Title: 28 days
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Dean/Sam, Dean/OCs (minor), Sam/OMC (minor)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~18,000
Spoilers: Let's just say all aired episodes, and then some speculation.
Summary: Dean gets bitten by the Alpha werewolf, and gets turned. The wolf inside of him starts looking at Sam as way more than a brother and tension mounts until Dean is forced to take the situation into his own hands. But, being a Winchester, it's just never that simple.
Notes/Warnings: Violence, Language, Angst, MPreg, WINCEST (duh :P) Okay, so it was angsty, then porny, then deep and meaningful, then porny and deep and meaningful again and then cheesy. :/ I blame the boys because they always run off with my fic plots. . Anyway, to thepuppeteer, I hope you liked this and I hope I filled your prompt nicely enough! :D This was really fun to write anyways. *happy wiggle* *shall go slink off now back into her corner*

Written for the following prompt at spn_hardcore ;

Future fic - I figure it is late season 6. The alpha werewolf turns Dean and it isn't long until he discovers that his profound connection with Sam is so strong and 'unhealthy' because Sam is his mate. Dean has somewhat of an inner battle about it but it doesn't last long, because the wolf in him really wants to officially make Sam his and mate with him again and again…and again. After coming to peace with the fact that it isn't something he can fight - and more importantly it isn't something he wants to fight - Dean tries to seduce Sam. A lot of dirty talk and persistence ensues and at some point Sam's resolve crumbles and they mate. During the first mating or right after it, Dean turns Sam into a werewolf - his beta, as well. Of course, with them being Winchesters still it doesn't end with the sex or the turning. Since Dean was turned by the alpha werewolf himself (or herself if you prefer), he has some special abilities. Sam - as his beta, too. So as they 'mate' every chance they get, they discover that Dean has not only been fucking Sam, he has been breeding him too. Aka Sam can or already is bearing his pups.
In the end they can try to fix everything, get themselves back to normal - but during the fic, the werewolf and mates deal has a pull that is too strong for them to deny or resist so they don't.

Bonus points if
* Dean calls Sam his "bitch" in the very naughty context on more than a few occasions, especially during sex
* One of them brings up the 'soulmates share a Heaven' deal

Beta'd be the fantastic sarahlizzie who decides to demand I change the entire ending for you guys. I have to admit it kind of came out better. Love you girly even when you're bitching at me! =D

They're closing in on the son of a bitch. It's been a long, grueling hunt but they're finally closing in, and Dean can feel his fingers itch with the need to pull the trigger, but he has to wait – they've only got a limited supply of bullets and he can't afford to waste a single one on a crony.

The plan's simple – take out the werewolf with a silver bullet. Dean's got the best aim so he's taking point, with Sam trailing in the back – and his weapons are to take out the little ones – the children.

Dean can taste the presence of the powerful creature in the air and he's uneasy – the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he can't help but think that, somehow, it's too quiet. They should have been attacked, or at least found by now. Werewolves are dogs, practically – they smell things before they see them. They hear things before they smell them. Dean and Sam's heartbeats and breathing are too loud and Dean feels dread gathering in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that they were actually found out a long time ago.

He draws up short, waiting until Sam turns the corner, and then cocks his head, pulling his Glock up to face level and waits for Sam to creep forward. He can't feel Sam's body heat behind him but he can hear his little brother's breathing and knows Sam is there.

"What's up?" Sam's voice ghosts past his ear like a haunting's chill and Dean shivers, turning his head to watch Sam out of the corner of his eye for a long moment. Sam only recently got his soul back and sometimes…it's been wrong. Nothing too bad, just…residual. Dean just wants to be able to look at his brother and know that it's Sammy there, all the time. Then again – he's said so himself – one doesn't just go to Hell, be a Demon's bitch, and then come back without side-effects. He knows that.

He wants to make sure Sam knows he's always going to be Sammy. Always going to be Dean's Sammy. Knows that Dean needs to know that.

