of the cake. After a moment's consideration, I balanced all of that in the crook of one arm and opened the freezer door, pulling out a carton of ice cream. I grabbed a spoon for it as I limped back over to my bed.

It was just in case I got hungry again, before Dean got back. I didn't want to have to hobble all the way over to the fridge a second time.

But, out of the freezer, it would melt.

So? Then I could drink it.

Shocked by the shiver of pleasure that that thought brought me, I almost dropped what I was carrying. Luckily, though, I had reached the bed by that point, so I could put everything down on the nightstand. As soon as I was settled in, with my ankle propped up and pillows at my back, I reached eagerly for the cake.

I closed my eyes as I ate, enjoying my third slice even more than I had my first two. Weirdly enough, I also enjoyed the feel of it going straight to my belly, stretching it. Even the blossoming ache in my stomach was welcome. The pain, still vague as of yet, was a sign of how fully I was. How much I'd eaten.

Once done with that piece, I slid down a few inches, trying for a more comfortable position. I had to take shallow breaths; my belt was cutting into me again. I reached down and loosened it two more notches, sighing in relief. My stomach was warm and soft against my hands. Inside my clothes, it felt round and strained, incredibly sensitive. I decided to try something. Tentatively, I rubbed my swollen belly, in a soothing circular motion. Like I'd done a million times between the shoulder blades of people who were breaking down.

Before I could stop myself, I gasped, a shudder passing through my body. It felt good. No, more than that, it felt great. But I had the feeling I could make it better. Taking my hands off of my midsection, I reached for the cake again.

The fourth-and, apparently, fifth-slices passed in a blur of chocolate. It tasted better than anything I'd ever eaten, and I couldn't have stopped myself even if I wanted to. I basically lost myself in it. I wasn't even aware of my growing belly anymore, until after I'd swallowed the last mouthful.

Immediately, a tight, restrictive pain hit me. I looked down at myself, to see my stomach bulging noticeably against my clothes. My shirt had ridden up a bit, to expose a thin strip of skin, but my belly was still soft enough to spill over my belt a little. Breathing shallowly to keep it from digging any deeper into me, I reached for the buckle of my belt, undoing it and letting the leather slip through the metal until I was comfortable. But by the time that I wasn't being painfully squeezed anymore, there weren't any notches left on the belt. Sighing, I pulled it out of the loops of my jeans and tossed it onto the floor, figuring that I wouldn't need it anytime soon.

I pulled my shirt up, hesitantly touching my belly again and closing my eyes as pleasure shot through me. I rubbed my stomach with one hand, tipping my head back and gasping in enjoyment as I picked up a sixth slice of cake with the other. The growing ache in my midsection meant pretty much nothing to me-no, that wasn't exactly true. It excited me. It definitely excited me.

My heart thudded in my ribcage as I started to eat again, pumping blood to my growing stomach and a few places just south of there. But I kept my hand on my belly, clumsily rubbing and doing my best to figure out how to enjoy this to the fullest. The waistband of my jeans was getting tight. Denim rubbed against the hyper-sensitive skin there. I bit my lip before shoving the last bite of cake into my mouth, knowing that it would increase my pain. Which it did. The ache got worse, but it was dwarfed by the pleasure of being so full and exploring the sensitive zone of my stomach with one hand. I glanced at the cake. There were two slices left, and my mouth watered.

Licking my lips, belly swollen and stuffed, I reached for one of the slices. I didn't really think I needed to bother with a plate or utensils anymore. Taking the first bite of this seventh piece and closing my eyes in rapture, I pushed myself back up into a more upright sitting position. The food stretching my stomach to limits that it hadn't encountered in quite awhile shifted downwards, and my gut pressed harder against my jeans, filling out all the loose fabric that had been there before. I grunted a little, more out of surprise at the sensation than pain, and rubbed the increasing curve of my belly appreciatively. I was painfully full now, and that made touching the rounded area below my ribcage all the more enjoyable.

As soon as I was done with my current piece of cake, I reached for the last one without a second thought for how much tighter that would make my pants. They were already uncomfortable. The waistband pressed against the bulge of my stomach, though it wasn't cutting into me, not yet. Denim wasn't built to stretch. The space I had was all I was going to get, and I was running out of it pretty fast.

I stuffed the tip of the very last slice of cake into my mouth, unable to hold back a groan of pleasure as I did so. I fed myself with one hand while I kept the other on my stomach, exploring it as it grew and rubbing to soothe the pain that I was feeling. In the back of my mind, I knew that I should probably be disgusted with myself. I was pigging out with no regard for how unhealthy this was, or the inevitable effect it was going to have on my body. It was going to end with me stupefied by pleasure and calorie overload, ridiculously overfed and, more likely than not, pinned down by my own swollen belly. In other words, totally helpless.

Funny how I didn't care. I popped the last bite of cake into my mouth, then licked icing from my fingers with a delicacy I usually reserved for intimate moments in the bedroom.

As soon as I did, discomfort and pain forced a moan out of me. My jeans pressed heavily on the pastry-filled globe of my belly, making an entirely different kind of ache, while the waistband cut into my flesh. I was spilling over it just like I had with my belt, and the sight made me simultaneously embarrassed and satisfied.

I leaned back with a groan, placing both my hands on my stomach and lacing my fingers together over the top of it. The warmth and the weight of it made my eyes flutter closed in simple pleasure. It would have been hard for me to believe that there was an entire cake inside of me, if the size of my belly and the pain coming from it wasn't constantly there to prove it. I moved my hands down to either side of my gut, and, acting on a vague urge, squeezed. Just a little. But the mixed bolt of pleasure and pain that it produced made me gasp and arch my back. Panting, I looked down at my stomach, rubbing it gently.

Sam Winchester, you are a glutton.

I probably shouldn't have enjoyed that thought, but what the hell. It wasn't like I had any dignity left. Or, apparently, self-control. I patted my midsection in contemplation. As long as I was a slave to my base desires...I glanced at the carton of ice cream, still on the nightstand.

Well, why the hell not?

I reached for it eagerly, barely able to contain my excitement at the thought of stuffing myself even more. I tried to rest the carton on my stomach as I peeled the top off, but I wasn't quite big enough for that yet. Weird how much that disappointed me. I dug my spoon into the ice cream-it looked like vanilla, a nice contrast to all the chocolate I'd just eaten-and noted that it was soft, but not liquid. Easy to eat.

With the first few mouthfuls, I forgot all about the ache in my belly and the fact that I shouldn't be liking this. I wouldn't have believed that anything could be better than the cake had been, but this definitely was. Sweet, creamy, and cold. The only thing that bothered me about it was that I had to hold the carton with one hand and shovel ice cream into my mouth with the other. Nothing was free to touch and massage my stomach. I wished I had someone else to do that while I ate. It'd be incredibly intimate-but I couldn't imagine any of the (admittedly few) girls I'd been with over the years being okay with it.

For some reason, Dean popped into my head. Just the thought of him touching me like I wanted to be touched right now made my face heat up. But I couldn't totally reject the idea, as wrong as it was. He was the person I'd known longer and better than anyone. He'd done things for me that I'd never be able to ask of anyone else-though, admittedly, none of those things had ever been quite the level of awkward that this would be.

He also had very large hands. And he was capable of doing some pretty amazing things with them-I'd walked in on him and whatever nameless woman he'd chosen for the night often enough to know that.

Just thinking about him touching me that gently, and with the same excited, fervent expression on his face, was enough to send a shudder of something carnal through me. I did my best to shove it out of my mind. That was one desire I'd never be catering to.

It wasn't until about halfway through the carton that the pain in my belly became a little too intense for me to ignore. A whimper slipped out of me before I could stop it. Setting the ice cream aside and pressing the back of my hand to my lips to stifle a burp, I took another look at my stomach. It hurt, and it was easy to see why. My shirt had ridden completely up, exposing most of the impressive curve of it. I stroked the taut, sensitive skin, all the way down to where it protruded quite a ways over the waistband of my jeans, obscuring the button. I could feel the fabric cutting into me, and I winced as I prodded my belly. Sucking in my swollen gut as best I could, I reached under the fold of warm flesh and struggled to undo the button. The fabric around it had been stretched practically to the point of tearing, making it difficult. But, finally, after several severely uncomfortable seconds of fumbling with it, I managed to get it open. Immediately, my stuffed stomach spilled into my hands, forcing the zipper of my jeans open on its own. I sighed with relief, leaning back. I began to rub, exploring the entire expanse with both hands and diminishing the ache that was now nowhere near as bad as it had been. Digging my fingertips into the particularly sensitive spots that I found, I closed my eyes and bit my lip, unable to hold back small sounds of pleasure. My God, if I had known it could feel this good, back when I used to do this in college...

I allowed myself a smile at the thought of how much weight I would've gained if I had. Dean definitely would have noticed something when he came for me.

Jesus, Sammy, you got fat.

On a whim, I glanced over to where I'd set the carton of ice cream down next to me. I might as well finish what I'd started. I picked up the spoon and eagerly resumed eating. Now that my belly was free to expand without any clothing restraining it, I stuffed myself without paying any attention to how big I was getting. There was nothing to distract me from gorging myself until the carton was empty.

With a sigh of regret, I set it aside, and returned both hands to my now-larger stomach. It pressed against my thighs, not quite resting on my lap but nearly. I slipped down into a slightly more comfortable position, holding the round, bloated globe steady as I did so. Right now, I felt contented. Sated. Overfed and heavy, I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep right now. No, that wasn't true. I wanted to enjoy the belly I'd developed a little more before I did that.

I wasn't actually entirely sure I could move right now, beyond adjusting my position just a little, and I wasn't too interested in testing that theory. I felt fat, spoiled, overfed, and not a single one of those was a bad thing. My ankle didn't even hurt anymore. It was dwarfed by the pain in my overstuffed stomach, which was almost enjoyable. I lazily rubbed the curve of it, breathing shallowly because anything else was just too much effort. I was pretty sure I'd never seen anyone as full as I was now. Even Dean, with his near-obsessive love of certain foods, had never gorged himself to the state that I was in. I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling another burp, and closed my eyes.

That was about the time the door burst open.

"I swear, Sam, I'm gonna kill you. The damn thing picked me up and threw me through a-"

"Dean, wait-" I snapped, frightened, as I struggled to sit up.

"What's wrong? Were you..." He trailed off, having made it to the middle of the room, where he had a pretty good view. His green eyes darted around, taking in the discarded belt on the floor, the empty platter and carton next to me, and, of course, my huge, swollen belly. I felt my face heating up, but I really couldn't think of any way to explain this.

Finally, after several seconds of staring, Dean cocked his head to the side, expression incredulous.

"What the hell?"

Rare Monsters

deedwithoutname — Mon, 19 Jan 2015 15:44:14 GMT

Early work. Not even Wincest. Just an idea that I couldn't get out of my head, more than a year ago. Contains an OC...sorry.

C dropped the file on the table, turning it so it was facing me and flipping it open. He fanned out the pictures inside. Everything from professional headshots, glossy and detailed, to newspaper clippings and grainy screenshots from security cameras. I leaned forward to take a closer look at our two targets.

"God," I remarked after a few seconds of scrutiny. "They look like people."

"Oh, most astute," C snapped back, tone caustic as he swept the photos back in and closed the file. "I can already tell you're going to make a truly fantastic hunter."

"No, but..." I paused, trying to put my thoughts into words in a way that wouldn't make him scream at me. Or smack me upside the head. Or toss a glassful of some corrosive liquid in my face. "I get rogue vampires. I understand ghouls who step outside their boundaries and start hunting the living. But why do we need to take these down?" I tapped the manila folder. "They look normal all the time, right? What's wrong with them?"

"You're so cute when you're being stupid." C gave me a condescending smile. "Know you haven't been at this long, Robin. But, really, pull your head out of your ass. Creatures of...their ilk-" he nodded to the folder "-do tend to, as you so intelligently put it, 'look normal.' It's probably how they've survived so long." He shrugged, then looked at me. "All you really need to know is that things like them kill things like us. That's as good of a reason as any to gank them, wouldn't you agree?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh...'gank'?"

"Term I picked up from some colleagues of mine. Highly entertaining fellows. You'll meet them soon enough," C said, coming around to the other side of the table and brushing past me. "All of my apprentices do, sooner or later. I like to think of it as a final test."

That sounded ominous, but after four months with C, I had gotten used to the veiled threats (or whatever this sort of thing was) that he dropped on a regular basis. Barely sparing any thought for these mysterious coworkers of his, I turned and hurried after him. He led me down into the armory, one of the few rooms in the house that acted as his base of operations that I had actually been in. As soon as I stepped through the doorway of the large, warded room, a knife was tossed, handle-first, at my chest. I caught it without thinking.

"Ah, good, you've been practicing." C, surveying a rack of identical knives over on the west wall, nodded to me. "That's yours. Try not to cut your fingers off."

I moved a little deeper into the room, keeping my guard up just in case he decided to throw anything else at me. C's armory was the envy of all others in the business. A hexagonal room, buried in the earth, its concrete walls lined with racks of all the weapons someone like us could ever need. Swords, throwing stars, blades of every kind, hung on one wall. Stakes and holy swords hung on another. There were guns, loaded with both live ammunition and salt rounds, on the racks nearest to me. In the very back of the room, there were shelves lined neatly with bottles of some sort of special water, bags and cylinders of salt, boxes of chalk and cans of spray paint. I wasn't actually sure what all of that was for. We'd never used it, and C hadn't deigned to talk to me about it.

Still holding onto the handle of the knife, I peered through the mesh that made up the backs of the racks. It was more of a habit than anything; I knew what I'd find. Dozens upon dozens of spidery little symbols, inscribed in chalk, paint, and what looked uncomfortably like blood. Obviously, they were wards of some kind, but I had no idea what they were meant to keep out. Or-I glanced at the wall that held cursed objects, hex bags, and spell ingredients-maybe, in.

"I'd like to leave before the sun collapses in on itself, Robin." C jabbed me in the small of the back with another knife. Not hard enough to break the skin, but I still jumped. "Get ready."

"What do I need?" I asked brusquely, straightening up and shoving the knife into one of the many sheaths that I'd sewed onto my belt on one of our off days. I wanted to show him that I was competent enough to come with him on this. I still remembered the time that I had accidentally tripped over a chair and smashed some sort of clay vase with, weirdly enough, what looked like a complete (if dismantled) skeleton inside. We'd been preparing to go after a pack of werewolves at the time. Not only had C left without me, he'd tossed me inside some sort of spell-trap and then left me there the entire time he'd been tracking and fighting the wolves. And he was gone for almost two weeks.

I really didn't want that to happen again.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" C turned to look at me, a length of narrow wire stretched between his hands. It was some sort of weapon that I couldn't remember the name of. A Garrett or something.

"What do I need?" I repeated, striding over to the knife rack. "Silver? Iron? Do I need to coat the blades in the blood of something?" I glanced at him over my shoulder. "These things that look like people. How do we kill them?"

"All you need," he said, coming up soundlessly beside me, "is a nice, sharp knife." He tapped the handle of the one hanging at my hip. "You'll want to try and hit one of the vital spots. Throat, between the ribs, stomach, insides of the thighs." He touched the first three points he listed on me to punctuate his words, but seeing the look I was giving him, he paused and unflinchingly met my gaze. At least he didn't mark the last spot. "Oh, and the eyes, of course. If you hit one of the eyes, you'll go right through to the brain."

"That's it?" I asked, a little incredulously. "Just...stab them, and they'll die?"

"So long as you hit them right on your very first try."

"And what happens if I miss?"

Without warning, C grabbed a handful of hair on the back of my head, jerking my head backwards so that my throat was exposed. I stiffened, going completely rigid. This was something else that he did on a regular basis. Or at least something similar to it. But unlike the threats, I hadn't quite managed to get used to it.

His mouth-and, more importantly, his teeth, were dangerously close to one of the major arteries in my neck as he whispered, "They will pull your organs out through your mouth over a matter of weeks, Robin. They will burn you and cut you and make you their bitch in every sense of the word. They'll ask you about me, and every other person like me, and you'll tell them everything they want to hear. And then they will kill you. Maybe. If you're lucky."

He let go of me. I swallowed, hard, doing my best, not to let him see how badly he'd shaken me.

"They're that bad, huh?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

C barked out a short, harsh laugh, clapping a hand on my shoulder and politely not mocking me when I flinched.

"My God, you have a talent for understatement, don't you?" he said, almost fondly. "Y'know, I think I'm actually going to miss you when something eventually tears your face off. Probably not for more than five minutes, but still. Now, come on, grab anything else you think might buy you an extra few seconds of life. Meet me in the garage when you're ready."

I'd never been in the garage before. It wasn't really a place that C frequented, either. He seemed to have a certain contempt for driving and cars. Black Chevrolets in particular, for whatever nutty reason. He'd curse under his breath whenever he saw one, and snap at me for the rest of the day.

"We're driving?" I really couldn't be blamed for being more than a little surprised.

"Our destination is out in the middle of nowhere, and they will have protected it to the best of their abilities," C replied with a sneer. "That means spells, wards, and booby traps beyond your most twisted nightmares. So unless you feel like being incinerated or getting catapulted halfway across the country, we're driving. The whole way. Makes us that much more difficult to detect, to track. They won't even know we're coming for them."

His sneer changed into a savage grin, and he strode out of the armory. I let out a breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding.

C was creepy. But what else was new?

"They almost always hunt in pairs."

"Huh?" C's voice startled me out of a stupor I had fallen into, staring out the window on the passenger side, with my head resting against the glass. Immediately, I tensed up. He'd said something to me and I hadn't been paying attention. May God have mercy on my soul.

But, strangely enough, he didn't tear me a new one. He didn't even seem to notice me, his gaze locked on the road ahead and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I eyed him warily. We hadn't seen another car for hours, and he was driving pretty smoothly on this straight, deserted stretch of highway, but I wasn't dumb enough to totally let my guard down. It'd only taken me about ten seconds as C's passenger to exhaust my lifetime supply of adrenalin. To say he drove like a maniac would be like calling a succubus a common whore. He stomped on the pedals, jerked the wheel, and swore at every inanimate object that mysteriously appeared in his path. It was like he'd never driven a car before. I would have offered to take over, since he was so obviously incompetent, but I liked my organs where they were.

"Or packs, sometimes, but those don't last long," C was continuing now. I paid close attention to him, just in case he said something that made sense. "They have a nasty habit of killing each other. Maybe that's why so many of them choose to live and play alone." He paused, considering something. "Then again, those don't usually last too long, either."

He glanced at me, and gave me a quick smile. "You're in for a real treat tonight, Robin. These things are rare, ancient, very possibly the last of their kind. And there is most definitely a reason that they have survived so long."

"They can't be that tough," I replied, looking back out the window. Abandoned farmland shot past. "If all it takes to kill 'em is one stab."

The blow came so fast that I didn't even sense it; C shoved my head against the window hard enough to make my vision go black for a second. I yelped, tears springing to my eyes before I could stop them.

