Author: Spinny Roses
Warnings: Incest (Dean/Sam), vampires
Spoilers: AU after Dead Man's Blood
Disclaimer: Don't own
Notes: This is an alternate ending of Instinct, so instead of a tragic ending, there is a darker one.
Summary: If he just ignored how the light reflected off his eyes, Sam could pretend that it was his brother in front of him and not a monster he couldn't kill.
By Spinny Roses
The scent of dying blood and stale sex made Dean stir, only to freeze as the cold, sharp thing against his throat pressed in closer. One eye slit open, watching as Sam swallowed. The knife shook against his neck, drawing blood in annoying stinging lines. He opened his eyes completely, and Sam sucked in a desperate breath. "I thought Dad trained us better than this," Dean drawled. "Fucking a vampire and not even able to kill it in the morning? Speaking of, dude, close the blinds."
Sam let out the breath shakily, not removing the knife. "I should have killed you when I saw you. I should have-"
"Sammy, shut up. I'm tired."
Sam jerked, knife pulling back. "I could poison you and cut your head off while you sleep."
Dean yawned, stretching. "You don't have any dead man's blood. Besides, you're not going to kill me." He smirked, closing his eyes. "So shut up and let a man sleep in peace."
The blade was still sitting lightly, shaking, against the sensitive skin on his neck. "You're not..." Sam started, trailing off helplessly. "Dean, you're one of the monsters now and..."
With a grunt, Dean flipped Sam over and straddled him. Fingers snagged a large wrist and forced it down so the knife was against Sam's throat. "And what, Sammy? I'm not your brother? I'm not the same guy that changed your diapers when Dad was on a hunt, fed you, kept you alive?" Man, but Sam looked hot like that: Terrified, with a weapon digging into his bloodstained neck. Dean bent down, lapping at the dried blood. "I'm not going to kill you," he whispered, arching into him. "Or change you. Jesus, Sam. Don't you get that?"
Sam gulped, breathing harsh as Dean casually cleaned his neck with a too warm, too wet tongue. "Dad's going to find out," he finally said, voice a touch too loud.
"No, he won't," Dean breathed in his ear, arching into the heat between Sam's legs. "We're not going to stop hunting things. He won't care."
Sam moaned, free hand coming up to grip Dean's hip unthinkingly. Dean just grinned, and swirled his tongue around the healing rip in his neck. "Now that I'm up," he continued, not letting Sam say anything, "how about we take care of a few things? Like the sudden urge I have to suck your dick until I can't taste anything but your come?"
"Dean." The broken moan filled the room.
The pattern was familiar. Dean always used to get up, sleepily banging around in the shower until fully awake, and shout back muffled curses at Sam as he scrubbed his teeth clean. It was like he had never left, had never-
Sam gulped, touching his neck. It was bruising badly, not just from Dean ripping a chunk out of him but the frantic bites from flat teeth in the middle of sex. Incestual sex with his big brother and God. Maybe his dad was wrong about the fact vampires can't mind control. Sam's fingers tightened on the knife's hilt, as if determined that he'd go in the shower right this minute and chop his brother's vampiric head right the fuck off.
Yeah. Once he started showing signs of superhuman strength. He'd need the machete for that, and Dean would hear that one coming.
Dean. Sam slapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to vomit before reaching the trash can. Dean had never shown interest in men, much less his own brother before... and Sam. He just let Dean fuck him not only once, but twice, and let him bite him. Bleed him, and if Dean had just one less ounce of self-control, Sam would be dead. The shower shut off suddenly, and said vampire was next to him in a burst of steam. Dean actually looked worried as he bent down and held Sam's arms. "Hey. What is it, Sam? Vision?"
If he just ignored how the light reflected off his eyes, Sam could pretend that it was his brother in front of him and not a monster he couldn't kill. Instead of saying this, what slipped out was "Are you hungry?"
Dean looked at him, confused. "No, not- Sam, is that what you think? Why I came back?" He sat back, letting go of Sam's shoulders. "Dude, I can go out to any bar and get any kink freak to suck my dick as long as I bite them. I came back because I missed you. You're my goddamn brother, Sammy, and I can't be without you."
His voice was completely sincere. He was fucking sincere. Sam gritted his teeth, fighting off another wave of nausea as Dean pressed one hand to his forehead. "You don't have a fever," Dean muttered. "Geez. Look, Sam. I don't want to change you into a monster. I just... want to continue the family business, next to you. Okay? I won't even bite you unless I have to."