He's rambling, and wasting time, so Dean swallows back his uneasiness and concentrates on the job – "They should have found us by now," he murmurs, and then adds mentally 'Or we should have found them'. And it's true – the warehouse complex near the pier that they'd found the wolves holed up in isn't that big and it certainly isn't that complicated – there're no boxed piled up for hiding places, so either they're on the roof or they're…waiting for something.

Dean sighs, stepping into the last warehouse they have to search before Dean officially calls this a bust –

It's then that all Hell breaks loose.

They're overrun, suddenly. More than Dean expected to find – he'd thought maybe a dozen, maybe two. There are close to a hundred here and they all suddenly converge on the brothers at once. Sam's immediately firing shots and he takes a few down, and they collapse with a sudden whine and small, anticlimactic whimper, but there's not nearly enough bullets in his gun to handle them all and they didn't bring back-up.

Because, like mentioned, they hadn't expected a hundred wolves.

Dean tries to find the Alpha amidst the horde, because maybe cutting off the head will kill the body as well – besides, wolves are pack animals and they wouldn't work alone. Not when they're still so young. He finds a pair hanging back from the ravenous throng, and he sees that they are not human, they aren't even half-lings like most of those that are attacking him are. There is no half-wolf about them. They are fully beast, large, sleek-coated animals that have eyes that flash yellow in the harsh fluorescence of overhead lights.

"Dean!" Sam's shout snaps him back and Dean shakes himself, realizes he was a foot away from being attacked and shoots – he can't afford to conserve when it's a matter of life and death, now. He draws his silver knife with his other hand, slashing at whatever's too close to shoot at and tries to focus on what he assumes must be the Alpha pair, but he can't decide which one – there must be an Alpha and a Beta and he doesn't know which one to shoot at. He only has three bullets left and he wastes one on a bitch that was about to gnaw on Sammy from behind.

The air reeks of silver and gunpowder. Around the two Winchesters pile bodies of smoldering, singed flesh where silver touched skin and left burns behind. Dean swallows back nausea building in his stomach and tries to focus but it's burning his nose and Sam's too far away for him to see clearly.

We're going to die, he thinks with a strange kind of acceptance, and is only moderately annoyed because they'll have died without actually succeeding, which is just the most infuriating thing about the situation. It feels like leaving a job unfinished.

Until suddenly a high, powerful voice rings out and calls the wolves to halt, to be silent. The hollow click of Dean's empty gun echoes deafeningly in the silence as the older Winchester points his Glock at another wolf, and it flinches away but doesn't die. He doesn't waste time reloading – Sam casts him a glance with a worried expression and Dean turns to the Alpha-Beta pair. They're human now.

There's a male and female, and it was the female who'd spoken. She's beautiful, with long raven hair and bright yellow eyes that remind Dean of Azazel and the Hunter shivers at the thought, hand clenching around his empty gun, which now hangs at his side. He grips his blade more tightly as the female steps forward. Her hair falls half over her shoulders, half down her back, and is long enough to shield her naked breasts from sight. She's pale and slender, with legs that go on for miles and if she were human, Dean would definitely be hitting on her in a local bar right now. There's a twist to her mouth and darkness in her eyes – like she's calculating something, and her eyes rake over Dean's body appraisingly.

Her gaze is penetrating and Dean feels violated just meeting her gaze. His eyes flash over to the assembled wolves that part like the red sea at her approach with bowed heads and hushed whispers, and Dean grips his knife again, knowing that this female is the Alpha.

It shouldn't be surprising – wolves run by the moon which has always been associated with femininity and womanhood and beauty (and insanity, but we'll leave that part out for now). He shouldn't be taken by surprise that the Alpha is a female, but he is. Dean can only stand still as she approaches with the smooth glide of her species, a soft, serene kind of smile on her face. She can't be more than twenty years old, physically. Jailbait at best. So innocent and pure and yet so, so evil. Everything that makes Dean a Hunter quivers to strike out at her now, and then go down fighting and taking out every son of the bitch he can while he goes. It'd be a good way to die, all in all, and definitely one he could see coming.