"I'd like to see you scoff when your ribcage has been hauled open and your blood is draining into a bowl." C's voice was furious and impossibly loud in my ears, a railroad spike being pounded into my already-wounded head. "Four miserable months of chopping the heads off sniveling vampires and watching while I gun down rogue shapeshifters, and you think yourself a match for what we're hunting now? They were just coming into their prime in the times that angels were our enemies and God walked among us as a man with...I swear...the absolute ugliest trench coat you ever saw..." C seemed to be calming down a bit. Pressed hard against the car door in an effort to get as far away from him as possible, with my throbbing head clutched in my hands, I watched him cautiously. "And you, Robin, could probably be killed by a baby, as long as it had the right tools." He shot me a very serious glance. "Don't underestimate them."

"Okay." Gingerly, I took my hands away from my head. There was no blood on them, so I guessed I was going to live. As the miles passed and C showed no sign of attacking me again, I let myself relax. A little.

We pulled off the road a little before sunset, directly after the farmland outside the window changed into a deciduous forest. I dug my fingers into the fabric of my seat as C narrowly missed a tree, and let go with more than a minor sense of relief when he cut the engine.

"We go on foot from here," he said abruptly, opening his door and getting out. "All you'll need is what you're carrying right now. Stay quiet and try not to step on anything that looks like it might be a trap."

I took that in, closing my door as silently as I could manage. It was late summer, so the trees around us were in full leaf, turning the slanting golden sunlight green. Locusts hummed and birds chirped in a heat that was uncomfortable, but not oppressive. All I could smell was dirt and flowers-no blood no ozone, nothing. Nothing seemed out of place. Except...

Something caught my eye, underneath the branches of a nearby tree. I stepped a little closer, examining it. A familiar-looking sigil had been cut deep into the bark. I tried to remember where I'd seen it before with a shock, I realized that it was identical to one of the symbols painted on the walls of C's armory.

Speaking of C, he was standing right next to me, having approached in that creepy, totally-silent way that he had.

"Enochian," he murmured, examining the sigil. "Did they really believe we'd call down angels to hunt them?"

Enochian. For some reason, the word sent a chill down my spine. So, the weird writing in C's armory was a defense against angels. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"Come on." C gripped my upper arm, pulling me deeper into the forest. "We need to move quickly."

The light started to fade as I let him lead me to wherever it was we were going, making for a pretty creepy setting. The Enochian characters on the trees got more and more frequent the further we went, and something about that seemed ominous to me. I pulled one of my knives out of its sheath and gripped the handle tightly enough to make my fingers start to cramp up.

We didn't find anything really dangerous until after about half an hour of walking. With no warning, C-who had finally let go of my arm ten minutes ago-grabbed my shoulder.

"Stop," he commanded. I did.

"What is it?" I adjusted my grip on the knife.

Instead of answering me, C crouched down, clearing some dead leaves away from a spot at the base of a tree. I leaned over his shoulder. An unremarkable rope had been laid in a large circle on the ground, with a bunch of complicated loops inside of it. I couldn't tell if it was a physical trap or a magical one, but it looked nasty.

He reached out and tugged at the rope, breaking the circle. Raising his head, C squinted off into the darkening forest, his expression almost amused.

"Is that the best you can do?" he muttered under his breath. I didn't think he was talking to me.

"Do they know we're here?" I asked quietly.

"No, of course not." He stood up, brushing earth off of his pants. "If they did, we'd already be dead."

I swallowed hard, scanning the trees around me. Nothing with fangs and claws jumped out at me, so I told myself that it was okay to let my guard down a little. I felt like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point, one loud noise away from snapping-but giving myself permission to calm down did pretty much nothing. In the back of my mind, I knew that I wouldn't be able to relax until C told me it was safe to do so. It'd been like this for me on the last couple of hunts he'd taken me on, too. And he hadn't warned me nearly as much about those.

"D'you want me to carry you?" C's sarcastic voice broke into my thoughts, and I automatically shook my head.

"I'm fine," I told him. "Let's just kill these things and get out of here."

"A bit spooked, are we?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe you're smarter than I gave you credit for."

Without another word, he stepped over the now-useless pile of rope and continued on whatever invisible path he was following. In his dark clothes, he blended into the shadows under the trees almost immediately. I hurried after him.

"Before we find them," I asked, catching up, "do you have anything else to tell me?"

"Like what?" C replied, glancing at me.

"Like..." I drew a blank. "Well, anything."

"That's specific." I opened my mouth to give him whatever categories readily flew out of it, but he was talking again before I could. "We absolutely must kill them both, Robin. If we only bring one down and the other gets away, it will let nothing stop it from avenging its fellow in whatever way is most painful for us. It won't rest, it won't be distracted, until we're both dead at the end of weeks of torture."

"Are they mates?" I asked, thinking of the few vampire couples that I'd seen. When one died, the other tended to snap in a pretty spectacular way.

To my surprise, C laughed. Not loud-he was following his own rules. But I could tell that he was having a hard time keeping it quiet, and I could hear actual amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you'll have to ask them that," he finally replied, still chuckling. "It'll be worth the delay just to see the looks on their faces."

Something occurred to me right about then. "Have you gone after them before?"

He looked at me, his face barely visible in the darkness of early evening, but I could still make out how guarded his expression was.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, I have. Many times." He looked ahead, but I had the feeling that he wasn't really seeing. "Dozens of times, I've thought the bastards dead, and dozens of times, they've believed the same about me. It's always a nasty shock when I pop up or they drag themselves back into battle."

"So, they're like...your archenemies. Your equals," I said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I tensed up, waiting for a blow.

But it never came. C just sighed deeply.

"Years ago, I would have torn you to pieces for saying that," he remarked. "But they've killed everyone I've ever sent after them. Hundreds of coworkers, thousands of subordinates, and...I've actually lost count of how many of your predecessors have been sent to the pyre by them, Robin." He paused. "I suppose, if you want something done..."

I nodded. The fact that C had no real idea how many apprentices he had lost to these things sort of bothered me, but no more than anything else he had said since I'd first taken up with him.

"But I'm tired of my pupils showing up on my doorstep in shoe boxes," C went on. "I'm tired of these creatures' incessant need to kill as many of us as they can. I'm tired of them crawling out of the woodwork, guns ablaze, when I least expect it." His face twisted into a snarl. "And, most of all, I am tired of what passes for their sense of humor. I swear, every time I go up against them...my God, they have absolutely no idea how to banter." The snarl softened into a more characteristic scowl. "One way or another, this ends tonight."

Something about the "one way or another" part bothered me, but I kept my mouth shut and my hand on the knife.

"D'you hear that?"

With a throaty whisper, C broke almost an hour of complete silence. I'd been following him blindly, hoping he knew where he was going because I couldn't see my hand in front of my face and wishing my heart would stop beating so hard, but now I stopped, grip tightening even further on the handle of my knife.

"Hear what?" Instinctively, I matched his volume.

C, who had stopped walking, took a careful look around. Or so I assumed, just based on the rustling of his clothes. I heard twigs and leaves crackle under his feet as he shifted his weight. As silently as I could, I exchanged the knife that I was holding for a bigger one. The kind used to skin moose and things.

"Hear what?" I repeated, hating that a note of terror was creeping into my voice.

He didn't answer for another couple of minutes. I mentally warded off what felt like a heart attack. Finally, he offered a quiet, "Huh."

"What?" My whisper was harsh.

"Must have been my imagination." From the sound that his clothing made, I would guess that he shrugged. Then he took a step forward.

There was an ominous twang as he set his foot down, and the broken end of a wire whistled upwards into the branches of the trees as things started to move in the darkness. Very calmly, C commented, "Oh, hell."

I'm a little fuzzy on what happened next. C grabbed my arm, I know that, and threw me in front of him right before a bucket dropped or a hose sprayed or something. It was dark and I really couldn't see a damn thing. But the next thing I knew, my fae, arms, and chest were soaked. And it burned.

C had a tendency to splash me with stuff that did that. Strong alcohol or low-grade acid, I always assumed, seeing as it didn't do much damage and he only resorted to it when I said something particularly stupid. But this was different.

It felt like a violation. Like my soul was being burned away, as well as my skin. The pain of it went straight to my core, unexpected and shocking, and for a second, I couldn't breathe. Then I managed to inhale. And I screamed.

It was the only thing I could do. There was nothing left of me but the burning and a pair of lungs. The pain was so deep, so complete, that I couldn't even think. I was dying. I had to be dying. Somewhere, I was aware that I had fallen to my knees, hands clutching my face tight enough to leave bruises. I screamed incoherently into my palms.

And then I was curled into a fetal position among the dead leaves, sobbing into the knees I had pulled to my chest, and the pain was fading. Through some miracle, it was fading. I fervently thanked God inside my head, even though my time with C had firmly cemented my atheism. Maybe it was time to rethink that. I mean, if angels were real enough to be warded off with sigils...

Slowly, I became aware of a sound other than my own whimpering. C's voice.

"Oh, get up."

Someone grabbed the back of my field jacket and hauled me unceremoniously to my feet. I almost fell over; C steadied me with a hand on my shoulder.

"You're fine," he snapped. "Open your eyes."

Hesitantly, I did as I was told. To my shock, I could see perfectly. My eyes weren't damaged and the darkness was no longer impenetrable. Mentally steeling myself, I looked down at my arms, expecting to see fabric melted into whatever flesh was still on my charred bones. But all that was there were the sleeves of my jacket, wet, and my hands. The skin on them was unmarred except for the scars that had already been there before.

I blinked in shock, glancing up at C, who had a displeased expression on his face. My weird night vision started to fade. Maybe shock had brought it on.

"There. See? You're fine," he said curtly. "My God. If I'd've known you'd squall like that, I would've taken it myself."

"Do you think they heard me?" I asked quietly, remembering how loudly I'd screamed.

I couldn't see C anymore, but I knew him well enough to know that he had just leveled a withering gaze at me. "I think that the entire state heard you."

I bent down and picked up my knife, which I had dropped. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, that makes everything better," he said sarcastically. "Just come on. We may have lost the element of surprise, but we can still pull this off."

I stayed right behind him as he took off again. Whatever these things were that we were hunting, they actually scared C, I realized. He didn't want to face them alone. He needed me for backup. That was the only reason I was still breathing after messing up his plan.

It wasn't a comforting thought.

It was another fifteen minutes of rapid walking before light started coming through the trees from something up ahead. A house, probably. If it could even be called that. The building that I saw when C threw an arm across my chest and hissed at me to stop, still under the cover of the trees, was little more than a glorified shack. It was derelict, roof sagging and moss growing on the planks that made up the walls, the glass smashed out of several windows replaced with boards. But it was most definitely inhabited. A candle burned in every window, more of those Enochian sigils had been painted all over the remaining glass, and firelight poured out of the open door, making the two people standing in front of it into silhouettes.

I felt the muscles in my stomach and jaw tighten enough to ache, realizing that they were what we were after.

Both were unmistakably male, as the file had said. They were both pretty tall, though one towered above the other, and well-built. I assumed. It was a little hard to tell, with the loose, comfortable clothes that they wore. Easy to fight and run in. I recognized that because it was what I kept in mind when I got dressed every morning.

They were talking to each other, in English. Their conversation carried easily to where we were standing.

"I'm telling you, I heard screaming," the shorter of the two said.

"I know, so did I, but I don't think that we should just charge right out there," the taller one replied. "We don't even know what it is."

"Maybe not, but I can guess."

"Well, if it's what we think it is, it's suicide to go out. Let's wait for it to come to us, then kill it."

"God, I hate waiting. We never used to wait. We just went right for whatever it was we wanted-"

"Times have changed."

They kept talking, but C had apparently decided that their exchange wasn't worth listening to. He grabbed my arm and took me with him as he made a wide circle around the house. When the back door was visible, he turned me to face him and let go of me.

"We're going to go inside and wait for them," he said under his breath. "When they come in, you are responsible for the short one. The tall one's crafty and you're not smart enough to handle him. Remember, kill it on the first try-oh, and don't let them shoot you, it'll hurt like hell."

"They have guns?" I asked incredulously. "Why didn't we bring guns?"

Because I don't particularly fancy the idea of you blowing your own foot off-or, more importantly, mine," C replied. "Stay very close to me."

He quickly crossed the open space between the trees and the back door without making a sound. I was hard-pressed to keep up with him. I waited nervously, hand starting to sweat on my knife, as he jiggled the knob to test it-it wasn't locked. The door swung outwards. A line of salt had been laid inside, which C kicked through. There were also more symbols on the floor. He smudged them with one foot, and let me over them.

There wasn't a lot of space inside the house, and most of it had been filled. A pair of sleeping bags, hastily abandoned and surrounded by half-empty bottles of alcohol, had been laid out on the floor. The counter that ran along one wall was covered with bags of salt, jars of blood, and flasks of God-knew-what. Weapons were spread across the rickety table-shotguns, machetes, and a few less-conventional things, like a holy blade and a broken sword. And, of course, every wall was covered with Enochian scrawl.

The whole setup disturbed me. Not because of the blatant display of weapons-no, I was definitely used to that. Because it was almost exactly what I could picture my home looking like if I didn't live in C's good-sized house, with him and his obsessive need to keep everything in order.

Speaking of C, he was making movements with his hands, apparently trying to convey a message to me without speaking. I got the gist of it. Holding my knife at the ready, I moved to one side of the open door, pressing myself against the wall so I couldn't be seen by anyone coming in. C, with a knife of his own, mirrored my position.

"Look, you go back to sleep. I'll stand watch, and wake you up the second I see anything."

That was the tall one. His voice was calm and steady, like he was trying to placate his partner.

"Yeah, to hell with that. If you're staying up, so am I."

A sigh.

"Fine. Whatever you say."

"I knew you'd understand." There was a pause, during which I heard a muffled slapping sound, like one had affectionately clapped the other on the shoulder. "Go and get that bottle of whiskey, will you? There's no way I'm standing out here all night sober."

Another sigh, but I heard gravel crunch as the tall one turned around. Then he stepped through the doorway.

C reacted with nearly frightening speed. He dropped into a crouch, and swept one leg out, catching his target on the backs of his ankles. With a grunt of surprise, he went down, and C was immediately hauling his head by the hair, exposing his throat. Right as he readied his knife, he glanced out the doorway, his face twisting into a snarl. "Robin!"

There was a gunshot, impossibly loud, and a bullet shattered a window across the room. I pushed myself off of the wall just as the second target followed it in. There was already adrenalin in my bloodstream, making everything clearer than normal, and my eyes went straight to the pistol in his hand. I had to get rid of that.

I aimed a high kick at him-it, they were its, weren't they?-and connected just above the hip. It staggered and cursed, the gun swinging up to point at me, and I ducked out of the line of fire. With my body several steps ahead of my mind, I drove a knee into the sensitive place right below where the two halves of the ribcage meet. I was rewarded with a pained, forceful exhalation, and took a sort of perverse pleasure from it.

I raised my knife and slammed the handle into the back of my opponent's head, sending him to his knees. Almost mechanically, I stomped on his hand, then kicked the gun away as soon as he let go of it. I glanced at C. He was wrestling with his target, blood on his knife and on the other thing's neck, and the hate in both their eyes was absolute enough to be shocking. He was doing fine.

I turned back to my own monster, who was wheezing on its hands and knees. Its T-shirt was stretched taut across its back, muscle and bone easy to pick out. Between the ribs, C had said. Okay. Picking a target, I raised my knife above my head.

Without warning, the hand that I had stomped on shot out and grabbed my ankle. I yelped as my foot was yanked out from under me, unable to keep my balance. The second I hit the floor, my opponent grabbed a handful of my hair and brutally slammed my head into the boards, efficiently stunning me. The next thing I knew, I was lying on my stomach on the ground, my head turned to the side and the barrel of a gun pressed to my temple. A knee held my wrists to the small of my back. I couldn't struggle.

"Well." C's voice was almost amused. "Seems we've reached a bit of an impasse."

I shifted my gaze to where he was standing. He had manged to get one arm around the throat of his opponent, choking him-it-while leaving just enough skin exposed to sever one or two of the more important arteries. He had his knife against that skin, blood running from the edge.

This was the first time I'd gotten a good look at the taller of the two monsters. Dark hair, a little way past the shoulders. A prominent brow, chin, and cheekbones. Green eyes. All of its features were currently twisted in hate and fear, the large hands locked onto C's arm. I could see the muscles in its forearms straining, but it couldn't seem to move him so much as an inch.

"Let him go." That was the one currently holding me against the floor. Its voice was low, heavy with emotion. "Or, I swear, I will paint the floor the color of this kid's brains."

"Oh, I have no doubt." C shifted his position a little, and his hostage's face began to redden from lack of oxygen. "You've shown yourself to be perfectly capable of killing my apprentices. Good for you."

"Yeah. I killed the redhead in Chicago, and the jock in Houston, and I will kill this one here." The gun pressed a little harder against my temple. "I'm not gonna say it again. Let. Him. Go."

"Why on Earth would I do that?"

I heard the mechanisms inside the gun strain as my captor's finger tightened on the trigger, and my heart battered against my ribs.

"I will shoot." It sounded like he-it-was speaking through gritted teeth. "You know I will."

There was a long pause before C replied.

"Y'see, I think that what we have here is a breakdown in communication," he said, using his knife to gesture back and forth between them. "You seem to think that you have a viable bargaining chip. I will admit, this one lasted longer than most, and I'd gotten rather attached. But apprentices are almost laughably easy to replace." He raised his chin, regarding me interestedly. "Go ahead. Pull the trigger. I'm actually rather curious to see what color 'that kid's' brains are, myself."

This really shouldn't have come as a surprise to me. The guy hit me, screamed at me, and threw me into hard surfaces on a daily basis. He made no secret of the fact that we found me annoying and pretty much clueless, and he had as much as said that there was no way I'd make it six months. Several times.

But C was also the one who'd taught me exactly where to aim for on a vampire's neck so that my blade would go right between the vertebrae. He'd dragged me out of a wraith den with a gash in my skull instead of leaving me (though, admittedly, he'd made me sew that wound up myself). He had been my mentor and guardian for months, and it was a little too hard to keep an expression of shock and betrayal off of my face.

C noticed, and momentarily glanced heavenward before returning his knife to the shallow cut that he had already made on his captive monster's neck. "Hurry up and shoot, would you? Before someone starts crying." He pressed a little harder. His captive gasped, even though he was starting to go purple, and a little more blood trickled down. "And then I'll kill this one."

I waited. But the gun didn't go off. Instead, it trembled slightly against my skull, even as the knee on my wrists pressed harder.

"What're you even doing here?" I recognized the desperation in its voice, the gallows humor. It was trying to stall. I was perfectly fine with that; it meant I got to keep breathing for a few more minutes. "I kinda remember you having an organization to run."

"Outsourcing," C replied. "Beautiful thing."

"Yeah. Yeah, I bet." A short, harsh laugh. Then, "What the hell do you want from us, huh? We haven't tried to dethrone you or whatever in years. The only people of yours we kill are the ones you send after us. Every single one of our friends are dead, and we don't have a lot of places left to run to. Me and him?" He jerked his chin towards his partner, pain evident in his-no, no, its-voice as it spoke. "We are harmless. With you keepin' all the monsters in line, there is absolutely nothing for us to do but disappear. Fade out." He swallowed. "Why can't you just let us do that?"