Sam swallowed, forcing bile back. He could try this. If Dean broke his promise, he'd shoot him with something doused in dead man's blood and behead him, no problem. And in return he'd have his (God) brother back.
"Come on, Sam," Dean coaxed, trying to gently pull him to his feet. "You need to get washed up. I'm not sitting in the car with you while you smell of puke."
Sam stumbled, unsteadily moving towards the bathroom and trying hard, so hard not to start another round of vomiting at the feeling of vampire hands on his shoulders.
Hunts were a little different. Dean was faster, stronger, and that should have made things easier if Sam didn't fumble with the shotgun in his hands as he watched his brother toss a yeti across the room with little effort.
The bite faded into a mass of scars over the next few months, and Dean stopped looking there hungrily, as if he could taste Sam's blood on his tongue again. Sam stopped searching for turtlenecks in the heat of summer when the waiter at a restaurant said "Man, that must have been a big dog."
Sam looked up past a lanky body into wide, innocent, hazel eyes half covered by floppy hair and tried to ignore the sudden pulse of hunger across the table. "Yeah," he managed. "Huge."
It was getting on Dean's nerves. Whenever he'd go out for a snack, Sam would check the news and obits obsessively for the town. For days, like a ravaged body, empty of blood would suddenly show up and he'd have a reason to kill Dean. He had tried to explain to Sam about vampire hunger and how much they could eat, but he just didn't get it. Finally, he ripped the paper out of Sam's hands and slammed him against a wall.
"Damn it, Sam," he shouted, leaning in close. "If you think I'm that big of a monster, just kill me already. Stop fucking looking for a reason."
"I'm not-" Sam began, heatedly.
"Bullshit." Dean's fingers twitched at the scent of Sam, Sammy, and he let a small smile cross his face. "You keep looking to see if my meal's body made the news, but you don't wait to see if I'm sick after I come back. I don't have to eat that much; I can't. But you never saw that in practice, did you?"
"Dean, you promised."
He looked up at Sam, at his parted lips and the breath tumbling faster from him. "If I didn't have to. This... qualifies as 'have to.'" Without waiting, Dean leaned in and took Sam's lips. The kiss was brutal, sloppy, and he fought to keep Sam from pushing him away. Finally, he pulled back far enough to lick at the mass of scars on Sam's neck.
"Dean." It wasn't that broken moan quite yet. Sam hadn't surrendered to what was right at the moment. But it was close, and Dean just bit down carefully with flat teeth.
"Don't you want to know how I do it?" he purred. "If I just push a guy against a wall and suck him until I'm full? Lure a girl into a dark alley with promise of hot sex, bite her, and leave her? Or how about this..." He reached down, squeezing the hardening mass between his brother's legs. "Or how about I fuck them so hard that the bite is what makes them come? It's more fun to do it that way. To..." Dean unbuttoned Sam's pants, shoving the denim out of the way. "Suck his dick, watch him beg me to finish it." He nipped at Sam's neck again, chuckling at the stifled moan. "The best one was this geek, more geekier than you. Repressed fucker, and he wanted all this kinky shit. Hot wax," here, he gripped Sam's dick hard, "tickle torture," a light finger up the underside, "and it all ended with him wanting to come all over my face."
Sam twitched, hands coming up to grip at Dean's belt loops. "Dean, don't."
"But the best part?" Dean continued, getting a firm grip on Sam's dick and pumping steadily. "Was watching him come twice from me biting him." He grinned wickedly, showing off a mouthful of fangs. "I saw him two days later and he was still acting like he was all post-orgasm. Best compliment ever, let me tell you. Second best sex of my life."
"What was the best?" Sam asked, hazily.
"Just this geek, with long hair he should have let his father cut off before he went off to college and a fat dick that made me walk funny for hours," he said casually, feeling Sam's dick jump in his hands. "Though he tried to kill me in the morning."
There it was. The last wall had come down, and Sam was ready to be fucked. "Shh, Sammy. Don't worry. I'll get you there." He licked the long expanse of neck in front of him, teasing him with a slight pricking of fang.
Sam twisted, moaning. "God."
Dean just smirked. "Almost," he whispered in Sam's ear before biting down.
Sam rolled over onto his back, panting. Dean stretched, purring, unnaturally cool after a round of scorching sex. Blood and semen stuck to their bodies in a disgusting mess, and Sam nearly threw up right there.
Dean looked over, smirking. "Do you get it now, geek boy?"