The woman smiles at him when she's less than ten feet away and too far for Dean to catch her even if he lunged. "Hunters," she says in a deep, melodious voice that carries and shakes through the warehouse, and the wolves around her shiver at the undertones. It reminds Dean uncomfortably of an Angel's whine. She gestures out to her sides expansively, smiling in a welcoming way. "Pleased for you to meet my immediately family."

She chuckles along with the wolves and looks around, holding a hand out. The male that was with her joins her and takes her hand, their fingers entwining. Dean swallows back bile, but it's Sam who speaks; "All these…creatures were changed by you?" he asks in a derisive tone.

The woman smiles again, but it shows too much teeth – both sets. Dean shivers at the threat that lingers just underneath a smile. "All of them are my children." Her eyes flash back to Dean. "The strongest – the fastest. The best." Her voice is a purr now and her eyes glow and Dean takes a step back involuntarily. "The prettiest."

"Stay away from me, bitch," Dean snarls, holding his knife in front of him as though that could defend him. The blade glints in the harsh fluorescent lights and it burns the werewolves' noses – he can tell from how they grimace in distaste and growl slightly, upper lips curling back. Almost all the wolves have converged on him now, bringing Sam with them within the circle of their pack until the Winchesters are standing side-by-side together. Sam's body is tense and Dean feels slightly better knowing that Sam's freaking out too.

The Alpha female smiles in an entirely beatific way, and her eyes flash. "I'm sorry, darling," she purr-growls, stepping forward again, and the werewolves close in more so that the Winchesters have even less room to move. Sam tenses, and Dean knows he's waiting for the signal – knows Sammy will die fighting if Dean tells him it's okay to. After all, they only have eternal boredom in Heaven to look forward to – for two people who've been to Hell and back that doesn't seem so bad. "But I'm afraid you don't get a say in the matter."

There's no time to react – one moment they're staring each other down, the Alpha female leaning in with a predatory smile on her face, and the next Dean's pinned, fucking pinned by that Beta male and a few other wolves, their hands overly warm and pressing down on his body, forcing his head to one side and away to bare his neck. He gives a startled cry and hears Sam grunt. He can just manage to roll his eyes up and meet Sam's, and knows his brother isn't going to help him – he can't, because he's pinned down too. Dean grips his knife and tries to slash, and manages to get a male wolf in the shoulder. He yelps and jumps away but two more take his place, holding him down.

Dean grunts again, and finally starts to feel the delayed surge of panicked adrenaline flooding his blood and he starts panting, struggling against the many hands holding him down, and the Beta male leans down, inhaling at the arching tendon in his neck. Dean's struggles increase tenfold once he realizes what exactly is about to happen.

It's no use – the wolves are strong and Dean can see the female Alpha coming forward. "Stay the fuck away from me!" he growls, glaring up at the Alpha with as much heat as he can. But she just grins and kneels down next to the Hunter, carding a hand with long, slender fingers through the Hunter's hair. She smiles.

"Soft," she murmurs, then drags a hand down Dean's face, around his chin with her thumb brushing over his eyelids, and his brow. "Strong jaw. Good genetics." Her calculating eyes keep traveling lower. "Good muscles. Well developed." Dean flushes at the clinical analysis. He imagines this is how a stud animal feels when being purveyed. The Alpha meets his eyes again and smiles. "Yes. I like him," she purrs, and then throws her head back. There's a cracking sound as her second set of teeth extend, canines forming over canines, sharpening and growing and strengthening and locking in place. Her Beta mate draws his head away and leans over Dean, exhaling into her mouth before they kiss. It draws blood and the female inhales, almost like she can taste Dean's scent in his mouth and Dean thinks with a sinking feeling that she probably can. The Alpha female purrs and her body shivers. When her eyes open again they are glowing brightly enough to make Dean wince. "Yes…I like him a lot."

The Beta purrs and nuzzles into his mate's neck, then the female looks down and smiles with shining, pointed teeth, and kneels down, crouched in an akimbo pose like a spider and she smells at Dean's neck, nose buried into his pulse.