C smiled beatifically. "Have you forgotten who you are? You two don't give up."

"Yeah? Because that's really what it feels like I've done."

C leaned a little closer, his grip on his captive loosening just enough for it to suck in a breath. "Alright. I get it. You're defeated. There's nothing left for you to fight for." He narrowed his eyes. "But it's not in your nature to just roll over and die. Sure, you're broken now. But it won't be long before you find some way to pick up the pieces, some way to keep going. You'll find something to drive you. Something to believe in and hope for. You will convince yourself that you can fix this, all of this-just like all those other times." He returned to his original position. "And on the day that that happens, I'm as good as dead."

The gun slipped a little.

"That's why I'm going to make sure that that day never comes." C's voice was soft, gentle. "Everything is going to end here, tonight. You are going to die. And then...it will all be over."

The creature holding me down didn't move.

"You say you've given up," C told him quietly. "This is truly the best way to do so. There will be nothing after this." He paused, eyes locked on those of the thing that he had come here to kill. "Absolutely. Nothing."

There was no sound in the room for several moments, except breathing and the panicked beating of my heart. The knee pressing my wrists to my back lifted a little, and I could feel the hands that held the gun to my head shaking with some unidentifiable emotion.

Then he snarled, "Go to hell, you bastard."

I surged upwards as the gun went off, and the bullet didn't bury itself in my brain. I felt it slice neatly through the flesh above my ear, grazing bone but doing no damage. But there wasn't any pain. Just like there wasn't any pain when my shoulder popped out of place, my arm still held in an awkward position.

I flipped myself over, baring my teeth in an automatic snarl as the barrel of the gun swung towards my face. Without thinking, I sank my teeth into the hand holding it, slamming my good forearm into my captor's throat and silencing it even as it yelled in pain. It dropped the gun. I shoved the weapon away viciously, then opened my jaws and climbed to my feet, spitting blood and chunks of flesh. My opponent was still on the ground, clutching its wounded hand, and I brought my foot down directly between its shoulder blades, forcing its chest to the ground and the air from its lungs.

As I stooped to pick up my knife from where it had fallen, my stomach clenching and my mind frozen, I saw the other monster out of the corner of my eye. It had taken advantage of the distraction I'd caused, slamming its elbow into C's stomach and forcing him into yet another set of symbols painted on the floor. Some sort of spell-trap. As I watched, it snatched a dagger with runes worked into the blade off of the table, raising it high for the killing blow.

But it froze when I drove my knife into its partner's back.

The one I'd stabbed cried out weakly, writing on the floor and coughing brilliant red blood. I must have hit a lung.

The other lowered its dagger, turning to look at what I'd done while C fumed in his prison. The blade clattered against the floor as it let go.

"Dean," it almost whispered. I took a look at its face and-my God.

Everything it was feeling was written plainly across its features. Shock, disbelief, grief that went all the way to the core and further. Fresh loss, and old, brought back to the surface by what had just happened. A sort of sickly panic, an obvious feeling of oh-please-God-not-again. Fear that was almost childlike. What am I going to do without you?

Monsters weren't capable of pain like that.

I wasn't capable of pain like that.

"Sam." That was the one dying on the floor. Dean. The words bubbled in his throat. "Run."

The tall one took a step forward, towards me and the man I'd stabbed. "I won't-"

"Get out of here, Goddammit!" Dean shouted with more strength that I'd've thought he had left. "Everything Crowley said was right! You go, Sam, and you pick up the pieces, so you can fix what we did! So you can make up for everything. So that at least one of us can-" He broke off, coughing, blood dripping from his mouth and spattering my shoes. Still coughing, he looked up at his partner, green eyes fierce. Through gritted teeth, he managed, "Go, Sammy. Go."

And he did. By some miracle. After seeing that look on his face, knowing what he was going through, I have no idea how he left him to die with C and I. But somehow, he bolted out the door, into the darkness.

I heard him scream, just once, off in the distance. Rage and loss more intense than anything I'd ever come across before.

The wooden floorboards were hard against my kneecaps. I was kneeling, though I wasn't quite sure when that had happened. Dean was still alive. Gasping, twitching, though his movements were slowing. It wouldn't be long.

Something popped out of the back of my mind. A snippet of lore I'd picked up somewhere or other.

If a human is possessed, they can survive any injury that would normally have killed them. The demon keeps the body alive.

My heart pulsed in my chest, and the lights around me grew painfully bright.

"I'm proud of you, Robin," C called from within the trap. "Only four months out of the pit, and you've already killed a Winchester."

Brotherly Love Epilogue

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 23:01:45 GMT

The door of the dingy little motel room banged into a shared wall when I kicked it open. Hard. So hard, in fact, that the plaster cracked under the hideous wallpaper, the doorknob spun and sagged in its socket like it was gonna fall out, and the guy in the next room woke up. Turned out he had a vocabulary to rival mine, and he immediately started putting it to good use. I guess I couldn't really blame him, considering it was two-thirty-seven in the morning according to the Impala's clock, but that didn't stop me from bellowing, "Yeah, well, right back atcha, asshole!" as I dragged Sam over to one of the beds.

I wasn't in a good mood.

I dumped him onto the creaking mattress, and he collapsed, gasping, one hand immediately going to his torn-up thigh and a grimace of pain stretching his features. I closed the door, locked it-obsessive habit-and then went straight for his backpack, where we kept most of the medical supplies. I clawed out gauze, hydrogen peroxide, a curved needle, nylon thread. Behind me, Sam groaned. I all but bolted back to him, and pulled down his jeans, so I could get a better look at his wound. He flinched when the rough denim passed over it, and stiffened with agony. Not like it was uncommon for me to pull his pants off, but usually, I had an entirely different reason.

To my intense relief, it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought. Three claw marks, not deep, just messy. The bastard'd missed all the important arteries and veins, too, thank God. There probably wasn't even any damage to the muscle. Sam had gotten pretty well-padded in the thighs.

"Dean-" he started, voice strained and upset.

"Shut up." I reached for the brown bottle, dumped peroxide into the furrows, and ignored his hiss of pain as it started to foam and I dabbed all the blood and gore away with a square of gauze. The edges were neat, and he wasn't bleeding too heavily. Yeah, really not that bad.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. 'S my fault." Yep, my fault. As per usual. I threaded the needle, cursing viciously when my hands shook and the dim light made it way more difficult than it needed to be. I jabbed myself with the needle, and cursed again.

"Well...no, not-not entirely..."

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" I threaded the needle through his flesh, concentrating on pulling the two sides of the first, largest claw mark together. My stitches came out crooked, like a drunken toddler had put them in. "Dammit." Maybe I should've just taken him to a hospital. But then they'd want to know what'd done this to him, and, somehow, I didn't think, "Oh, it was a werewolf, Doctor," would fly.

Sam didn't say anything after that until I finished patching him up. He just let me work. I was kind of mad at him for that, too, because part of me really, really wanted another excuse to yell at him. I kept my head bent over his thigh, sewing the soft flesh back together, feeling my lips automatically press against each other into a line thin enough to make the muscles around my mouth ache. My stare was so intense as I focused on fixing up Sam that I practically had to remind myself to blink. My eyebrows were drawn down and together, into that angry, brooding expression I hated but saw in the mirror on a daily basis anyway. Or, at least, I used to see it on a daily basis. Things had been better lately. A lot better. Right up until tonight.

I tied a knot when I was done with the last cut, clipping the thread and packing everything I hadn't used back up into our makeshift medical kit. I zipped Sam's backpack closed, then just knelt on the stained carpet for a second, head still bowed and hands resting on his bare leg. I just wasn't quite sure what to do now, seeing as Sam's wound was taken care of. But I was saved the trouble of having to come up with a move to make when he put his hand on top of my head, gently running his fingers down through my hair in a soothing stroking motion.

"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly.

"I should have been faster," I all but spat. I hadn't been able to get my gun, loaded with silver bullets, out of the waistband of my jeans in time. Maybe I should invest in a holster.

Maybe that wasn't entirely the real reason I felt guilty, either, but I wasn't gonna address that.

"Well, you got him, didn't you? Right through the heart."

"Yeah...after he'd clawed you up."

"Hey...stuff like this happens, all right?" He moved his hand down to cup the side of my jaw, and lifted my head so I had to look at him. "And I'm gonna be fine. You did a really good job of sewing me up."

I didn't reply, just stood up slowly, realizing how unbearably tired I was. I didn't really remember the last time I'd actually slept for more than just a couple minutes. We'd spent most of the night tracking, chasing, and then grappling with the werewolf we'd come here to hunt, and for the last few nights before this, Sam and I had...well, we'd done a lot of things that pretty much ensured that sleep was the last thing on either of our minds. It wasn't like running on empty was anything new to me, but, sooner or later, the adrenalin high wore off and I had to get some real rest. I sighed deeply as I dropped onto the bed beside Sam, springs immediately complaining about my weight. He looked at me, and I could tell he was concerned in that quiet, tight-mouthed way he had. But he didn't say anything, just reached out and wrapped an arm around my broad shoulders, pulling me against him. I let him be all gentle and comforting with me for a second, nestling into the soft, ample bulge of his stomach, and the curves of his chest, and the brand-new clothes that were already starting to get tight. It felt nice to be held, to feel him reassuringly stroke my shoulder while I pressed my face into the curve of his neck and breathed in his scent. Then I pulled back and shook his arm off.

"Okay," I said, in my firmest, most commanding, best "you're-gonna-do-what-I-say" voice. "That's it. You've gotta stop hunting."

Sam twitched away from me like I'd bitten him, all that concern gone and replaced with shock and maybe a little bit of anger. "What?!" That pissed, defensive tone had been pretty familiar to me for most of our time together. Ever since he hit puberty and really learned how to bitch. But, recently, I'd been sort of hoping I'd never hear it again.

"You heard me." I paused. "And I'm gonna tell you right now, Sammy, I ain't budging on this."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Really? You're really going to try to convince me to give up the "family business"-" He didn't actually make air-quotes with his fingers, but he didn't really have to. "-just because I got a little scratched up on a run-of-the-mill werewolf hunt? I've got news for you, Dean, both of us get hurt all the time, it's kind of in the job description."

"It's not about the fact you got hurt," I answered, even though, when Sam'd been leaning against the brick wall of the alley with his jeans shredded and his blood splashed all over the freaking place, it hadn't been about anything else. "It's about why you got hurt."

He just raised his eyebrows, basically telling me to continue, so I did. I reached over and laid a hand on his belly, which, even empty, spilled into his lap. He automatically closed his eyes at my touch, and I gently kneaded the soft fat between my fingers. With me spending more time on keeping him fed than on hunting or anything else, Sam'd gained weight pretty fast. His lean frame had filled out and rounded, into a potbelly, thighs that touched when he sat, a curved ass that stretched the denim of his jeans taut across it and made it nearly impossible for me to keep my hands off him if his back was to me.

"You're carrying around fifty or sixty extra pounds," I told him softly, voice a little husky and my own jeans getting tight in one particular area. Touching him, even a little, always did some pretty powerful things to me. "Don't get me wrong here, I love it like you wouldn't believe. When you can't get your pants up past your things, the way you walk now that you're so much heavier, and, damn, when you're sitting next to me in the Impala, one hand on your own belly, feeling how much you've gained lately..." This was rapidly going from the honest discussion I'd wanted to something that felt like it was going to end with both our clothes on the floor and him whimpering out my name, but maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Maybe it'd be easier for me to make things go my way if I got him so turned on he couldn't even think straight. Which was why I took my hand off of his stomach, wrapped that arm around him, and pulled him tight against me while I appreciatively stroked his gut with my other hand. He didn't really object. In fact, despite how mad he'd been just a couple minutes ago, he pressed himself up against me and moaned. My voice automatically dropped into a throaty purr I hadn't even really known I was capable of. "But it's way too dangerous for you to hunt when you're this chubby, Sammy, and getting fatter every day."

"I-" Very, very reluctantly, he pulled away from me, and hauled his bloody, torn pants back up. He winced when the denim settled against the stitches in his thigh, but the pain must have helped him focus, because he stared me down and spoke coherently. "You can't just head out alone. You need me."

"Maybe I would," I half-agreed. "If you were lighter and could still run pretty fast and weren't used to being hand-fed six meals a day."

"Well, you can't really say that like it's my fault," he snapped back, the anger starting to return. "I mean, to begin with, I was cursed, and you're the one who keeps feeding me so much now-"

"So, the point you're trying to make here is...you don't like it? You want me to stop?"

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, and looked away, obviously embarrassed.

"Look," I started. "I can handle flying solo. You know I can. And there're people I can call for help if I need it."

"Yeah. Great. And...what'll you do with me? You'll just dump me somewhere with a bunch of fake credit cards, never come back because I'm apparently so useless to you now, only think about me when you're bored and you need a fantasy? About how I'm probably gorging myself constantly out of loneliness and gaining a pound a day?" He shook his head vehemently, anger flaring white-hot in the movement. "No way. It's not gonna happen, Dean. I don't know what game you think you're playing, but I'm not going to stop hunting. You need me."

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly, I do," I said, still fixating on what he'd said and feeling every cell in my body recoil from the thought of leaving him. "I need you, Sammy. More than I have ever needed anyone or anything else, especially lately, with you..."

With you looking and feeling so perfect to me, was along the lines of what I wanted to say. You're somehow everything I never even knew I wanted, and the way you fit against me...it's like goddamn poetry. And I have never felt as whole or as happy as I have ever since we made love just outside of Berington, and...Jesus, Sammy, it's like you're a piece of me that was missing, but now we're fitted together like we should be, and I am sure as hell not gonna lose you. Not now, not ever.

But whatever was left of my brittle male pride reached up into my throat and clamped my vocal cords together, and by the time I could get anything understandable out, I'd forgotten most of that sappy little speech. Which might've been a good thing and might not have, but I guess we'll never know now, will we?

"Anyway, that's why you gotta stop," I finally said, stumbling over the words a little. "You're already doing more harm than good out there, and if we keep going the way we have been, you won't be able to outrun anything soon. And...that'll be a problem." I cleared my throat, then spread my hands in a "these-are-the-facts" sort of way. I looked at him, hoping he could see how scared I'd been, how tired I was of worrying about him, how much he meant to me. "I shouldn't've said anything about striking out on my own. I'm not gonna just up and leave you, Sam. That's not what this is." I paused. "I promise." I leaned towards him a little, widening my eyes and waiting for his answer.

He was really, actually thinking about what I'd said. I could see it in the way that he set his jaw and lowered his eyes slightly. And I couldn't believe it. He never considered my suggestions-admittedly, that was probably because most of them were not-so-subtle sex jokes and the rest were impulsive and dangerous and usually cast me as the martyr. Usually, we went with whatever he thought was best, unless I dug my heels in and made myself a real pain in the ass. This was kind of a first for me. Especially because what I'd said was so...inconceivable.

Finally, he raised his head, looked me straight in the eye, and, very calmly, said, "No."

I felt years-old frustration and despair thud up from the middle of me. "Sam-"

"Dean." Sam met my furious tone with one so calm and patient I could've hit him. "I understand why you're so worried, but...no. I'm not gonna do this."

"Why?" My voice was raw with emotion, and I almost flinched at how pathetic and beaten I sounded.

"Because you can't make these kinds of decisions for me," he explained gently. "In fact, the last time you tried...well, it's the reason we're screwing each other now."

It would've hurt less if he'd just hauled off and punched me. I felt my face twitch, and a million barbed comebacks popped into my head-that I'd really though he liked all the screwing, considering the noises he made; that said screwing was getting a little one-sided with him so out of shape; that he wouldn't be as fat as he'd gotten if he didn't love it. But my tongue felt frozen in my mouth and I could barely think past the sudden flood of guilt. About the incest thing I'd somehow been managing not to think about too hard, and what I'd done to him, and just under a million other things.

He must have seen the wounded expression on my face, because he hurried to take back what he'd said.

"I am not complaining," he said, fast and adamant and taking care to enunciate every syllable. "No. I...I love this. I love you. I'm just saying, we're lucky we got out of Berington without dying or being led on leashes by some kinky demon."

"Yeah, I guess." My voice sounded hard, even to me. "But you gotta admit you're not really cut out for this line of work anymore."

I reached over, grabbing a handful of his ample stomach, and he didn't pull away. I started to rub, watching his eyes slowly close with pleasure. In a low voice, I went on.

"You've got me feeding you almost constantly and rubbing your belly when you eat too much, like some sort of spoiled pet," I murmured. "Your belly gets in the way when you bend over, and your ass...surprised you haven't ripped any pants yet. You need to eat so much to even feel full, and you usually keep eating way past that, huh? 'Cause it feels good?"

With a sigh that was part resignation and part pleasure, Sam laid back, and I moved closer to him, still playing with the fat of his middle.

"Then you're all but useless once your belly's completely stuffed, aren't you? So heavy and full...most of the time, you can't even stand. Need me right there to rub and coo and feed you just a little more, if you can fit it," I went on. "You've been packing on the pounds pretty fast, Sammy, living like this. Imagine how big you'll be in a couple of months. A year." I smirked down at him. "There's a reason there're no fat hunters."

He sat up to speak, but didn't push my hand off him, as he quietly said, "I can make it work."

"Yeah. Sure you can." I paused to take a breath. "Way I see it, you've got two choices." I got back into a position something like I'd been in before, arms wrapped around him and both hands working at the neat, sensitive little rolls of fat on his front. Partly, it was to distract him. But, partly, it made me feel good, to have him so close. Despite what he'd said earlier. "Either you give it up, like I said..." My voice, as I whispered in his ear, had a note of sadistic glee in it. I was still kinda pissed at him. "Or you stop doing this." I squeezed at his belly. "Stop pigging out, stop letting me coddle you and stuff you full of good food, stop gaining so much weight and loving it." I paused. "Hell, maybe we should should stop all the other stuff we've been doing together, too."

Sam glared at me, even as he was unconsciously squirming closer so I could get better access to certain parts of him. The options I'd given him were most definitely not fair, especially from his perspective. But I couldn't fight back a little lightning bolt of fear. What if he chose that second option?

He wouldn't. No way.

"You're such a jerk."

"Yeah, and you love it." I was winning, I could feel it. "Wouldn't be any fun if I didn't treat you like my bitch once in awhile, huh? It's your favorite part of any feeding session when I make you eat more, even though you're already so full, or lean on your stomach..."

A little moan worked its way out of him, and I wasn't sure if it was because of what I was saying or what my hands were doing to his stomach area. But that was it, I had him. I pushed him down, pulled my legs up, and knelt right next to him, figuring that straddling his thighs couldn't be a good idea. Not with those cuts. I rested a hand on top of the soft mound of his belly, waiting.

"All right. Fine." His eyes were closed, and his voice was angry, strained with pleasure. "I don't want to stop."