The hunts became less frequent. Sam would half-heartedly look through the papers, through the news, unable to focus on anything more than the predator across from him. When Dean found hunts, Sam's stomach lurched.
After each hunt, Dean unzipped Sam's pants. He never took blood this way, but what he did instead, the long licks and greedy gulps, made him sick and guilty as his hand fell not to push Dean away, but keep him there while he lapped at Sam's cock as if it was the only thing that would keep him alive.
Dean always tried to push him down, and Sam resisted each time. The push never came hard, was never forced but rather a suggestion that Sam lay down so Dean could ride his dick, but that was one boundary Sam didn't want to cross. Not after a hunt, the time when he and John and Dean would have been downing a few beers instead of the faint feeling of fang against his dick being the thing that made him come down his brother's throat.
The one time Dean let him grab his head and pull it back, the one time he watched his semen spurt over that pretty, fanged mouth, Sam didn't give in to the urge to throw up once.
Sam let out a long breath, trying to concentrate on the papers in front of him. "Then go out. The girls at the bar were more than happy to swap fluids."
Dean grabbed him, pulling him up. "I'm hungry," he breathed. "Now. Not later, when I'd get back to the bar. Now."
Sam's heart leapt in his chest, making Dean's breath catch in his throat. "You promised," he said weakly, forcing his hands by his side. "Not do unless you had to. You don't have to."
"Sam, Sam," Dean drawled, cupping the scars on Sam's neck. "Do you really want me out there? Fucking an unknown pussy and drinking what knows what she put into her system?" He leaned in, licking the tough tissue. "I could get sick."
It shouldn't have sounded true. Sam should have told him to buck up and be a man. Instead, he breathed in deeply, and let it out slowly, considering. Dean bit down with flat teeth, making him grunt. "Just this once," he said reluctantly. "Dean, just- nng."
Dean lifted his head, kissing him. His hands swiftly tore off the jeans, and he palmed his brother's rapidly hardening cock. With a wicked smile, he nipped at Sam's lips with fangs, drawing a meager amount of blood. Instead of lapping it up, he ran a fingers across the stinging cut and painted Sam's lips crimson. "Beautiful," he murmured, cleaning the unnatural coloring with his tongue. "Fuck. Sam, why do you smell so good?"
He couldn't answer. Sam pushed at Dean's jeans, panting wordlessly into his hair. Dean lifted his head, smirking. "That eager, huh?"
"Haven't had a hunt in a week," he managed, kissing Dean hard enough for the swiftly healing cuts to reopen. "Dean, we aren't-"
"Hell we aren't," he interrupted, eyes flashing. "This isn't like you can take it-"
"Dude, shut up and fuck me," Sam said, gripping the barely warm hard flesh. "Just... just this time."
Dean looked at him, considering. "You've never bottomed," he finally said, thoughtfully tugging on Sam's cock. "And we don't have anything. Sorry, your little fantasies are going to have to stay to the side this time." He tossed the remains of the jeans to one side, and gently pushed Sam back.
This time, Sam fell back, pulling Dean with him.
Dean pulled his fangs out, and licked the deep bite hard. Sam gripped his brother's hips harder, knowing it wouldn't bruise and wishing it would, and thrust upward. A wicked smile crossed his face as Dean moaned and leaned back, desperately fisting his own cock. "Damn it, Sammy, you're almost too big." He let his head tilt back as he rode Sam hard. "You taste so damn good."
Sam thrust up once more, and came hard. Dean came soon after, the fluid splashing over Sam's stomach and up towards his chest.
Dean smiled down at Sam, and this time, Sam smiled back with only the slightest bit of nausea.
"Dad sent us another coordinate. Another hunt. Should we-?"
"Do you think we'll meet up with the old man?"
Pause. "... it's possible."
Smirk. "Then let's do it. Let's see dear daddy."
John leaned up against the truck, hands shoved his his pockets and looking for all the world like he was just taking in the scenery. Sleepy looking eyes scanned the park in front of him, and only a keen observer would be able to tell that he had one hand firmly on a weapon of some sort, and only another hunter would be able to say it was a gun.
The Impala pulled up next to him, and John pushed off the metal easily, like he knew instead of wished they would be there. He waited patiently for the boys to step out, his hand relaxing off the gun but still not taking his hands out of his pockets.
Sam was the first to stand up. He moved awkwardly, testament to how long the drive was. He slammed the door shut, walking up to take in his father. Where every weapon John had on his person, the ones that he would be able to get to easily. A flash of pride sang through John, at how his kids grew up to be fantastic hunters.
Dean didn't move.