"Dean," Sam grunts, and he meets his brother's eyes. Sam's expression is torn between fear over what is about to happen and disbelief. Denial. Dean shuts his eyes and braces himself because he knows this is gonna hurt like Hell.

After being turned into a vampire, he can only hope that Sam either will have a plan, or will be willing to shoot him. Dean's not willing to spend one more day as a monster, as a thing he can't control.

He can feel the female's warm breath in his neck, and it's like everything else leaps into hyperawareness. He can feel the cold concrete floor on his back, where it's slightly wet against his shoulder from water damage and leaks. He can feel the wolves gathered around him and the weight of all his handlers keeping him down, their warm palms and sweaty fingers against him. He can hear Sam crying out for him, hear a wolf growl and strike him and knock him out so he'll stop struggling. He can hear the drizzle outside, and when he feels her teeth slide into his neck in one smooth motion, it's like hyper drive on his nerves that are already so sensitive.

He cries out in pain, arching against the many hands holding him down, and distantly he can hear Sam calling him name and being forced into silence. Everything inside of him – his every cell, every nerve, every synapse – is focused onto that one place in his neck, that one bite. Dean shouts and writhes, in so much pain…it feels like a come-down on heroin. It feels like everything that his mind and body had told him was pain before was wrong, and now suddenly he needs to make up for all of it all at once. It's almost as bad as Hell.

The female moans around her mouthful, at the scent and taste of his rich, powerful blood, and takes it into herself, tastes his essence as one of her new children and keeps him inside of her. She learns his name, some of his memories, his personality, and seeks out for him…seeks out his mate.

Mates are important. All creatures are working towards rebuilding their populations and werewolves are no different – mates mean more wolves and more wolves mean even more wolves. The female strokes down the side of her panting, sweating child's face, to his racing heartbeat, humming a soothing tone into his neck when she pulls away like a mother sings a lullaby to a newborn child, and Dean's shaking from the pain – his body feels like it's on fire. Feels alive with fire.

"Open the doors," she commands, and the wolves that were holding the now-unconscious younger Winchester down run up and throw the doors open and let in the light of the half-moon. They'd chosen that time of the month to avoid getting attacked by werewolves, but such things as timelines don't affect the Alpha and her first children. The moonlight falls on her newest child and cleanses him – she can feel Luna's silken caress on her skin and on his and it calms him, a balm to the fire. She smiles and nuzzles into his hair where it's plastered to his face from sweat. His very being shudders at her touch, shivers and then welcomes her in, and the female welcomes her newest child with a kiss to his forehead, giving a part of herself back to him so that he will be strong enough to survive without a pack.

After all, it's not safe to associate with Hunters.

When Dean comes to, he feels too sensitive. It's the same, almost, as when he was a vampire. He can hear rain outside, and the morning sun pierces through his eyelids like red knives, and he covers his closed eyes with his fists, crying out as he rolls into the shadows, but his own touch sends shocks of electricity through his body and he cries out again, trying to get away from the sensation of the very air. It hurts, Lord does it hurt. Dean sends himself to his feet, then to all fours as he staggers. He inhales – he can smell the vomit and piss and alcohol from a teenager party held here last night. He can smell the blood on the cement floor – he sees the stain, sniffs at it, and it's his own. He can smell the rain and hear it like deafening thunder in his head. Covering his ears does no good because the rush of blood in them is twice as loud.

He's startled by a low moan to his side and snaps his head up, looking over to…Sam. God, Sam. Dean crawls over, a low whine sounding in his chest because he can't…quite form words at the moment. It seems like his vocal chords and his brain can't seem to get in line with each other. He wants to ask if Sam's okay, to get him to start talking, to make sure he's alright, but all that comes out is a low growl that sounds concerned – more like an injured dog's whine – and he grabs Sam's face in his hands, slapping his cheek gently to try and get him to wake up.