"Yeah, I didn't think so." I smiled, stroking his hair with my other hand. "Don't wanna give up this cute little gut, do you, Sammy?" I patted it for emphasis. "Or the feeding. Or the belly rubs."

He didn't say anything for a second, but, suddenly, I knew what he was thinking. As clear as if it'd been in my own head. He didn't want to lose me.

I gotta tell you, realizing that made me feel pretty great. All warm and fuzzy and...well, needed. Loved.

"Okay." Sam kept his voiceas flat as possible. "Let's say that-hypothetically-I quit hunting. What would happen?"

I had to think about that one for a second, slowly rubbing his stomach as I idly wished it was round and taut with food and he was whimpering with fullness. "Guess we'd have to get a house. Just the absolute necessities-a few rooms, kitchen, TV, bed." Saying that sent a little ice-cold worm of excitement crawling through my belly. We didn't sleep in the same bed, not right now. But I...I wanted to, despite the inherent girliness of that desire. It would make everything a little more real, a little more stable. And, let's face it, Sam and I's relationship needed all the reality and stability it could get. "I could focus completely on you." I smiled a little. "I can think of only one thing I'd really need to take a break from feeding you to do."

"Wait. You'd...quit, too? Quit hunting?" He raised his head a little.

"Well, yeah, mostly." I shrugged. "I'd kinda have to, wouldn't I?"

"Well, if you'd be there...okay."

"...wait." I couldn't have heard that right. "What?"

"I said okay." He moved a little underneath my hand, pushing himself into my touch. "I think I can do this."

"Are you freaking serious?" I demanded. "After all that, you just-"

"What can I say? You convinced me." Sam grinned. "And, y'know, if you give it up, too, I...might have something to focus on besides what's happening to me." He reached up and laid a hand, palm-flat, against my stomach.

I felt my face settle into my default "expressionless" expression. "Nah, that's not gonna happen."

"You sure?" He raised an eyebrow. "I mean, no hunting, plenty of food...and I saw the look on your face when that demon was feeding you..."

I decided it would probably be best to let it go. But we were probably gonna have to have a talk (read: screaming, furious, battle-to-the-death throwdown) later.

"So," I began, changing the subject as I leaned over him. "You're really gonna stop hunting."

"Yeah." He stayed quiet for a second. "I don't really want to, but...I guess I don't really have a choice."

"Oh, c'mon, I'll make you forget all about it." I lowered my head, locked him into a quick, gentle kiss. Not really my MO when it came to him, but it felt right, in place of the raw, hungry way I usually kissed. "You know I will. 'Sides, wouldn't you rather be holed up with me, nothing to do but let me stuff you and see to all your other needs-" I left the If you know what I mean unspoken. "-than be dragged halfway across the country every day to go toe-to-toe with some fanged freak? Seriously, Sam, I can't stand this, only touching you whenever we get a couple extra minutes..."

"I know." Sam pulled me down, and I adjusted my position, so that I was all but curled up against him. "Yeah, I know." He paused. "I gotta say, I'm...kind of looking forward to this."

"Of course you are." I smiled against his chest. "It'll be just like Berington. Except, uh, without the bottle-blonde with and the occult mind control and the kinky demon..."

He laughed, softly, and pulled me into a second kiss. This one was deeper, harder, and lasted a lot longer. When I moved my mouth down to his neck and shifted, accidentally jostling his wounded thigh, he winced a little.

"Just try to remember that a werewolf tried to rip me a new one tonight," Sam panted into my ear. "Be gentle, Dean."

And I was. Because he'd asked me to, and because I figured he deserved a little bit of a reward after so readily agreeing to give up the job.

Later, I held him close to me, listened to his breathing, and grinned like an idiot in the near-darkness of noon in a small-windowed motel room. Maybe this wasn't what I'd expected when I first got up in the middle of the night, months ago, and started surfing the web. Me and Sam tangled together on a small bed, him asleep in my arms, something comforting and steady and downright beautiful pulsing right around where my heart might have been. (Human anatomy has never been my strong suit; I don't see the point in learning about something if you don't need to know where the vital organs are so you can kill it.) But, in the end, I'd gotten exactly what I wanted.

He was safe.

And he was mine. Wasn't exactly a side effect I'd been expecting, but it was definitely one I could live with.

Brotherly Love Ch. 9

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 23:00:56 GMT

"I...I just feel like I should apologize again..."

"No, that's okay. Really. I get it."

"I am so, so sorry for what I-"

"Uh-huh," I said wearily, cutting Sarah off before she could get any further as I pitched my bag into the backseat of the Impala. Slamming the door, I turned to look at her, folding my arms across my chest. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a low-cut T-shirt that didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination. She was twisting her hands together, standing with her shoulders hunched and her feet together, and she was chewing nervously on her lower lip. I mentally sighed.

"Okay, look," I started reluctantly, putting a hand on her shoulder. Which I started to regret when she blinked up at me in wonder. "You screwed up, yeah. Big time. But we fixed it and we're all gonna be okay. So...you can't beat yourself up over it. All right?"

Sarah sighed, and looked down at her hands. "...all right." She glanced back up at me. "But, Dean, I really am sorry for everything...I swear, if I had known Sam was your brother-"

"Yeah, okay." I patted her on the shoulder, not really paying attention. To be honest, all I could focus on right now was getting the hell out of here."

Sam walked past us, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder. I watched as he set it down in the backseat, handling it a lot gentler than I had my duffel bag so that he wouldn't break his laptop, but he didn't look at me. He glanced at Sarah over the top of the car, doing a pretty good job of hiding the dislike he had to be feeling, as he yanked open the door on the passenger side.

"You do realize that this isn't a permanent solution, right?" he asked her. "We exorcised the demon, but she will make it back from Hell eventually. You need more help than we can give you, unfortunately."

"I know," Sarah replied, nodding jerkily. "Thanks so much for what you've done, though. You didn't have to, especially after what I did...but you really helped me." She looked from him to me and back again, eyes wide. "You knew exactly what to do, too. What are you guys, like...some sort of demon hunters?"

I glanced at Sam, who raised his eyebrows, then shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and just looked at Sarah. "You've led a very sheltered life, haven't you?"

She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." I shook my head, then looked over at my brother and tapped the roof of the car. "C'mon, Sam, let's hit the road. This place makes my skin crawl."

He nodded and ducked inside. I pulled open my door and prepared to mirror him, but Sarah touched my arm. I paused and looked at her.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you'll ever come back here?" she asked. Her expression was hopeful.

It took me a second to respond to that. I shook my head. "No. No, I really don't."

"I guess that was a stupid question." She smiled shyly.

"Kind of," I agreed.

"Um, Dean, for the record..." Sarah looked away, but her smile got a lot wider. "...you looked really good with a belly." She glanced back at me, making eye contact that I felt a little uncomfortable about. "And you and Sam make a cute couple."

There was just really no way for me to respond to something like that. I'd never had to deal with someone telling me that my brother and I looked good together. So I just stood there like an idiot for a couple seconds, mouth slightly open, before nodding abruptly and dryly saying, "Thanks, Sarah."

"'Bye, Dean." She flashed me a quick smile as I climbed into the car. I didn't waste any time at all starting the engine and pulling out.

"Crazy," I muttered under my breath.

"I dunno, I kinda liked her," Sam said. I glanced over at him, but he was just staring straight ahead, smiling a little. I rolled my eyes.

Neither of us said anything for about half an hour, not until we were well out of Berington. I kept shifting in my seat as I drove. I'd chosen to skip breakfast that morning, but my jeans were still a little snug around my waist. I'd probably picked up a couple of pounds from whatever that demon chick'd fed me, but it didn't really bother me so long as my pants still basically fit. I knew that Sam had his unbuttoned and unzipped to accommodate the little gut he had now, and his shirt was pulled low to hide that. Before I could stop myself, I thought about reaching over and poking him in that gut, teasing him about it, seeing him start to blush, letting the teasing turn into dirty talk...but I scowled fiercely and shut my eyes for a second to get rid of that image. No. I was done with that. And Sam would lose the extra weight fast, with how physically demanding our job was and how he usually ate.

Speaking of Sam, he suddenly jerked me out of my thoughts with a loud, drawn-out sigh. I looked over at him, and he made eye contact with me without hesitating.

"So," he began.

"So?" I prompted.

"When are we gonna talk about this?" he asked. I immediately turned my attention back to the road.

"Never."

"Dean-"

"We are never going to talk about this," I growled, interrupting him. "We're not gonna mention it, we're not gonna tell anyone what happened back there, we're just gonna forget about it. And if you ever bring it up again-ever-then I will break bones. Important ones."

"Dean..." Sam tried again.

"You know I can!"

"Dean." He pushed a hand up through his hair. "Okay. Pull over."

"What? No!"

"You-you always do this!" He sounded frustrated. "You ignore me, and you ignore what's wrong with you, and you just keep going until you obviously can't handle it anymore and you're on the brink of getting yourself or me or both of us killed! So-here, Dean, I have an idea. How about we actually address the problem right now before it festers into something I can't help you with?"

"I..." I started to say something, probably something that would really make me sound like an asshole and piss him off even more, but, suddenly, I had to look at him. So I tore my eyes off the road and turned to him. Shaggy, dark-brown hair, falling into his green eyes, which were currently furious and focused right on me. Prominent cheekbones and full lips. Broad shoulders, long legs, a lean, muscular build broken only by the bulge of fat at his stomach and the softness in his chest-mostly hidden by his shirt. I couldn't hold back the sudden, brutal wave of love and wanting that hit me somewhere right behind the sternum.

Against every higher function, most of which still understood that Sam was my brother and therefore just about as off-limits as he could be, I pulled over and killed the engine.

Sam didn't say anything for a minute, even when I sat back and waited silently, still looking at him. I think he was a little shocked that I'd actually done what he wanted me to. Or maybe he just hadn't expected to get this far.

"Thank you," he said quietly, finally. "Are you going to listen to me?"

"Sure. Just so long as I can stop thinking about how much I wanna kiss you right now," I replied immediately, before my brain and my mouth could get together and talk about the consequences of saying exactly what was on my mind.

That shocked him. I could see it. I fought my way past the inevitable "oh-Jesus-did-I-really-just-say-that-out-loud" horror and opened my mouth to take it back and make things as okay as they ever could be. Which wasn't much, but still, I could try. Sam started talking before I could, though. And I figured I owed him enough to let him finish.

"I thought-" he started, then paused. Probably getting his thoughts in order so he wouldn't make the same mistake I had. "We're not cursed anymore.

"No, but apparently my head's still screwed all to hell." I paused. "More than normal, I mean."

Sam turned away from me, staring out the windshield. I was sure that I'd messed up more completely than I ever had before, killed whatever trust was still between us, made him afraid of me. And that hurt like a kick to the jewels, an ache that went all the way up inside and throbbed without any sign of ever leaving. I started talking, not really sure what else to do.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what's wrong with me," I began. "I understand if you want to leave for awhile. I would, too, I mean, if you started hitting on me it'd freak the crap out of me and my first instinct would be to take off running in the other direction, and I'm not gay, but, Goddammit, Sammy, I can't stop thinking about you and you look so freaking attractive to me right now and I hate myself for it but-"

"Dean." He interrupted me, and reached over to run a hand over my hair, his hand stopping at the back of my head. "It's okay. Stop freaking out."

"That's kind of a tall order, considering that right now I wanna-"

"Listen to me for five minutes. Do you think you can do that?"

I nodded, suddenly aware of how he was touching me, how he was looking at me. God, this was wrong, this was so messed up, I wanted this more than anything.

"I can tell I'm not cursed anymore," he said. "I can't feel anything messing with my head. I'm not having trouble thinking what I want to. So everything I feel right now must be entirely me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think...I feel something for you I probably shouldn't," he admitted reluctantly. "I want stuff I probably shouldn't. I don't care that you're my brother, I don't care that you're a guy, I don't even care that I've gained weight. I just...I want to keep doing what we've been doing, without something supernatural making us."

I stared at him, blood starting to pump downwards, brain still trying to catch up with what my body had already pretty much accepted. "You-you're sure?"

Instead of answering me, he tugged me towards him, and kissed me. He was gentle, he didn't push, and after about ten seconds of that, I decided that I'd better take over. I pulled him hard against me, not caring that we were in a car and there was a center console between us. He shifted, trying to accommodate me, but I didn't make it easy for him. I was too busy moving my mouth against his, and pulling his shirt up, and grabbing at his belly. He hadn't eaten this morning, either, and that frustrated me, especially because he was still so small. Relatively speaking.

Sam moaned a little as I touched him, and that got rid of any reservations I still had. He was holding me against him, fingertips digging into the muscle of my back whenever I did something that felt particularly good. I kneaded and massaged the extra flesh on his stomach, which had been perfectly flat a week ago, and moved my hands to the small rolls beginning to form above the ridges of his hips. Meanwhile, his hands ran all over me, pressing so hard that I could feel the calluses on his hands through my shirt. Back, chest, hips-he just seemed eager to explore every inch of me. And that was definitely an endeavor I supported. I pushed myself up a little, so I could be closer to him, kneeling uncomfortably on the seat. I gasped roughly against his mouth when he took advantage of that new position and grabbed my ass.

Just for a second, I thought about telling him to slow down. Because we were related, and this was our first time doing this without demon-magic shoving us at each other, and I wasn't quite sure how I felt about his hands being where they were. But that didn't last long. I kissed him as hard as I could, traced the curves of his chest with my fingertips, and felt my hips twitch forward in instinctual reaction.

Sam broke the kiss to gasp, "I've seen you with a million different women, and I never-oh, God, Dean!-knew you could do this."

"Yeah, well, none of them had this," I replied, taking a handful of his belly. "You're getting fat, Sammy, might wanna start watching what you eat."

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that, if I admitted defeat, started trying to lose weight-then you could break me, push fattening food at me, convince me to eat instead of going out and exercising-"

"I don't have to 'convince' you to do anything, Sam," I answered, brushing my lips against his collarbone. "You'll eat whatever I give you until you can't move because you want to, because you like it. That's what you want from me, right? You want me to feed you?"

"Yes. God, yes." Sam tugged at me. "Come here."

I pressed myself against him, as best I could in the cramped confines of the Impala. Best car I ever owned, but she definitely wasn't built to accommodate the passions of a couple good-sized guys.

"You're gonna have to start eating more," I growled into his chest. "I want you stuffed after every single meal, and eating in between, and begging me to touch you."

"Okay," Sam panted. "Okay. Dean-" He hesitated, then looked at me, pulling back for a second. "D'you think we can do this? I mean...you don't have the best track record when it comes to relationships-"

So he thought I'd take off and leave him, or lose interest. I guess I couldn't blame him, considering how many women he'd seen me drop once I got what I wanted from them. I couldn't get out the right words to tell him that this felt more real, more solid, brighter and hotter and stronger than anything I'd messed with before. I wasn't too articulate about these things at the best of times, and right now, with passion and lust pulsing red in my brain, unable to think about anything but the softness under my hands and the spots below my waist that were currently throbbing with need, there was just no way I could explain why he didn't have to worry. Not if I wanted to make sense, anyway. Maybe I could show him.

Sam proved himself to be pretty vocal about pleasure when I pushed him down into his seat, moaning and whining and gasping out my name as I ground my hips into his stomach. I was on top of him, our torsos on the passenger side, our pelvises locking against each other on the center console, our legs tangled and bent and cramped on the driver's side. It sure as hell wasn't comfortable, but at this point, I really couldn't have cared less. I was focused on the sounds he was making, the bony ridges and muscles of my body sinking into the newly-soft parts of his, and his arms getting tighter and tighter around me. One hand was on the back of my head, pressing my face into his neck, and the other was just south of the small of my back, fingertips digging into all the right places.

"Dean, Dean, Dean..." He said my name over and over again, between gasps and cries of pure pleasure, his voice as fervent as if it were an exorcism ritual. I couldn't get over the passion I could hear, the desperate need, the...well, I guess there's no other word for it but wonder. No idea where that came from. Honestly, it seemed a little out of place.

Sam panted heavily, right next to my ear, until I locked my against his again and felt him move against me. I lifted my hips so that I could brush a hand over his bare stomach and feel the slight jiggle. I imagined that same stomach taut and huge and swollen with food, Sam groaning in discomfort, my hands on him and working to soothe the pain so he could eat just a little more. I shuddered against him, and broke the kiss just long enough to rasp, "You'd better get used to having a full belly, 'cause I'm gonna make sure you're never hungry again."

Then it was Sam's turn to pull back, only for a few seconds, to whisper, "Just when is this gonna start?"

As if on cue, his stomach growled, and I smiled against his mouth, realizing just how much he'd be able to eat for me because that demon had nudged me into stuffing him so full and so often.

"In a minute," I muttered. "Wanna finish this first."

Were we really gonna do this? In a car (oh, God, my car-if I'd still been capable of worrying about stuff like that, I might have flipped out over our imminent defiling of the poor Impala) like a couple of horny teenagers? Well, apparently, the answer was yes, because he showed no sign of letting go of me and I sure as hell wasn't releasing my grip on him. If anything, it was getting tighter.

"Dean." Sam's voice was strained with pleasure.

"Uh-huh?" I really didn't mind him talking, just so long as he kept his legs wrapped around mine and his body moving like it was.

"Why-ohh..." He trailed off into a moan, and had to start again. "Why'd you take me to that place? If you only started feeling like this about me while we were there?"

I had to hesitate. Partly so I could haul my coherent thoughts out of the sea of hormones and lust they were happily drowning in, partly so I could figure out if I was going to lie to him or not. In the end, I decided not to. It always seemed to come back and bite me in the ass when I lied to Sam.

"Wanted you safe, Sammy," I murmured. "In retrospect...probably not the greatest way to do that."

And I had screwed it up royally. Dad had told me to look after Sammy, and here I was, all but doing him in the car that he'd also trusted me to look after-and fantasizing about him overeating and gaining weight. He was in more danger than ever with me as his...whatever...and this new kink driving him. It was my fault. I'd hurt him, done something to him, and he was going to-

Sam derailed that thought by pulling me even closer, holding me even tighter. I closed my eyes tight, ashamed of what I was feeling and what I'd done.

"You were really that desperate to protect me?" he asked quietly.

"I guess I was."

"I can look after myself, you know."

"I guess you can."

"All in all, though..." He kissed me again, gently, in the way I'd started to realize was all him, and that somehow made almost everything okay for a second. "...probably the best mistake you ever made."

And after that, there was him, and me, and it felt right enough that I forgot about feeling guilty, about my duty to Sam and Dad and everyone else. He was mine because he wanted to be. He was giving himself to me out of his own free will, and there was no magic behind his lust this time. Or mine. It was just...us.

Now, I wasn't an idiot. Now that there wasn't a curse making him docile, we'd lock horns, butt heads, whatever you wanted to call it, we'd fight. Because that was kinda what we did. But I knew that'd be outweighed by this new thing between us, and Sam looking up at me eagerly as I fed him, and the feeling of those big hands of his on my bare skin. Sometimes, I'd even let him have the upper hand, make some decisions for himself, depend on his amazing ability to predict what was right for him.