"Son," he acknowledged, softly. "Something wrong with your brother?"
"Dean's fine," Sam started, the heat rising in his voice. "Especially how after you left us and took the Colt with you and wouldn't say where you were, yeah, Dean's fine."
And there was the familiar guilt. The trail of the demon had gotten cold by the time they retrieved the Colt from the vampires, and he had to leave. This was his last chance to kill the damned thing. To end it all, to let Sam get back to the life he wanted. "I had to-"
"No, you didn't! You could have trusted us, you could have..."
The creaking door cut Sam off, and John's hand instinctively tightened on the gun in his pocket. Dean rose without hesitation, without pain, and studied the two men before him like he was watching two steaks move. "Dad," he said smoothly, shutting the door calmly.
John inclined his head, as if he wasn't considering pulling a weapon on his brother in front of the kid's soccer team. "Dean."
Sam looked between them, but doesn't move. He waited, nervous, as Dean smiled. "Been a while," he said with a soft laugh, his teeth flat and human. "Found the demon yet? Anything interesting you think we should hunt?"
John swallowed, hit hard by the hunger in Dean's eyes. He took one step back, watching as Sam whipped a hand out to stop his brother from following. The mass of scar tissue, scars from bites over and over, caught John's attention and forced his hand still.
"Sammy," he said brokenly, watching his youngest son hold a monster that lived in his eldest's body.
"I... it's okay. Dean... he doesn't..."
"I'm still here, damn it," Dean snapped, and flashed a quick fanged smile at John. "So what is it, Dad? You haven't had contact with us since you left with the gun. Fuck, I bet every time Sam called you saying I was missing you ignored it! Now that I'm," here, he broke off, the children watching them. "Damn snacks."
Sam's body jerked, horrified. "Dean, you-"
"Grow a pair, Sammy. I was joking." The narrowed eyes proved that statement a lie, and John took another step away.
"Boys, this can't continue." John worked the gun out, using his body to hide it from the children. "Sam, he's the thing we hunt now." His heart sank as Sam shook his head, stepping in front of Dean.
"He... he's still doing some good," Sam spat back, weakly. "Dean's not evil, damn it."
"He's feeding off of you!"
The mothers were ushering their kids away from the trio of psychotic men, many of them whipping out their overpriced cell phones. Dean watched this, amused, then turned his attention back to his brother and father standing off. "It's like you never left," he said, amused. "Still at each others' throats. Come on, Sam." He turned around, only to come to a stop at the sound of the gun coming up to bear on Dean.
John swallowed, his hands as steady as his face was conflicted. "Sam's never been able to say no to you for long," he manage to get out. "And this is how you repay it? By twisting it?"
"Put the gun away." Dean was still amused. "Or I'll take your hand off."
Sam looked between them, each glance more and more frantic. "Okay, this isn't funny guys. Dad, put it away." He swallowed, eyes flicking between them. "Dad!"
Dean turned and rushed forward, forcing John's arm up. "Listen to your sons, Dad," he whispered in his ear, squeezing his wrist painfully.
John took a deep, pained breath and uncocked the gun. With a swift movement, he set the safety and opened his hand as Dean's other hand wrenched the weapon away. Dean just smirked as he stepped back, popping the magazine out and pulling the slide back. He threw the bullets in one direction, gun in the other, and turned back to the car. "Nice seeing you, Dad," he tossed back, laconically.
Sam swallowed nervously, and followed Dean. In the quiet right before the police sirens started, his words carried. "You did that on purpose!"
"Bite me, Sammy."
Sam almost doesn't wake up one morning. The blood loss was too much, and he watched as Dean paced back and forth with a jug of orange juice and mumbling under his breath about high iron foods. Sam rolled his eyes, sipping at the liquid. Finally, "Spinach."
Dean looked up, surprised. "What?"
"Spinach is high in iron. And I won't need any. Shit, were you trying to prove Dad right yesterday?"
Dean just sat down, setting the orange juice aside. "Would I have to, Sammy?"
He looked away from those glinting eyes, coughing on his orange juice. "Dean, the hell?" He wiped at his mouth, and looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye. "... Dad's right, isn't he."
Dean shrugged. "You're not going to do anything about it. Right?"
Sam closed his eyes, shaking his head. "No." He opened them again, gazing over the cup. "I won't."
When Dean kissed him, yanking his head back to bare his throat helplessly, he only felt sad. Dean laughed when he pulled back, licking the deep wounds in his throat. "Now you got it, Sammy."