When Sam's hazel eyes flicker open Dean damn near collapses from relief, so sure that the wolves would have killed him, and he leans down, resting his nose against Sam's forehead and inhaling at his scent, confirming that his brother is alive and breathing underneath him, because he couldn't bear it if Sammy died because of him. Again.

Sam breathes out, the air skating along Dean's neck and he shivers as his skin tingles along the bite. He forces himself away, forces himself to step back and put distance between himself and the little brother he loves so much, and puts a hand to his bite. The lightest touch makes him hiss in pain, and there's a little part in Dean's brain that Shifts, and he can suddenly speak again.

"Sammy." God, is that his voice? It sounds rough and hoarse and the pounding in his head hasn't gone away. But it's not blood that takes the forefront to his scent, like the vampires. He's not hungry. It's…he can't describe it. Not really. It's like a taste he can smell and almost see. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring and gasps as his new heightened, fully-aware brain tries to take it all in. Sweat – there's a bitter tang of fear through it. Not sweat through exercise, but adrenaline. As soon as he smells it something in his mind catalogues a different nuance that he immediately identifies as that particular hormone. There's blood too – but not Sammy's. Even as a human he would recognize the scent of Sam's blood.

"Dean?" His brother's voice jars him. He didn't realize there were octaves and echoes before. When he opens his eyes, it's like Sam is glowing. Bright with energy that flies out to about an inch from his body. It's an aura that Dean feels like he could touch, and he does – he reaches out with shaking hands and trembling fingers to trace the lines of Sam's glow, right over his heart, and then presses down against smooth skin and hard muscle underneath a ripped t-shirt.

He smiles when Sam's heartbeat hitches, and a whole new smell floods his senses. It's pleasant, but he can't identify it.

"Dean?" Sam asks, with low harmonics and a worried frown, and he reaches forward to touch his hands against Dean's face. The older brother sighs at the gentleness, leaning into it and tilting his face away, and he can feel Sam's heartbeat thrumming underneath his skin, and it's soothing. Gentle. There's another Shifting inside his mind and Dean gasps, eyes flying open. "Are you okay, Dean?"

"Sam." It's the only word Dean can force out, and on the strung-out end of it is…want. It's not for blood, it's not for food. It's for…He doesn't know. He breathes in again, trying to calm himself because he can't get control of his breathing or his heart, but the Shifting is getting more insistent and he doesn't know what to do with it. "Sammy."

It's when he meets his little brother's eyes that it all makes sense. Sam is still glowing, and strong, and Dean's hand hasn't moved from his chest. Even through the t-shirt Sam is warm and welcoming, his scent strong around Dean, filling his head with Sam, just as it always has been. Always Sammy, everything for Sammy – keep him safe, keep him loved and filled. It's wrong and too close but Dean doesn't care – never has cared.

And now there's a small voice in the back of his head that says maybe Sam might not care, either.

"You were bitten," Sam says, voice low and eyes pained, and Dean looks down at himself, seeing his fingertips come away with a little spot of blood, and swallows. He doesn't want to die – he doesn't want his brother to shoot him, but he doesn't want to become a monster either. There's an impatient growl in the back of his head and Dean shivers at what that might mean. Sam gets up and pulls Dean to his feet, heartbeat flying – it was so steady when Dean had been turned into a vampire – and breath coming fast. He wants to get out of here. Dean can't blame him. But there's something he needs to do first.

"You were hit," he counters, holding Sam's head in his hands again and pulling his Sasquatch of a brother down until they're a hair's breadth apart from each other, could kiss if Dean wanted them to, and Sam shivers, shaking on the exhale when Dean rubs a thumb over his temple and through his hair, checking for any damage – bumps or bruises or any excuse he can find to hunt down the sons of that bitch who struck his baby brother. He finds nothing, and Sam's pupils are only slightly dilated. Probably not a concussion then. Dean lets him go.

There's another growl in the back of his head, and Dean winces. He'd read stories and heard about…well, there are two sides. The animal and the man. When the animal takes over the man doesn't remember and understand. Dean isn't sure what this means for him – the full moon's only two weeks away, tops. He has that long to figure out everything about being a werewolf and, hopefully, reverse it like with the vampire thing.