Because he was my brother. And if he couldn't be safe, at least I could make him happy.

Brotherly Love Ch. 8

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:59:56 GMT

The sound of my boots slamming into the concrete seemed about as loud as a shotgun going off at close range-to me, at least. It had gotten deathly quiet after Sarah screamed, and there was just no way that could be a good sign. I patted at all the usual places that I kept weapons, running as fast as I could to force blood back to other parts of my body, and swore under my breath when I didn't find anything. No knives, no guns-jeez, it'd been years since I'd screwed up like this on a hunt.

I skidded to a halt as soon as I reached the laundry room. With my hands clenched into fists that probably wouldn't do me any good at all against a demon, I took stock of the situation. Sarah was crouched in the very center of the salt circle, which was, thank God, still intact. She was shaking, knees pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around her legs. Despite everything she'd done and how much she'd screwed up Sam and I's lives, I couldn't stop myself from feeling sorry for her. She just looked so pathetic.

There was another woman in the room, standing right outside the circle of salt. She wore high-heeled leather boots, jeans so tight that they might have been painted on, and a tank top with straps that were barely even visible. She had a body fantastic enough to make the outfit work, along with a wild mane of dark hair and black eyes. Literally, solid-black eyes. Demon. Apparently one that liked to show off, too.

Every weapon I had dug out of the back of the Impala in order to fight this thing was in my duffel bag. My duffel bag was on the opposite side of the room. The demon stood between me and it.

Well. Shit.

"Finally, a Winchester!" the demon exclaimed, noticing me. Her voice-or, the voice of her meatsuit, at least-was a throaty purr that, normally, would have had my skin crawling with the need for her to touch me. But I didn't react to her, and my mind stayed clear. So...maybe there was an upside to being attracted to Sam... "Took you long enough to show up. What, were you too busy banging your brother?"

I gritted my teeth, but shot her a winning smile. "Nah. Kinda hard to get it up when you know there's some ugly hell-spawn bitch in the other room."

"Watch your language, you're in the presence of a lady," she scolded, sauntering towards me. I held my ground. "But...let's see. Terrible attitude, short hair...you must be Dean."

"So, what, you want a prize or something?"

"I've heard a lot about you," she said approvingly, stopping about ten feet away from me and shifting her weight onto one leg. "You two are pretty famous down below. Imagine how excited I was when I realized that I had the Winchester brothers on the receiving end of one of my curses!" The demon paused for a second, examining me. I noticed that she seemed to be looking especially at my stomach. "Huh. I guess you're not the one that it caught. Which is kind of weird, because, considering what I know about you..." She stalked in a wide circle around me, and I turned to keep an eye on her. "...you would have been my first guess."

"Well." I folded my arms across my chest, and smiled. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"You kind of did, actually." She pushed some hair out of her face. "I mean, they tell me you're the glutton, that you have no self-control, that you'd beg your brother to make you his bitch in a heartbeat if you thought he'd say yes."

"Sweetheart, I have no idea where you've been getting your information..." I started. But before I could finish, the demon flickered out of my line of sight. I spun around wildly, trying to find her, and the next thing I knew, she was pressed against my back, one hand on my throat and the other spread flat against my stomach. I swallowed.

"What's the other one's name? Sam?" she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. I strained my eyes, trying to see just what she was doing back there. "How fat have you made him, Dean? Do any of his clothes still fit?"

"Wasn't my fault," I growled. The demon laughed.

"Please. I didn't so much as touch you. Sam was the only one I worked my magic on," she breathed. "Whatever you did to him...it was all you." She laughed again, and it most definitely wasn't a pretty sound. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew that your deepest desire is to stuff him as full as possible and then do him?"

"Wow, you are nuts," I commented. "He's my brother. Before you came into the picture, I never thought about him like that. I'm not some sort of freak."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," the demon purred. "After all, it's not really normal to encourage your brother to get fat, is it? To hand-feed him until he's too full to move? I bet that, on some level, you even wish it wasn't so one-sided..."

I opened my mouth to snarl something, but she continued before I could. "You really shouldn't deny your urges like this, Dean. It's practically...sinful."

She drew her hand into a claw on my stomach, her long fingernails digging into my skin even though there was a shirt between us. The second she did that, hunger so intense that it was actually, cripplingly painful exploded in my belly. I couldn't stop myself from crying out, and falling to my knees when she let go of me. I doubled over, supporting myself with one arm and wrapping the other as tight as I could around my stomach. It didn't do a lot of good. It felt like a black hole was chewing on my guts.

I barely even noticed when the demon knelt down next to me, and stroked the back of my head. Drawing on all my strength, I raised my head and fixed her with a murderous glare.

"What the hell'd you do to me?" I gasped. She smiled.

"Nothing really harmful..."

"Dean!" I heard Sarah call, voice panicky. I looked over my shoulder, and grimaced when I saw her about to step over the salt barrier.

"Oh, Jesus...stay where you are!" I yelled. She looked like it hurt, but she stayed. So that was one problem solved. For the moment. I dropped my head again.

I felt demon fingers under my chin almost immediately, lifting my head so I had no choice but to look in those black eyes. She smiled indulgently.

"Just a little push in the right direction, and you're totally helpless," she cooed. "And everyone who's tangled with you before said you were tough."

And then she had something in her free hand. Right next to my mouth, something that smelled beyond amazing. Whatever freaky, supernatural hunger she had sown in me surged up, and I couldn't keep myself from taking a bite. As soon as it was in my mouth, I realized that it was a burger-probably the best one I'd ever eaten. I moaned a little.

Which I immediately regretted, when I heard that demonic bitch start laughing again. I would have sworn at her if my mouth hadn't been full. She moved her hand from my chin to my head, and stroked my hair like I was some sort of lapdog.

"I really thought you'd be harder to break," she whispered. "But I guess I was wrong. Now, Dean, eat. I want to be able to tell everyone back home every detail of how the mighty hunter fell."

I did what she told me to. As much as I didn't want to, as much as I hated myself for it, I didn't really have a choice. I was hungrier than I'd ever been, and food just kept appearing right in front of my mouth. C'mon, what would you have done?

I didn't keep track of how much I was eating, or how much time had passed. I think I actually closed my eyes and tried really hard not to think about the fact that a demon all but had me on a leash. With my hands on my thighs and the waistband of my jeans getting painfully tight, I mentally searched for a way out of this. Something I could do, some weakness I could exploit, some hidden weapon I could pull out. But I couldn't think of anything, and, for once, I actually kinda resented the fact that I was human. I really could've done with a set of fangs right about then.

By the time I finally started to feel better, I was shaking. From self-disgust, from the realization that a demon had her hands all over me, and, as much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, from pleasure. It felt good. I didn't even know how much she had fed me, and I didn't really want to know, but everything had tasted fantastic. And having my stomach so full and heavy, with everything I had eaten stretching it out...well, I was pretty familiar with a less-intense version of this feeling, and I liked it. I shouldn't have, but I did.

"I really can't decide if you're cute or pathetic," the demon murmured. She poked me in the belly, hard, and I grunted in pain. "Probably pathetic."

"Oh, I am gonna enjoy shipping your ass back to Hell," I growled, opening my eyes and glaring at her. She was smiling like she'd just won the lottery. I glanced over at Sarah, who was standing in the middle of the salt circle again, hugging herself and watching me with wide eyes.

"I'd like to see you try, pig," the demon cooed, running on fingernail down the curve of my stomach. "I bet you can't even stand right now. Now I bet you know how your poor baby brother's felt these past few days, huh?"

I was about to spit some general smartassery back at her, but she glanced up at the doorway before I could, and her smile widened. "Well, speak of the devil."

I followed her gaze, and nearly groaned out loud. Sam was leaning against the doorway, breathing hard, one hand placed protectively on his bulging stomach. He had been glaring at the demon, but now, his eyes flicked to me. He raised both eyebrows.

But he'd caught me in situations way more awkward than this. Well, okay, maybe he hadn't, but I was pretty confident I could top this, if I tried hard enough.

"Ooh, Sam..." The demon stood up, and stalked towards my brother, who didn't look particularly impressed with her. "You've really let yourself go, haven't you?"

I took the opportunity to struggle to my feet. It was hard, way harder than it should have been. My full stomach weighed me down, spilling over the waistband of my jeans and lifting my shirt up. I glanced at my duffel bag, which I had a straight shot to, then at Sam. He blinked. I chose to interpret that as, "Go for it, I'll keep her busy."

"So...you're obviously the one who's been messing with my head," Sam said, his voice a little strained.

"Oh, yes. You, I definitely messed with," the demon replied. I walked past Sarah, who shot me a terrified look, and I made a "stay" gesture.

"I'm gonna give you a choice." Oh, great, Sam was in diplomat mode. I knelt down in front of my bag-carefully, grimacing when I felt everything I'd eaten slosh uncomfortably inside of me-and started digging through it, pulling out shotguns loaded with salt rounds, flasks of holy water, Enochian exorcism rituals. "You can leave right now, if you take the curse off of my brother and I and let Sarah out of her contract."

"Why are you two so dead-set on saving her?" The demon's voice was disapproving. "I mean, after what she did to you..."

"It's kinda what we do." I knew Sam well enough to tell that an ironic smile would be flickering across his face right now. I scanned through an exorcism ritual, trying to memorize it.

But, suddenly, the book was ripped out of my hands by something invisible. Everything else I'd been counting on went flying to the other side of the room, and then the demon was hauling me to to my feet by the collar of my shirt. She dragged me back over to where Sam was, and it didn't take long for me to realize that I was too full to fight with her or struggle.

She had us both pinned against the wall, with those psychic powers that the really annoying demons always seem to have, within a couple of minutes. I glanced at Sam.

"I thought I told you to stay put."

"I couldn't just let you charge in and go toe-to-toe with a demon on your own," Sam replied stubbornly. Glancing at my swollen stomach, he added, "And it's a good thing I showed up, you were letting her stuff you like a Thanksgiving turkey." He sighed suddenly, and looked away, and bit his lip, practically hard enough to draw blood. "But...seeing you so full like that..." He glanced upwards. "I just want to grab you and-"

"Now's not really the time, Sam," I pointed out dryly.

"I know. I...can't help it."

The demon interrupted us right about then. She stalked forward-I was starting to think that she wasn't capable of walking any other way-and examined us approvingly.

"The Winchester brothers," she announced, grinning proudly. "So full of fattening food that they can't even take on a simple demon." She reached out to stroke my belly, and I really wished that it didn't feel as good as it did. "You two are pigs, really. Sam, it's been so fun to watch you gorge yourself and beg your brother to feed you more. And, Dean..." She grinned. "Oh, I like feeding you. You were such a glutton already, I barely had to do anything to get you to eat right out of my hand."

I gritted my teeth as she leaned closer to us, close enough for me to punch her if my arms hadn't been pinned to the wall.

"How about I give you a choice?" she whispered. "I'll let her go, and forget all about her dept to me..." She nodded to Sarah. "...if you give yourselves to me."

"No way," I responded immediately. She rolled her eyes.

"Hear me out before you throw a knee-jerk response at me," she snapped. "I don't want you for torture, or whatever you're thinking. I'll make things easy for you, keep you someplace safe. I'll keep you well-supplied with food. I'll give you anything you want-including each other."

Sam glanced at me. I pretended there was something extremely interesting on the ceiling.

"All I want is to show you off to the others," the demon whispered. "Like a pair of prize-fattened hogs. So everyone knows that I caught and tamed the Winchesters, took them from terrifying hunters that everyone discussed in hushed tones to docile pets."

I opened my mouth to tell her to take a flying leap, but Sam jumped in before I could, with a low, urgent, "You'll let Sarah go? If we do this?"

"Yeah. I will." She smiled indulgently at him. "You have my word."

"Sam-" I started, a warning note in my voice."

"Okay." He nodded decisively. "Okay, we'll do it."

"Sam!"

The demon grinned widely, stepping back from us. I alternated between glaring furiously at her and giving Sam the angriest, most betrayed look in my arsenal. He didn't seem particularly affected by it. Whatever was pinning us against the wall vanished, and all of my weight settled back onto my feet. Which wasn't necessarily a good thing. It reminded me just how much heavier than normal I was at the moment.

The demon took another step backwards, still smiling, and beckoned to us. "Come here, boys."

Sam and I didn't move. I folded my arms over my chest, raising an incredulous eyebrow.

"Did she just step into the-" Sam began, glancing at me.

"Yep." I nodded. He looked back at the demon.

"Huh."

"A show-off and a moron," I noted, walking a slow circle around her and doing my absolute best not to waddle. "Darling, we need more of your kind in the world."

She had no idea what we were talking about-I could see it in her face. But she got it pretty fast when she glanced down and saw the chalk devil's trap that she had walked right into. She screeched furiously, and I winced, surprised that my eardrums didn't immediately start bleeding.

"Sam!" I called over the sound of her screaming. "Think you can take care of her? I need a minute."

I leaned back against the wall, sliding down into a sitting position with a grunt. I rested my forearms on my knees and watched Sam retrieve one of the rituals, recite it with perfect pronunciation, and take a few cautious steps back when fluid black smoke poured out of the host. When he was done, he didn't go to the girl who was crumpled in the center of the devil's trap, or to Sarah, who was just kinda standing there with her mouth open and her eyes bugging out. No, he made a beeline straight for me.

"You okay?" Sam asked quietly, kneeling in front of me with a whole lot of effort.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Just a little..." I patted my stomach. "...overfed."

"Good. Good, I'm glad, I-"

"Why the hell'd you tell her yes?" I interrupted. He looked a little surprised.

"Well, I...you can't really blame me, Dean, I was cursed."

"Fair enough," I conceded. "But, what, did what she was suggesting-actually sound good to you or something?"

"Well...yeah." He seemed pretty embarrassed. "I mean...we wouldn't have to worry about anything. I'd get, uh..." He paused, and absentmindedly put a hand on his belly, obviously having a hard time getting the words out. "...fed. And I'd be with you."

"That was really that appealing to you?" I asked skeptically.

"Of course it was." I suddenly realized that he was pretty close to me, leaning in, his stomach all but brushing mine. Very slowly, I closed my eyes, my heartrate speeding up. "Dean..."

He cupped the back of my head, his movements incredibly gentle, like he was afraid he'd hurt me or I'd push him away. But I didn't, not even when he pressed his lips against mine and started to kiss. He was tentative at first, but he got a lot more eager when I put both hands on his full belly and rubbed. He pushed against me, putting his free hand on my shoulder to brace himself. I tilted my head, opened my mouth slightly, and pushed back, digging my thumbs into his stomach. I felt him wince.

I'd never wanted anyone more than I wanted Sam right now. Especially with his swollen belly in my hands and him breaking the kiss for just a second to pant eagerly against my mouth. I knew he was my brother, and that he was another guy, and that no part of this was healthy. But that didn't change how absolutely right he felt against me.

He pulled away before I was ready, breathing hard, eyes wide and dark hair mussed. I wanted to haul him back, command him to get his chubby ass over here because I wasn't done with him. But, instead, I gasped, "Dude, what the hell?"

"I guess this curse takes awhile to wear off," Sam panted back. But I thought that he was grinning a little too widely for that to be the truth.

Brotherly Love Ch. 7

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:58:31 GMT

"Are you even sure salt works against hellhounds?"

"Not even sure we're gonna be dealing with hellhounds." Shaking the last few grains of salt out of the cylinder and completing the circle, I straightened up, making a point to face away from Sam. "I've never seen a witch's demons come for her before."

Sarah, standing in the middle of the circle of salt, straightened her blouse while looking at her feet. "I'm-"

"Yeah, we know, you're sorry," I snapped, shooting a glare at her. "Could you shut up for a minute?"

"Dean," Sam said, a warning note in his voice.

"You, too." I shoved my hands into my pockets. "What'd I tell you about talking?"

"I think you need to calm down."

"What, you want to sit down and-and talk about this? God, Sam, what is it with you and supernatural manipulation, huh? I mean, first, there was that freaky sadist doctor ghost in that asylum, and you ended up pointing a gun at my head. And, now-"

"And now you're going to start acting like this is entirely my fault, right?"

I shrugged a little, still without turning to look at him. "Well-"

"Um," Sarah interrupted. I turned to her.

"What?"

She flinched a little at my harsh tone. "D-do...do you have any idea...when?"

I stared at her for a second. "No. No, I don't." I turned towards Sam, keeping my eyes down. "I have an idea. How 'bout we just blame her and call it even?" I jabbed a thumb at Sarah.

"Dean."

"Sorry." I walked across the room. We were in the cavernous basement of the hotel, surrounded by industrial-sized washing machines. "It's kinda been a rough couple of days."

Sarah made a tiny, apologetic-sounding noise. I ignored her.

"I wouldn't say they were rough..." Sam murmured. Recognizing the tone in his voice, I gritted my teeth and made a heroic effort to focus on other things.

"We just have to wait for the demon to show up, basically," I said to Sarah. "I don't know when it's gonna happen. Could be in the next five minutes, could be in a few months. But I have a hunch it'll be soon. Especially...you told us you started doing this about ten years ago, right?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, that's usually how it works. So...we wait."

"And what will you do when it comes?"

"Trap it." I gestured to the circle and the symbols that Sam had drawn on the concrete floor. A devil's trap. "Exorcise it. Buy you some time, so you can figure out how to get rid of the debt you've racked up."

She swallowed. "But what if it doesn't come?"

"We'll give it 'til tomorrow morning. After that, we'll leave our number with you, so you can call us when things start getting weird." Not like we'd drop everything and come to help her, after what'd happened here. But I'd feel guilty later if I didn't go through the motions now.

"How do you know how to do all of this?" Sarah asked.

"Tell you what," I replied evenly. "I'll tell you the whole story as soon as you lift this curse you've got laid on us."

She glanced away. "I'm working on it."

"Doesn't look like it." I folded my arms and gave her a pointed look.

"Dean?" Sam called, from where he was standing beside the door that led out into a corridor. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

I sighed deeply, but followed him out. The kitchens had to be around here somewhere; I could smell something amazing.

"Alright, go ahead, tell me I'm being a dick," I muttered, glancing away.

"Well, you are," he admitted. "But...uh...that's not really..."

"Why you brought me out here? Well, then, what's up?"

"Look at me," he commanded in a soft voice. Reluctantly, I did, out of the corner of my eye. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot," I replied. I had a bad feeling about this. Well, technically, it was a good feeling, but...oh, forget it. Too damn complicated.

"Do you really think that...everything...is just the result of an amateur witch's curse?" he asked quietly.

"Well, she's not an amateur, she's been at it for-" I began with a shrug, but he gave me a look that shut me up.

"I'm serious. Please, answer me." He stepped a little closer, and I made eye contact with him before I could stop myself.

"Y'know...I..." Goddammit, Dean. He was my brother. We were cursed. This wasn't real.

But it felt pretty freaking real when he pressed his lips against mine for the second time that day. It didn't even occur to me to push him away, or to break contact. I tilted my head back, stretching up just a little so he didn't have to lean down so far. This was the first time I'd ever kissed someone taller than me, and I had to admit, I kinda liked it. Sam put his arms around me, awkwardly, like he was having trouble remembering how to hold someone. Or maybe he just wasn't used to the broader shoulders and torso of another man.

I pulled him against me, roughly, loving the subtle softness I could feel underneath his shirt. The curve of his belly. Obviously, he was still pretty full from what we had done this morning. He grunted in discomfort as I shoved him against the wall of the corridor, pressing myself up against him. It just made me more excited.

I broke contact for a second, bowing my head in order to bury it in his neck as I leaned against him. I'd lost track of how many women I'd done this with before I even dropped out of high school, but this was somehow different. More solid. Better. I felt his hand on the back of my head, caressing, as I inhaled deeply. It was the same clean, masculine scent that I'd lived with for the past year and a half, but now, it made me hold him tighter and brush my lips over his neck in a convoluted pattern.

Sam cried out a little, tipping his head back. His hands tightened on me, and the one that he'd put on the small of my back went decidedly south. I responded by pulling up his shirt and rubbing his stomach, my mouth still on his neck.

"Dean," he gasped, his voice husky.

"Shut up, I'm busy," I growled.

His hands moved, all over me. Just feeling. I shuddered, almost painfully excited, and locked mouths with him again. I wanted him, desperately. I wanted to run my hands over every inch of him, hear him scream my name, stuff him full of food and enjoy how that changed the shape of his body for the better. Passion and lust. Things I understood. But...there was something deeper, too. Something strong and steady and almost totally alien to me.

Was I...actually in love with him?

Sam pulled away, gasping, and leaned against the wall even as his grip on me tightened.

"Dean," he said again, looking down at me and making eye contact. "Feed me."

That was about the one thing he could have said to drag me away from what we were doing then and there. I kissed him again, briefly, then pulled him off the wall. I only had a vague idea of where the kitchens were, but I did my best, leading him with one hand tight on his bicep. I shoved open a pair of double doors that we came to, pulling Sam in. It smelled fantastic. I could pick out steak, bacon, pizza, cookies, cake, pie. It was probably a safe bet that nothing even remotely healthy had ever come out of here.

We were apparently in some sort of storeroom. Food that didn't need to be served hot-mostly pastries-lined the shelves around us. My pulse sped up, and I could feel blood thundering through my skull. Not to mention, up, a couple other places.

I grabbed a plate off of the shelf, barely paying attention to what was on it. Guiding Sam down into a sitting position against one of the few bare spaces on the wall, I knelt in front of him. He looked vulnerable, eager. I'd seen that expression on the faces of a million different women, but somehow, this was better.

I leaned in, grabbing something from the plate in preparation. It felt like some sort of cookie.

"Hope you're ready," I whispered right next to his ear. "Because I'm not stopping for anything."

I felt him shudder, just a little, in anticipation. I shoved the first cookie into his mouth. He closed his eyes, submitting, and I pushed one hand up under his shirt as I fed him one cookie after another with the other. My pants seemed to shrink a size or two as I traced the curves of his chest and stomach with the tips of my fingers. He was soft-not quite as soft as I would have liked, but still, the thin layer of fat covering his muscles was obvious. I let myself fantasize as I fed him. Sam, fattening up over a matter of days, weeks, months. I could imagine him growing out of his clothes and refusing to acknowledge it, uncomfortably tugging a too-small shirt down over a soft, obvious gut. I could see us running into old friends, them desperately trying to avoid pointing out the obvious, him practically squirming under their scrutiny, and me right next to him, trying not to grin too widely. I could guess what would happen after that, too. We'd go back to whatever crappy motel room we were currently living out of at the time, and he'd turn to me to comfort him. I closed my eyes, thinking about that. Food, lots of food, and intimate contact. Sam, maybe fifty pounds heavier, under me, as I ran my hands over every inch of him. Belly, chest, ass, hips, thighs. All soft, padded, warm.

But right now, we were done with the cookies. I shoved the empty plate off to the side, reaching for something else, and tried to focus on the present. It wasn't hard. Sam's belly was bulging against his clothes, already jam-packed. He was shifting a little, trying to find a more comfortable position as I lifted a plate of brownies off a nearby shelf, and not doing too great a job of it. I cupped my hand around his jaw, holding his head steady as I fed him a brownie, and stroked his cheek with my thumb. Soft skin under faint stubble. He closed his eyes and pressed himself gently into my touch, a soft moan working its way out of him.

"You like that, Sammy?" I whispered, leaning in. He put his hand over mine, squeezing tightly, and then he opened his eyes. I was a little surprised at how hungry the look in them was, how desperate, how full of lust. He clamped his other hand onto the back of my head, fingers getting tangled in my close-cropped hair and pulling painfully as he pushed me into a rough, eager kiss. I ran my fingers over the swollen curve of his stomach, pushed hard, dropped my hand lower and then went back. He gasped against my mouth, a whining moan coming out of him in bits and pieces, and I loved it.

He dropped his hand away from mine, laying it protectively on his belly as he tipped his head back and panted heavily. I poked him in the belly, and smiled when he winced.

"Jesus, Sam, you're really out of shape," I commented, but my tone was affectionate.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, still breathing hard, and fixed me with a leer that sent whatever blood was still powering my brain downward. But the look softened into something vulnerable and eager almost immediately.

"I don't want you to stop," he admitted softly, absentmindedly rubbing his stomach.

I leaned forward, cradling his belly in both hands and squeezing until I got a quiet cry of pain out of him, followed by an almost-delicate burp. "You sure?"

"Come on, Dean, I'm begging." The shy, pleading tone in his voice started changing into something a lot more sultry. "You've always taken care of me, right? This is what I want. What I need. Stuff your poor, gluttonous baby brother until he can't stand up."

I took deep breaths to try and keep at least part of my body under control. He had never acted quite like this before. It was like an amped-up version of what he was like when he was trying to get me in the mood to feed him. And, judging by how everything below my waist was acting, this new behavior was a huge hit with me. He probably knew that, too. He was Sam, after all, and nothing I felt flew below his radar.

I stroked his belly, maintaining eye contact, and reached for another brownie. And, of course, right then, a woman's terrified scream made us both freeze.

I cursed under my breath. "Goddammit, Sarah..." I went to stand up, but Sam grabbed the front of my shirt, and pulled me back down. Gently. Almost like he was afraid to do it.

"What the he-"

"You-you don't have to go help her," he said, expression intense, like he couldn't believe what he was saying. He was shaking his head. "At least...not yet. It won't hurt...to let that demon smack her around a little; you said it yourself. She-she deserves it."

I stared at him. Alarms were going off. Sam all but made me swerve around ants in the road when I was driving, and now he was suggesting that we leave a woman at the mercy of a demon? It wasn't right. It wasn't...him. Sarah's curse had to be screwing with his head even more completely than before, shoving down the prissy righteousness that made him Sam and replacing it with whatever weird desires it had bred in him.

This was wrong. It shouldn't be happening. I needed to fix it and things would be better if I did.

Maybe, if I repeated that to myself enough times, I'd start to believe it.

Dammit, I could never enjoy anything, could I?

"No," I said, pulling his hand off of my shirt and standing up. "Stay here, Sam. I'm gonna go end this."

He struggled to get to his feet, and I wanted to stay, wanted to touch, wanted him. But, somehow, I pushed my way through the double doors, out into the corridor.

"Dean-"

"Shut up."

Brotherly Love Ch. 6

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:57:36 GMT

Something here was screwed up in a hundred different ways.

And I didn't give a damn.

Hell, I knew I should've. My brother was turning me on. Fulfilling a fantasy I hadn't even known I had. Kissing me. But I was happy-probably happier than I had ever been before. For once, I wasn't worried about demons, or keeping Sam safe, or grieving for Dad.

I tipped my head back against the wall I was leaning against, which was out behind the Golden Heart Inn. I closed my eyes and curled my hands into fists in my pockets, but there was no real force behind the motion. I'd never been more relaxed.

"Well, Goddammit," I said out loud. "I think I'm in love."

"So I guess things are going good."

I turned to see the blonde who managed the desk inside, standing several yards away with a pack of cigarettes in one hand. She flashed me a quick smile.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting-"

"No, no, you're fine." I went back to my original position.

She scurried over to stand by me, putting a cigarette in her mouth and fumbling a lighter out of her pocket with one hand while extending the other to me. "I'm sorry, I never introduced myself. I'm Sarah."

"Dean." I shook her hand. It didn't even occur to me to flirt with her.

"I know, you told me when you checked in." She offered a cigarette to me. "Do you smoke?"

"Nah. No, I don't." I shook my head. It was too expensive and dangerous a habit for me to get into.

"You're smart," Sarah mumbled around her cigarette, shoving the pack into the pocket of her slacks. "So. Your romantic getaway with your boyfriend is going well?"

I took a breath to answer her, but laughed instead. I couldn't help it. She shot me a weird look.

"I'm sorry," I said, once I had control of myself. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. It's kinda funny."

"How's it funny?" she asked, exhaling smoke.

"Well, first of all, we didn't really come here for a...'romantic getaway,'" I said with a slight grin. For some reason, I felt totally comfortable telling her this.

"Oh. Um." Sarah's tone was suddenly nervous. "You didn't?"

"Nope." I smiled widely. "He's not even my boyfriend."

"He's not your-?"

"Not at all," I said, laughing a little. "God, this is so effed up."

"Um," she started, her voice trembling a little. "If he's not your boyfriend then...what is he to you?"

I turned to look at her, red flags starting to go up as I noticed her wide eyes, trembling hands, and rapidly-paling face. "He's my brother."

"Your-oh, my God-" The cigarette fell to the ground, and Sarah turned away, raising her hands to cover her face. It sounded like she was starting to hyperventilate.

I hurried in front of her and grabbed her wrists, forcing her hands down, and made eye contact. Hers were brown, and she was crying, panicked. "Okay. Calm down. What the hell is going on?"

"I swear, I didn't know you were related," she sobbed, totally breaking down. "I'm-I'm so sorry-I was just trying to help you out!"

"What did you do?" I demanded, shaking her a little. She turned her face away and cried harder. "Come on, answer me. What did you do?"

"Y-you wouldn't b-believe me-"

"Try me," I snapped.

Sarah looked at me, face blotchy and tear-stained. "The food-a couple spells-"

"Spells?" Something clicked in my brain. "You're a witch?"

Her eyes widened. "H-how-"

"Kind of a long story. I'd've told you, if I hadn't been so busy making out with my brother!" My grip tightened a little, and I gritted my teeth. Control, Dean. Killing this bitch might have broken the spell, or it might have cemented it.

"I'm s-so sorry," she sniffed.

"Kinda late for that now, huh?" I gave her a tight little smile. "So. What kind of crazy shit have you been working on us? Voodoo? You don't really seem the type..."

"N-no, I have a book-I called upon-"

"Demons? Demons. You...asked for favors...from demons." I let go of her, and took a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. "Jesus Christ. I guess everything they say about blondes is true."

"But I've helped people," Sarah pleaded, rubbing her wrists. "Couples. Who c-came here..."

"What you've probably done is lay gluttony and lust curses on a bunch of people who didn't want them." I rubbed my forehead. "Did you take my car, too?"

She lowered her head. "I thought I was helping."

"Well, I need your 'help' like I need a hole in the head," I snapped, turning around so I wouldn't have to look at her. "Just...please tell me you can reverse whatever you did to us."

"I've never done it before, but I can try."

"That's not good enough."

"I know," Sarah said miserably. "I'm sorry."

"You better be." I gritted my teeth. "God, just how stupid are you? You've been messing with demons. And I'm willing to bet you didn't read the fine print-you probably don't even know that they get your soul. I'd say that whatever you swore your allegiance to will come for it pretty soon, just based on the level of magic you've been working."

I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me. "You...you're just trying to scare me, right? Get back at me?"

I glanced back over my shoulder at her. "No. No, I'm not. I've seen demons come for people before." I started to walk, intent on getting back inside the hotel. "It ain't pretty."

"Wait!" I heard her run after me. "Please. You have to help me."

I turned. "Give me one good reason I should save your sorry ass."

"I can undo-"

"That's not much of a bargaining chip, dollface. As soon as you're dead, the curse wears off. It's a hell of a lot more convenient for me to just sit back and wait for a pack of hellhounds to tear you apart."

"I don't think it works like that." Sarah bit her lip.

"I've hunted a couple witches in my time." I grinned. "And I can tell you, yeah, it works like that."

She opened her mouth to reply, but I held up a hand.

"Let me guess. You're going to threaten me. Well, let me tell you something. I have been cursed, shot, bitten, clawed, thrown through windows, electrocuted, voodooed, beaten up, hit by cars, and, once, jumped by a succubus." I leaned in. "You don't scare me."

She blinked, shocked, but still managed to start talking before I could turn around again.

"So you're really willing to take this chance?"

"What chance?"

"Well, what if the spell doesn't die when I do?" Sarah swallowed hard. "You won't be able to lift it."

I didn't say anything.

"The...feelings...you have for your brother are only going to get stronger. The way you've probably been going, he'll be obese within a matter of months." She sighed, obviously tuned in to the fact that this was sounding pretty good to me. "I'm sorry. Try to think past the spell. This is a bad thing."

"Right, right." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Okay. You lift the curse, and I'll see what I can do. But I can't promise anything." I turned away. "I don't have the best luck when it comes to demons."

Sam was asleep. So I slammed the door as hard as I could and watched him jerk awake.

"What-"

"Don't come near me, don't touch me, don't even look at me," I snapped, averting my eyes and stalking across the room.

There was a pause, and I could practically feel his shock and hurt. "If this is about before, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's not." I picked a pair of jeans up off the floor and fished the car keys out of the pocket. "That wasn't even your fault."

"Uh...okay." The bed creaked as he sat up. "Dean, are you alright?"

"No, I'm not." I made a beeline for the door. "We've been cursed. Witch."

"Where are you going?" His voice had taken on that special 'talking-my-psychotic-brother-out-of-murder' tone. He'd been using it a lot lately, I'd noticed.

"To save her ass from the demons she sold it to," I snapped, yanking open the door. "Come find me when you look a little less pregnant with a basketball." I closed it behind me, then sighed deeply and rubbed one side of my face. "God, I hate having a conscience."

Brotherly Love Ch. 5

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:56:53 GMT

"My pants don't fit."

"Gee, I wonder why that is," I muttered into my pillow.

"No, I'm serious, they don't fit. None of them do."

I heard the rustle of denim, and grimaced. "Don't wear mine."

"I can't." Something made of cloth landed on the floor. "They're a size smaller than mine."

I rolled over and pushed myself up, kicking the covers off and blinking in the early-morning sunlight coming in through the window. I glanced at the cheap digital clock on the bedside table and groaned. Six-thirty. You had to be kidding me.

"What the hell are you doing up so early?" I rubbed my eyes with one hand.

"I couldn't sleep." Apparently giving up on pants, Sam sat back down on his bed, not looking at me. I didn't have any problem with looking at him, or taking mental stock of what had changed.

It'd been a week since we'd first come to Berington, and our relationship was strained. Sam had apparently adopted two very different personas. Most of the time, he barely talked to me, refused to even look at me, and spent a lot of time staring into space. Probably trying to align his moral compass with what we were doing. And then, out of nowhere, he'd change. He'd get my attention, talking me into ordering room service or something, and then we'd...well. I'd change, too. And yeah, it bothered me, a little. But I liked it enough to ignore that most of the time.

Sam'd changed in other ways, too. He had a fast metabolism, and it was helped along by scaling fences and fighting superhumanly strong creatures on a regular basis. But it couldn't quite keep with the sheer amount of calories I'd been shoving into him all week. He had started to get a bit of a belly, barely noticeable with clothes on but pretty evident right now. To be completely honest, I loved it.

"Why couldn't you sleep?" I asked idly, standing up and heading for where Sam had tossed my jeans onto the floor.

He rubbed the back of his neck, and kept his head down. "I was hungry."

That set off a familiar burst of excitement. I grinned, and patted him on the back. "Well. We can fix that."

He looked up and, tentatively, grinned back, and I knew he was mine for as long as I wanted him. It still set off a feeling of reluctance, of 'something-is-so-freaking-wrong-here,' but I'd come to terms with it over the last week.

"At least try to get dressed." I pushed a shirt at him. "I'm not doing anything with you almost naked...what do you want?"

He flashed me a crooked smile and swept his bangs away from his eyes. "You can choose for me."

"That's what I like to hear." My grin widened, and I patted him on the shoulder before reaching for the phone. "How does ice cream sound?"

"Fantastic." Sam leaned back, stretching out on the bed. He had managed to get his shirt on, and a pair of jeans, though he hadn't zipped or buttoned them. His stomach stuck out slightly, and I tried to ignore the sudden urge I had to run my fingers along the soft curve of it. I wanted to keep this as not-weird as possible for as long as possible.

Ordering didn't take long. Neither did the delivery. Within a couple minutes, the same pudgy girl who always seemed to show up. She handed me a big tray with several domes on it, smiling.

"Thanks." I nodded to her and nudged the door closed with one shoulder. I heard her pad away, and it occurred to me that, one of these days, I should really try to figure out what her name was.

I set the tray down on the table, and glanced back at Sam before lifting one of the domes to reveal a pretty big bowl of ice cream. It was piled high with the works-whipped cream, chocolate syrup, cherries. And this was only the first dish. I shook my head and whistled.

"Hope you're hungry, Sammy." Cradling the bowl in one arm and picking up a spoon with my free hand, I headed back over to the beds. Sam's eyebrows went up when he saw what I was carrying.

"I dunno. That might be all I can manage this morning," he said uneasily.

"Sure." I shoved the first spoonful into his mouth.

"Mmph!" Apparently, he hadn't been ready. He tried to sit up, cheeks bulging, but I put a hand on his chest and gently forced him back down.

"It's okay." I smiled down at him, leaning over him and stuffing another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

He didn't protest as I fed him. He closed his eyes, groaning a little as I set the bowl down and touched the small part of his belly that was visible. It was warm, and soft. I picked up the pace a little, barely pausing to let him breathe. Within fifteen minutes, his stomach had grown under my hand, pushing his shirt up and forcing his jeans open. Sam was already full, his belly stuffed with ice cream. I set the now-empty bowl aside and stood up.

"Please. Let's just call it a day for now," he panted, propping himself up on his elbows and shooting me a pleading glance.

"You kidding?" I patted his stomach, and he laid back down, obviously enjoying the contact. "You've barely eaten anything, Sammy. You're wasting away. I worry about you."

I went back to the tray, lifting a second dome. There wasn't ice cream under this one-it was a platter of brownies. Apparently, the kitchens had had enough insight to send us a variety of treats. Lifting another dome revealed a pie, though I couldn't tell what the filling was. It looked fantastic, but c'mon, I'm not as dumb as I look. I knew better than to eat anything room service brought us.

"We're gonna test your limits today, Sam," I announced, turning around with a plate in each hand.

He raised his head to see what I was talking about, then dropped it back to the pillow with a groan. "Dean, you can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am." Setting the pie down on the bedside table, I sent whatever reservations I still had to hell and climbed up onto the bed. I was careful not to drop any brownies as I swung one leg over my brother's body and settled onto his thighs, straddling him. Sam raised his head a little, eyes wide.

"Ah. You're lookin' at me funny." I picked up on of the brownies and grinned. "Shouldn't do that. Might give me the wrong idea."

"There's no way I can eat-" He was cut off by a brownie being stuffed in his mouth.

"C'mon, have a little faith."

The first couple didn't seem to give him much trouble. His stomach got a little bigger with every bite, and I rubbed it with one hand while feeding him with the other. He closed his eyes again, making tiny sounds of pleasure that I hadn't heard from him since he started dreaming about girls at thirteen. I smiled.

After the fourth brownie, a little bit of pain flickered across Sam's face. He raised one hand to his swollen belly, wincing. I leaned in close as I crammed the fifth one into his mouth.

"Getting full?" I asked quietly.

"Mmph..." He swallowed, and opened his eyes. The exact same shade of green as mine. "Yeah. But...don't stop."

"Are you sure?" I picked up another brownie.

"It tastes so good." Sam closed his eyes and opened his mouth. "It feels so good."

"Of course it does." I rubbed his belly gently, sitting back up as I fed him the brownie that I was holding.

There were an even dozen on the plate, and he obediently ate every one of them. When he was done, his shirt had ridden completely up, totally exposing his stomach. He was about as stuffed as I had ever seen him. The skin was taut and warm, but his belly was still soft. And that was my cue to keep going.

I exchanged the empty plate for the one with the pie on it. Sam cracked one eye open and groaned, turning away.

"I physically can't, Dean."

"You can, and you will." I eased the tip of the first of eight slices into his mouth. "C'mon, Sammy. I know you want more. No matter how much I feed you, it's never enough for this growing belly of yours." I patted it, but gently.

Reluctantly, he started to eat. I could tell he honestly didn't want any more, but he couldn't stop himself. Not as long as I was there to tempt him.

He finished the first slice and groaned loudly, clutching his belly with both hands. Panting, he shifted a little as I rubbed it again, and the discomfort that was evident on his face eased. I kept up the whole magic-touch thing as I readied a second slice of pie.

"Y'know, damn, you've had a lot already," I murmured, watching him eat. "Maybe you shouldn't eat any more. I mean, you've got quite a gut going here..."

I dug my fingers into his stomach, just a little, and got a grunt of mixed pleasure and pain in response. "But, hey, that's okay. Personally...I think it looks good on you."

"Dean," Sam gasped. I could barely hear him.

"What?" I leaned in, close.

With effort, he pushed himself up on one elbow and pressed his mouth against mine. It shocked me just enough to kill any chance I had of staying sane and pulling away.

Sam tasted sweet, which, I guess, was to be expected. Against every higher function that was screaming at me in horror, I tilted my head a little, so he could get at me better. Base instinct made me cradle his head in one hand, burying my fingers in the soft curls of his hair. And I kissed back, moving my mouth against his in a way I knew would make him happy.

Kissing. I was kissing my brother. And, for some reason, it didn't bother me in the slightest.

I wrapped my other arm around him, hauling him into an upright position, and broke contact for just a second so he could hiss in discomfort. And then my lips were back on his. My arms tightened, and his stuffed belly pressed against me. I was about seconds away from doing something I would regret.

I broke away, gasping, and let go of Sam, squeezing my eyes shut and doing my best to think unsexy thoughts. I dug my fingernails into my own palms as hard as I could. After about thirty seconds, my heartrate stopped smashing through the roof and some of the urgent sexual need I felt ebbed. I opened my eyes and cast a weary glance at Sam.

He was kneeling next to me, panting, his bangs plastered to his forehead and his eyes wide. His bulging stomach was red where I'd rubbed against it, and there were clear impressions of the buttons on my shirt in his skin. God. He really was full. It was all I could do not to throw myself at him again.

Sam took a deep breath. "I am so-"

"Maybe I should just leave for a bit," I suggested shakily, climbing off the bed.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." I could tell, just by listening to him, that he wanted me to stay. But I wasn't sure I was ready for...whatever would happen if I did. I needed to walk off this high I was on.

And then I'd definitely come back.

Brotherly Love Ch. 4

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:56:00 GMT

Hey, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

My boots thudded loudly against the concrete stairs, the sound echoing all around me. I hadn't felt like taking the elevator.

I mean, it's all going according to plan.

I ran my fingers through my hair, which had dried funny without me combing it. I guess I'd been too busy with Sam to pay any attention to my morning routine.

Like hell it is! The "plan", if you could even call it that, was just supposed to end up with Sam getting fat, so he couldn't hunt anymore. I wasn't supposed to start wanting to bone him!

Apparently, my inner voice didn't have a reply for that.

With that temporarily silent, I stepped off the last stair, pushing open a door into the lobby of the hotel. There weren't a lot of people around. I kept my head down and didn't talk to the ones that were.

As I passed the front desk, the blonde from yesterday looked up with a bright smile.

"How are things going with your boyfriend?"

"Great," I snapped, trying not to gag. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

I shoved open one of the double doors that led outside, maybe a little harder than was necessary. It nearly smashed into the plate-glass window that its frame was set into. I kind of wished it had shattered it.

It had occurred to me, halfway down the stairs, that I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. I was used to eating on a "when we can" basis, but being hungry was getting old. And no way was I eating anything that came out of the Golden Heart Inn's kitchens.

I walked into the first restaurant I came across, ordered a salad, and then spent about fifteen minutes scraping the junk out of it. What I had left after that was nothing but a very small, pathetic pile of lettuce leaves. I stared at it, brooding.

It had been a stupid idea from the start. Maybe I'd had good intentions, but if I'd managed to pull it off, I wouldn't just be forcing Sam to live a relatively normal life. I'd also be making him defenseless if anything nasty came his way. And with our luck, something nasty'd be breaking down his door within a week.

Of course, that wasn't to say I didn't love the idea of him getting bigger and softer and-

I closed my eyes and pushed my thumbs against them, rubbing. We had to get out of here. Maybe there was something in the water, or the food. Maybe things'd go back to normal once we'd left and I could actually be in the same room as Sam without...feeling...like this, or wanting...certain things.

Yeah, okay, I could hold onto that.

He was awake when I finally got back to the room. I considered turning around and going back out, but I didn't really have anywhere else to go. So I just crossed the room without making eye contact and stared out the window, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.

Sam cleared his throat. I glanced at the ceiling. "What?"

"It happened again," he said, his tone carefully neutral.

"Yeah, you're right. It did."

There was an awkward silence that stretched on for way too long. He finally broke it.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Dean?"

I took a deep breath. God, I hated that concerned, understanding tone he had-especially when it was directed at me.

"I've seen you fight," I said evenly, trying to match his tone.

"What?" I could practically hear the gears stall in his head.

"I said, I've seen you fight," I repeated, turning around. I didn't look at him. "You could have dropped me in one, maybe two punches."

"...so?"

"So? So, why didn't you?" I threw my hands up, still refusing to look at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I turned back to the window.

"What's wrong with me?" he exclaimed incredulously. "You just barely get through with some sort of creepy, twisted BDSM scenario or...whatever the hell that was, and then you run off for two hours, and now you want to know what's wrong with me?"

I was about to reply when I heard the crinkle of plastic. Running a hand through my hair again, I looked back at him. His belly was still swollen, but not as much. He'd been able to pull his shirt down over it, though it didn't look comfortable. And his mouth was full.

"What are you eating?"

"Uh...Snickers," Sam said, picking up the wrapper from his bedside table.

"Where'd you get it?"

"Well, I woke up, and you were gone, and I went down to the lobby. There were vending machines. It's not that big of a deal."

I stared at him for a minute, then clenched my jaw.

"Pack up. We're leaving."

"Leaving? What about the case?" Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, with a little grunt of effort.

"Yeah, about that." I grabbed yesterday's clothes off the back of a chair, folding them into a bundle. "I lied."

"What-"

"Now's not really the time, okay?" I shoved the door open and headed for the stairs, not checking to see if he was behind me.

Once we reached the lobby, I threw my keys to Sam and sent him out to start the car. I strode over to the desk and tossed the room key down onto it.

"We're checking out," I said abruptly.

The pretty blonde frowned up at me. She was wearing a frilly top that showed off her cleavage in a way that barely seemed legal, and it did nothing for me. My lips twitched halfway into a grimace of frustration and self-disgust before I got a handle on my emotions.

"That was fast," she remarked, not reaching for the key. She leaned forward, and I got an even more spectacular view that, again, did absolutely nothing. "Someone said they heard yelling coming from your room. Did your boyfriend figure out what was going on and convince you to leave?"

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten before I responded. "No. No, actually, I-"

Behind me, the door opened, and I glanced back over my shoulder. Sam was standing half-in and half-out of the building, holding his folded coat awkwardly over his stomach to hide the bulge there.

"Dean, did you move the car?"

"Uh, no," I replied, turning the rest of the way around. "I didn't. Is there, uh, any particular reason you ask?"

"Yeah, actually. It's gone. I can't find it."

"What do you mean, it's gone?" I repeated, leaving the desk and all but running outside.

"Just that. It's gone."

I made a beeline for where I'd parked the Impala. He'd been right-it wasn't there. There were no tracks in the dust that lay in a thin layer over the blacktop of the parking lot, the only footprints were Sam's, and there wasn't so much as a ransom note.

Hey, it's a nice car, all right? Somebody might pay a lot of money to get it back.

"Oh, you have gotta be kidding me," I groaned. "Who-who would do something like this?"

"Okay, calm down. I'm sure they have security cameras in the parking lot. We can just ask to see the tapes, and then we'll find out who took your car," Sam said. He raised his hand to pat me on the shoulder, then hesitated, and awkwardly lowered it. I noticed his reluctance to touch me, but I had bigger things to worry about at the moment.

"No, I'm sorry, there aren't any security tapes," the blonde girl at the desk said apologetically.

"Well, that is just friggin' great," I snapped, lacing my fingers together behind my head and taking a few steps away.

Sam bent down a little. It must have been hard, considering how full he still had to be. "Sorry about him. He's...kind of under a lot of stress."

"No, it's fine. We get a lot of anxious feeders in here," she replied with a smile in her voice.

I tensed, but Sam just gave a careful, "Uh-huh," in response before moving on. "So, did you see anything?"

"No, I didn't. Sorry."

"That's fine. And you said the town doesn't have its own police force?"

"No, the nearest station is almost fifty miles away. It's not worth it, trust me."

"Alright. Thank you. Just...tell us if anything turns up."

"Of course!" She handed the room key back to him. "So I guess that you'll be staying here a little longer?"

Sam glanced at me. I kept my expression blank. "I don't think we have a choice."

"Alright, we've gotta figure out what's going on here." I paced back and forth across the room, my arms folded over my chest. "Any ideas?"

"Uh..." Sam, sitting on his bed, shrugged. "No. I don't know."

"C'mon, think." I stopped in front of him. "I could be possessed, right? I could have moved the car without remembering, and some of these demons are pretty messed up, so that would explain...everything else."

"Cristo," Sam replied. When I didn't react, he shook his head. "You're not possessed."

"Then what's wrong with me?" I muttered, turning away and rubbing the back of my neck.

"Okay, listen. I think you should just try to calm down." He stood up, and laid a hand on my shoulder, with no hesitation this time.

"Calm down? How the hell am I supposed to calm down?" I snapped without looking at him. "My car's gone and...God, I don't even want to think about what's going on with us. This is the weirdest freaking hunt I've ever been on, and I just stumbled right onto it."

"Maybe it's not a hunt," Sam suggested, taking his hand off my shoulder. I glanced back at him.

"What?"

"Maybe someone just stole your car." He shrugged. "It happens, Dean. There might not be anything supernatural about it."

"So, what about..." I swallowed. "...the other stuff?"

"Okay, that, I can't explain," he admitted.

"And why are you so calm about this all of a sudden?" I turned around to face him. "What happened to you freaking out and yelling at me about assaulting you or whatever?"

"Well, to be honest, I think we have bigger things to worry about," Sam replied. "This is weird, yeah, but it's not hurting either of us. We're not doing anything illegal, for once."

I stared at him. The muscles in my throat worked, but I couldn't get the words that I wanted out-that it would hurt him in the long run. So I said something else.

"Are you telling me I should try to enjoy this?" I asked quietly.

When had he gotten so close to me? His proximity made my skin crawl, and not in a bad way. My breathing got a little more rapid as his eyes flicked over my face, before he finally made eye contact with me and held it. I stared up at him, and bit my tongue as hard as I could, trying to use the pain to return to reality.

"I swear, Sam, if you try to kiss me right now, I will punch you hard enough to shove your nose up into your brain," I murmured, my voice husky.

That broke the sexual tension (thank God). He laughed and went back to sitting on the bed.

"So." I coughed. "We just hang out here until someone finds the car."

"Yep." Sam rested his elbows on his knees, then looked pointedly up at me. "Hey. Dean."

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry."

With those two words, a thrill shot through me. It was like getting a model's phone number or that moment when you finally manage to unhook a girl's bra. It was so out of place it almost made me dizzy, but it was followed by an immediate need that threw reason and logic out the window.

Okay. This wasn't normal behavior for either of us. Something was definitely wrong here, and it was affecting us in some pretty personal ways. This wasn't right, and these urges weren't actually mine. The smart thing to do would have been to get ahold of myself forget about what I wanted, and try to think about what to do next in a calm and rational manner.

But since when had I ever reigned in my impulses?

"Stay here," I told Sam, turning towards the door. "I'll be back in a minute."

Brotherly Love Ch. 3

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:55:03 GMT

The water was really freaking cold. I had been under it for five minutes already, and my toes were going blue, as were a couple other key parts of my anatomy. But I stayed where I was, head bowed and hands clenched into fists. I tried not to even shiver.

I'd gotten up before Sam on purpose. I didn't want to look at him. I was still too weirded out by what had happened last night, and the effect he'd had on me. Not to mention the fact that I wanted, more than anything, to stuff him again. This wasn't normal. Okay, maybe the kink itself could be considered kind of normal, but the maybe-attraction to my brother definitely wasn't. Where had that even come from? I knew I wasn't gay. I'd always been into girls, and I'd only ever had sex with girls. And I'd never been into the whole incest thing.

My teeth were chattering, and my feet had gone numb. I turned off the water.

Someone knocked on the door as I was wrapping a towel around my waist. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply.

"Go away, Sam," I yelled without turning around.

I heard tools clicking in the lock on the bathroom door, and then it swung open. Goddamn it. I never should have taught him to pick locks.

"We need to talk."

"Damn right, we need to talk," I muttered, turning around with my head lowered. So I wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "But not right now. I've gotta go...away."

I tried to brush past him, but he grabbed my arm. Sam's hand was warm against my skin after the ice water of the shower, and you better believe I hated myself for noticing that.

"No, you don't." He pulled me out of the bathroom, and made me face him. I focused on the collar of his shirt-it was about eye level. Wow, that made me feel better.

"Okay, so, what's up?" I tried to sound upbeat.

"What's up is that last night you basically-"

Somebody knocked on the door, and Sam immediately shut up. I glanced at it, then back to him.

"Dude, you gotta get that. I'm naked."

"Fine. Wait here." He shoved an open hand in my face in the universal "stay" signal. I rolled my eyes.

Where did he think I was gonna go? Out the window?

Speaking of which, I drew the curtains and made myself decent while Sam talked to whoever was at the door. I tuned in to their conversation while I pulled a T-shirt on.

"There's gotta be some mistake. We didn't order anything."

A pause. I couldn't make out the reply, just a low murmur.

"But he's not my-wait, what? Why on earth would they do that?"

More murmuring.

"Well...I guess tell them thank you. From me and my..." He shot a look at me over his shoulder. "...boyfriend."

I winced.

There was a rattle of cutlery, and Sam stepped back from the door with a pretty big tray in his hands. There were four domes on it, as well as two pitchers, a pot, and several mugs and glasses. He set it down heavily on the table. Last night's tray was gone, weirdly enough.

"Uh..." I gestured to it, and looked at him questioningly.

"Somebody paid for a small breakfast to be sent to our room. They wanted to remain anonymous." He shook his head. "That's a small breakfast?"

"Well, what's under there?" I asked, reaching for one of the domes.

"Wait." Sam put a hand on my shoulder, and I had to look at him. "Last night..."

"Oh, God..." I complained, starting to turn away.

"No. Look at me," he commanded, shaking me a little. I did. "What happened-"

"Do we have to talk about this now?" I interrupted.

"Yeah, Dean, we do," he snapped, starting to get pissed. "I don't even know how to classify what you did to me, but it felt way too much like ra-"

"Hey, I distinctly remember you asking for it," I snapped back, pushing Sam's hand off of me.

"Yeah, I know. I wasn't-I wasn't thinking clearly." He pushed his fingers up through his hair.

"Drugs in the food?" I suggested.

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain you," he replied pointedly.

I pressed my lips together, exhaling loudly through my nose.

"Okay," I said, mostly to myself. "Okay. Let's test this."

"Excuse me?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Take a bite of whatever's under one of those." I nodded towards the domes. "I wanna test a theory."

"Are you nuts?" he exclaimed. "I'm not eating in front of you after what happened last time."

"Just do it, Sam," I said quietly.

He glared at me, glanced away, and glanced back. His mouth hardened, and he turned to the tray.

He whipped one of the domes off, to reveal a stack of assorted donuts. I shrugged when he looked at me, and jerked my chin towards them. He picked one up and took a big bite out of it, keeping an eye on me while he chewed. I shook my head.

"You're really paranoid."

"I think I have a right to be, considering that you practically assaulted me."

"Okay, again, you asked for it, and you're twenty-three. It was consensual."

"Please. Just...stop talking." Sam shoved the rest of the donut in his mouth, holding up his hands. "There. Did whatever magical thing you were waiting for happen?" He jerked out a chair and sat in it backwards, folding one arm on the back as he reached for another donut.

"No, not really-whoa. Sam, what are you doing?"

He had crammed the second donut in his mouth, and was reaching for a third. I watched as he ate both of them, then grabbed a fourth. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"What? I'm hungry."

The back of the chair had a hole cut in it, for decoration or something, and I could see his stomach. Was it just me, or was his shirt looking a little tighter?

I abruptly turned and strode towards the door, before anything freaky could happen. "I'm leaving."

"Dean, wait." Sam's voice was muffled with food."

I glanced back at him, one hand on the doorknob. "So five minutes ago you didn't want me anywhere near you and now you can't bear the thought of me leaving?"

"Look. I'm sorry about what I said earlier. But please. Stay."

Against my better judgement, I took my hand off the knob and, slowly, walked back to him.

I must have been thrown head-first through one-too-many walls.

I pulled out a chair and sat down next to him as he ate. I wanted to hate him for the thoughts that were going through my head, but I couldn't. I couldn't even hate myself-my feelings had gotten too primal for that. I just wanted release.

So I watched my brother stuff himself, and I didn't even try to hide that I liked it. He switched his position on the chair, so that he was sitting normally, halfway through the donuts. He didn't even stop eating to do it. I watched his belly grow, to a slight bulge that lifted his shirt up. He popped the last donut in his mouth and leaned back with a small burp.

I swallowed hard. Telling myself that Sam was another guy, that he was my brother and I'd held him when he was a newborn and changed his diapers and fought with him over girls, did zip to calm me down. Hell, maybe I didn't even want to calm down anymore. Maybe I just wanted to stuff Sam to his limits and watch him grow.

"Hey, Sammy. Are you full?" I asked quietly, looking over at him.

"Yeah, you could say that." He watched me warily, but also...eagerly.

"Nah, I think you could eat a little more." I stood up, and lifted the dome off a second plate. Pancakes. Perfect.

"I don't-"

I cut him off by shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. His eyes widened. I leaned forward, and kept feeding him, barely giving him time to breathe. He got fuller and fuller, his shirt riding up and his jeans down. I put a hand on his stuffed stomach, and smiled, feeling it tremble with every bite I forced on him.

But I wasn't forcing it all the way. He ate every forkful I put in his mouth, obedient and willing.

I stood up and stepped back once the pancakes were gone, taking a look at what I'd done. Sam was slumped and panting in his chair, his belly completely uncovered. It was round and bulging, maybe even bigger than it had been last night, and packed with rich foods. He almost looked weighed down by it.

I crouched in front of him, unable to keep myself from grinning. He was just so stuffed. So heavy with food.

"Do you want more?" I asked in a low voice.

"No," he gasped. "God, no. No more, Dean."

I stood up, and stroked his swollen belly. He shuddered. I couldn't tell if it was with pain or pleasure.

"You're lying," I said, looking at the remaining plates, which were still covered.

"No, I'm not, I seriously don't want-"

"I know what you want. I'm your brother." Saying that put a bit of a damper on my fun, but I shook it off. I tapped my fingers on Sam's tight drum of a stomach. "You want me to stuff you until your belly's so full and heavy you can't even stand up. You want me to force you to eat until you honestly can't cram anything else in. And then you want me to do it again...and again...and again."

He didn't say anything. I lifted the third dome, revealing a platter of hash browns.

"Well, it's your lucky day, Sammy, 'cause that's what I want, too."

He started protesting, but I shut him up by shoveling food into him. There wasn't a lot he could do, besides let me tend to his growing belly. Maybe he was taller, but I was stronger. Something I proved as Sam's stomach got bigger and bigger, spilling over the waistband of his jeans. I was sure those had to be cutting into him something awful, but he made no move to unbutton them, and neither did I.

"Man, you just eat whatever I give you, don't you?" I shook my head, smirking, after he finished the hash browns. "Gotta be careful, Sam, that's how you gain weight."

He looked over at me with slightly glazed eyes, breathing shallowly. "Dean..."

"What?"

He obviously had to force himself to say what he did next. "M-more."

I couldn't help it-I threw my head back and laughed.

"If you say so." I revealed the last plate. Twelve strips of bacon.

I fed them all to Sam, ignoring his groans and belches. When he was finally done, this belly nearly rested on his thighs. I gave it a playful slap. He whimpered.

"Aw, c'mon, don't go soft on me." I helped him to his feet. He had to cradle his stomach in his hands. "Figuratively, I mean. I don't think you can help it literally."

I stayed next to him as he waddled-yeah, actually waddled-to his bed, and laid down, curling around his overfed stomach. He was asleep within minutes.

I watched him for awhile, until the high of stuffing him faded and the guilt came back. Then I left.

Brotherly Love Ch. 2

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:54:10 GMT

"How'd you pay for this?"

The room was a lot nicer than we were used to, I had to admit. The beds had actual sheets on them, and were wide enough that I wouldn't hear a thud in the middle of the night and find Sam on the floor. There weren't any stains on the carpet. I couldn't smell any of the usual odors. Semen, booze, pot-the sort of stuff you usually find in the type of places we stayed at. And the paintings on the walls looked original, even though they were kinda weird. One was of a burger, another was of a cake. You get the idea.

"Same way I pay for everything," I replied, sitting down on one of the beds. "Honest, hard-earned credit-card fraud."

Sam shook his head, sitting down on one of the beds. "You're going to get caught sooner or later."

"Well, no one's caught on yet. And I've been doin' it for years. Ever since Dad taught me."

I looked down after that last part, but not quick enough to miss the pain that flickered across his face.

See, that right there. That's why I wanted him out of this business.

"You hungry?" I asked abruptly, standing up. He just stared at me.

"Well, yeah, a little, but shouldn't we-"

"That can wait." I moved towards the phone, but Sam jumped to his feet and stood in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at him, thinking, for the millionth time, how much I hated that he was taller than me.

"Dean." His voice was way too steady. "What's going on?"

I braced myself to lie to him some more. It was the only way to save him.

"I dunno yet," I replied. "And until I do, I think it's best if we lay low."

His grip on my shoulders tightened slightly. "Let me help."

"Right now, there's not a lot you can do." I made eye contact, and held it. "Just trust me on this."

Those have always been the magic words. Sam relaxed. Not visibly, but I'd known the guy for over twenty years; I could tell.

"Fine." He let go of me. "What exactly does this 'laying low' entail? It's been awhile since we took a different approach from breaking down the door and charging in with guns blazing."

"Well, mostly, laying low means eating something that didn't come out of a bag, plastic or paper." I picked up the phone, and the menu laying next to it. I flipped through it before dialing, holding back a smirk. Everything was either greasy or sugary, and the portions were all over-sized. Like I said before-weird as hell, but perfect. "What do you want?"

Sam sat down again. "I can order anything?"

"Anything you want," I assured him with a tiny smile.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Alright. I want a cake." He laced his fingers behind his head and flopped back onto the bed.

I blinked. "A cake?"

"Yeah. I don't remember the last time I had a real cake."

"Okay. A cake." I dialed, and ordered, keeping my voice low. I didn't need to worry; Sam wasn't paying any attention to me. He didn't notice when I ordered a pitcher of cream. It was on the menu, and I remembered reading somewhere that cream was pretty fattening.

I started to doubt my plan while we waited for the food to arrive. I mean, what the hell did I think I was doing? Trying to keep my little brother safe by forcing him to gain weight? It was stupid, and dangerous, and-

No. I rubbed my temples. I couldn't afford to panic over this. It might be my only shot-after all, it wasn't like I had come up with anything better.

Someone knocked on the door, startling me out of my thoughts. I jerked it open to find a chubby brunette girl holding a large tray with a silver dome and pitcher on it. I took the handles, glancing at her.

"Thanks."

"Of course!" she chirped, turning around and hurrying off, down the hall. I raised an eyebrow. She hadn't even asked for a tip.

I nudged the door closed with the toe of my boot, hearing it click. I looked over at Sam, who had apparently fallen asleep. I lightly kicked his ankle after setting the tray down on a table near the window.

He sat bolt upright. "What? What's going on?"

"Food's here, Sleeping Beauty." I smirked at him, then crossed the room and lifted the silver dome off the tray, glancing at what was underneath. A pretty big cake, chocolate-frosted and -glazed, with shavings of white chocolate sprinkled over the top of it. It had already been cut into eight slices.

"Wow," Same commented, coming up behind me. "That looks pretty good."

"Yeah." I looked out the window-it was nearly sunset. A full day of driving settled in my shoulders as a hot ache, and the bed that I'd unconsciously claimed as mine was suddenly looking even nicer than it had five minutes ago. I clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Have fun. I'm gonna try and get some shut-eye."

"Oh, God."

Sam's voice, thin with discomfort, woke me up. I sat up, noting that the sheets were tangled around my legs and that my shirt, for some reason, was still on. I glanced over at Sam.

His pillows were piled against the headboard, and he was leaning back against them. His legs were stretched out in front of him, with the cake between his knees. Or, more accurately, half the cake. A quick look at his stomach, and it wasn't hard to guess where the other half had gone.

Sam's belly was bulging noticeably against his jeans and the button-down shirt he was wearing. The fabric was strained, and he was absentmindedly rubbing his gut with one hand. I should have laughed. Or been kind of grossed out. But, to my horror, I actually felt myself getting...turned on by his bloated stomach.

Getting a boner from looking at your brother. That's enough to ruin anyone's day.

I kicked the sheets off and got out of bed, considering a cold shower and then probably several years of therapy. But Sam stopped me.

"Dean." He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, stifling a burp. "Hey. Uh. This is gonna sound really awkward..."

It was already pretty damn awkward, but hell. I supposed it could get worse. So I crossed my arms and avoided eye contact.

"Yeah?"

"I'm...pretty full." He rubbed the side of his face.

"Yeah, I can see that." I made a point not to look at his stomach. "And...?"

"And, I don't want the cake to go to waste." Sam exhaled explosively. "It's...really good."

"So, what? You want me to eat it?"

"No."

It clicked then. I immediately wished it hadn't.

"You want me to feed it to you?"

He dropped his head a little, hiding behind his bangs. "Yeah. I-I do."

Just what sort of crazy shit did this hotel put in their food?

Half of my instincts were screaming at me to turn the shower on as cold as it would go and stay under it until my urges started making sense again. The other half were yelling for me to step forward, pick up a slice of cake, and feed Sam. Unfortunately, those were backed by part of my mind. The part that loved my brother in a way that wasn't nearly as weird as these new feelings, and wanted him safe at any cost.

So I stepped forward and picked up a slice of cake.

I leaned over Sam, and put the tip of the slice in his mouth, trying to think about vampires, hags, zombies. All sorts of nasty things we'd hunted, in an effort to calm the raging fire down there. It didn't work.

He ate, eagerly, hands on his stomach. I sat down next to him, in order to feed him better. The shock of how freaking weird this was had started to wear off, and I concentrated on stuffing Sam full of cake.

The more he ate, the more his belly strained against his clothes. A thin band of pale flesh peeked out from between his shirt and his pants by the time I shoved the last chunk of cake in his mouth. He groaned, leaning back further against the pillows. It was weird to see such a big belly on his lean frame. I imagined Sam trying to chase after a vampire or a demon's host like this, and barely kept myself from bursting out laughing.

"I don't think I can finish it," Sam groaned. "I'm too full."

"'Course you can finish it." I grabbed another slice, and moved it towards his mouth. "C'mon, Sammy. You broke your wrist fighting a zombie and you can't even finish a cake?"

He looked at me, but opened his mouth anyway. I winked at him and grinned, patting his gut affectionately as I pushed the cake in. He winced a little, and for some reason, I liked that.

I watched him eat, slowly. The edges of his shirt pulled back between the buttons, exposing pale skin. His belly jiggled a little with every breath he took. I was downright amazed he had managed to eat so much, but I kept pushing the slice of cake on him.

After that one was finished, I didn't give him a break. The second-to-last slice was already at the ready, and I shoved it into his mouth before he could protest. He was all but lying down now, and his stomach stuck out like he was pregnant, his jeans and shirt painfully tight on him. The bottom button of his shirt looked dangerously close to popping as he finished the slice.

"Dean," Sam gasped as soon as his mouth was empty. "Please. That's enough."

"Seriously? There's only one slice left." I picked it up and showed it to him. He closed his eyes.

"Seriously. I'm going to explode."

"Nah, I don't think so. Not from one slice of cake." I could tell he was fighting with himself. He was beyond full, but he still wanted more.

"Fine. But this is it," he said, stifling another burp with his hand.

"Okay."

I stuffed the cake into his mouth, watching his gut wobble as he swallowed. Sam's belly grew a little bit with every bite he took, and his shirt kept getting tighter. Until, finally, the button popped off, pinging against the wall across the room. His shirt spread open, revealing a little more of his stomach.

His eyes opened, and he swallowed the last mouthful of cake, raising his head. He groaned and flopped back down.

I rubbed his stomach, grinning like an idiot when he grunted in pain. "Man, Sammy, an entire cake? You're a pig."

"Yeah, I know."

He was breathing heavily, like eating so much had winded him. He looked exhausted, uncomfortable, and stuffed beyond his limits.

"That's it?" Sam asked, and it shocked me how vulnerable he sounded. I realized that he was totally at my mercy. He was mine.

I coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah, that's it."

Then, for some reason, I looked over at where the pitcher of cream was still on the tray.

"Hey. You thirsty?"

Brotherly Love Ch. 1

deedwithoutname — Sun, 18 Jan 2015 22:53:04 GMT

WARNING: This is a story that contains Wincest (Sam/Dean Winchester), stuffing, weight gain, and feeding.

It's also one that I wrote a long time ago, so...bear with me. It's not that great. I'm posting all my stuff in chronological order.

He's my brother. Of course I want him to be safe.

I mean, it seems like ever since Dad died, things just get harder and harder every day. It seems like every job we take, Sam gets a little closer to getting himself killed. And I can't take it anymore. I don't...I just don't know what I'd do if I lost him. So I started thinking about stuff I could do to get him to stay in one place, give up hunting.

I could have let him get hurt. But it was too damn risky-I trust most of these things about as far as I can throw 'em, and I wanted Sammy disabled, not dead.

I could have hurt him myself. But...Jesus, no, I couldn't.

Besides. Knowing him, he'd do his best to shake it off and keep on going, no matter what it was. Hell, I could have broken his spine and he'd've found himself a faith healer or a shaman or something. Just so he could come after me.

And then he wouldn't even beat me up. He'd just want to know why I did it, and so I'd have to tell him, and he'd forgive me. Because he's Sam.

But I'm getting off-topic. I stitched his wounds and told him Dad would have been proud as we moved from town to town, and every time, I wondered when he'd get hurt so bad I couldn't take care of him and neither could anyone else. I kept thinking about what I could do to keep that from happening. "Accidentally" shoot him in the kneecap? No, he could hunt with a cane. Actually, he might get better at it, adopt some sort of creepy House persona or something.

I got it one night, lying in bed at some crappy motel. I don't remember the name, they all start to blur together after awhile. I was thinking about all the hunters we'd seen, and how they all had a pretty similar build. Me and Sam included. Lean, muscular...y'know, it was just on of those stupid things you think about right before you go to sleep. It made me laugh a little. I guess you can't chase demons with a spare tire around your waist.

I sat up straight. Damn. That was it!

I rolled out of bed, pulled on my pants, and fired up the laptop. A quick search for what I needed brought up a lot more than I had expected. I clicked through website after website, scanned forums, even posted a couple comments. It turns out there's actually a fetish for this sort of thing. Is that effed up or what?

It was about three in the morning before I finally cleared the history and logged off. I was stretching, trying to work out a kink in my back, when I heard bed springs creaking behind me.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was husky with sleep, and I turned around. He was squinting in the blue light coming off the computer screen. "What're you doing?"

"Think we might have a job, but I'm gonna need to do some more research." I sat down on the edge of my bed. "Nothing yet. I'll start again in the morning."

"D'you want me to help?" He sat up, coughing to clear his throat.

"Nah. I've got it."

"If you say so." He laid back down. I watched him for a couple minutes, hearing his breathing even out. I hate lying to Sam. But damn, I'm good at it.

And it was for his own good. Should be okay.

I kicked him out in the morning, told him to go have some fun because his whole celibate-warrior thing or whatever was driving me nuts. After shutting the door halfway through him asking what kind of fun he was supposed to have in central Utah at seven in the morning. I went back to the laptop.

I had a better idea of what I was looking for this time around. Plus, somebody'd replied to my comments. They pointed me towards a small, discreet town in Texas. Called Berington. I'd never heard of it for a couple minutes, I let out a long, low whistle.

It looked like some sort of hot spot for these weight gain fetishists. There were a whole bunch of restaurants, none of them healthy, and some industrial-sized supermarkets. A dietitian's office. A hotel that seemed to cater to couples.

It was weird as hell, but it was perfect.

Someone started hammering on the door. I hit the power button on the laptop.

"Dean!" Sam yelled. "Dean, unlock the door!"

I did, and he practically fell in.

"What were you doing?" he demanded. I just tossed him his coat and slung mine over my shoulder.

"Pack your stuff, we're going hunting."

"Berington?"

"Yep."

"I've never heard of it."

"Neither have I."

"What exactly are we hunting down there?"

"Don't know yet. Maybe a demon. There's been a few disappearances, some symbols at the scenes. I just thought we should get a closer look."

Sam didn't say anything, just stared out the window. We were a couple miles outside of Berington, and I was driving. No way was I trusting him behind the wheel. I didn't like the idea of him flipping the car if he got one of his visions.

Those were another reason I wanted him out of the game. They were painful, and dangerous. Maybe they'd fade if he stopped hunting.

I stared straight ahead once we entered town, trying to avoid the weird looks I knew Sam'd be giving me. Berington was pretty small, but there were a lot of people everywhere. Almost always couples. Usually, they were made up of a skinny guy and a fat girl, though I spotted a bunch of different variations on that. A chubby guy hand-in-hand with another man caught sight of us as I guided the car through the narrow streets, glanced at Sam, and flashed me a grin and a thumb's-up. I gritted my teeth.

It's to keep him alive, I reminded myself, looking at Sam out of the corner of my eye. It's all about him.

He shifted a little, and I could see a cluster of faint scars on his cheek where God-knows-what had clawed him. It helped to cement my resolve.

"Stay here," I ordered, parking in front of the hotel. The Golden Heart Inn. That sounded innocent enough. I got out.

"Since when do I have to stay in the car while you get the room?" Sam demanded.

"Since now." I slammed the door.

The girl at the desk was gorgeous. Blonde, slender, blue-eyed, but I was to strung-out to hit on her. I kept my hands in my pockets, asking for a room with twin beds. I glanced back over my shoulder, trying to see Sam in the parking lot.

The girl said something. I looked back at her. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you've got an unsuspecting feedee," she said. "You just seem pretty nervous."

I drew a blank for a second, until I remembered the research I had done. Right. Feedee. Fetishist lingo.

"You could say that." I let out a breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding.

"Your girlfriend?" she asked, smiling. "She doesn't want to lose her figure?"

"Uh, no, actually." I rubbed my forehead. "It's-uh-I brought...my..." I cleared my throat, then leaned in and lowered my voice, doing my best not to go red. "...boyfriend."

If Sam ever found out about this, he was never gonna let me live it down.

"He's not into this?" She tapped a few keys on her computer.

"His job's dangerous. I want him to quit. This seemed like a good idea," I replied.

"Well, I've got a room for you, Mr. Parker." Fake names. A must-have. "Good luck."

She handed me a key. I nodded to her and walked back to the car with stiff legs.

Sam was leaning against it, eyeing me with his mouth set in a hard line. I could practically feel his suspicion.

"What's going on?" he asked, pushing off and meeting me halfway. "Why are you acting so weird?"

"Just shut up and follow me," I said under my breath. "I think we're being watched."

Not by anybody but a 200-pound chick sitting near the window of a restaurant across the street, who was giving me a look I really didn't like, but he didn't have to know that. It shut him up until we reached the room.

Now for the hard part.