It startles and worries Dean that, when Sam turns around, all he can think about is how hot it is to watch Sam leave, how his body shivers with the need to follow. He does, because it's all he can do not to, and God, he wants. He doesn't understand…there's that scent in the air and it smells better than any pie and any perfume he's ever smelled before.

And he wants.

Everything's normal. Too normal. Dean doesn't feel the need to do anything – tells Sam as much. He's cavalier about it, in fact, and honest about it, because the brothers have a strict 'Tell-each-other-when-something's-wrong' rule. He's not hankering for human flesh, has no urges to go and howl to the moon or anything, and definitely doesn't feel…strange. There's a Shifting in his head, every now and again, in the back of his mind, and every time that happens, his jaw and fingers clench, his back arches just a little, and he shivers, heat flooding through him. He doesn't understand it and he wants.

He's afraid to tell Sam. Afraid that if he even speaking about it will make it real. Sam is a hard line of hormones, scent, worry and fear in the passenger's seat and it's all Dean can do not to…act.

He understands what lurks in the back of his mind now. He catches shapes and sounds that aren't really there. A flash of sandy-golden fur and glowing yellow-green eyes. His eyes, as they shift and change and his face moves and changes shape. He sees himself become a wolf in front of his very eyes, and the animal growls and howls in his head, scrabbling at the walls of his mind and trying to break free. His jaw clenches at the Shifting. His body wants at the wolf. The wolf wants.

The wolf wants Sam. Dean doesn't understand it. Can't do it…can't do that to his brother. He's afraid of himself. Afraid of what he desires so much and hurting Sam. Every time the wolf pushes, Dean pushes right on back, and it hurts to resist.

But he does, because Dean is nothing if not self-sacrificing.

That night, five days after their run-in with the werewolves, Dean dreams.

He dreams that the female is there, again. He can feel her in his brain, beautiful with that long raven-black hair, and she walks up to him, and he's panting, his mind overwhelmed with her scent of heat and desire, and he doesn't resist when she kisses him, sliding her tongue into his mouth and grabbing at his hair.

The wolf inside of him rebels at the touch of his Mother, his Alpha, and she senses it. She smiles and pulls away, stroking down the side of his face as he growls and bares his sharpened canines at her. "Such a beautiful child," she purrs, holding his head in a deceptively tight grip, her fingers digging into his skin. "My beautiful baby…"

"Get away from me," he growls, because he doesn't want her touch. He fights against her influence, her heat and her scent, and his wolf is in agreement because it seems he has the strength to push her back, beyond what a human is capable of. She smiles but subsides. "What's your name?"

Her eyes flash for a moment, but she smiles cordially at him, holding his chin in her hand and tilting his head up, forcing his submission as he bares his throat. "My name is Olivia," she says with a smile.

He tries to pull his head away but can't – that is one thing his wolf won't help him in. The Alpha female is his mother, his mistress, and he will obey. He must obey. He swallows, the action hard because his head is tilted so far back, and he sighs, closing his eyes, because he knows he's dreaming and she can't hurt him here.

"You haven't claimed your mate yet," she says, frowning as she leans up and inhales at the bite that marks Dean as hers, smelling no foreign blood or sex anywhere on him. She tuts and lets go of his chin. "Can't be having that, beautiful."

"My mate?" Dean repeats, incredulous and mocking, because this shit is the stuff of teen romance novels. Not reality. Of course, he's a Winchester, right? So shit like this always lands in his lap. "What the fuck do you mean my mate?"

"Language," she hisses, baring her teeth. "No child of mine will be so crass."

"Listen, lady, I ain't your -."

"I'll stop you right there," she snaps, cutting him off, and raises a hand, placing two of her fingers against Dean's lips. Her eyes glow yellow and there's a scent in the air, a potency that makes Dean kind of want to roll over, and though he doesn't do that he does bare his throat, because his wolf demands it of him, and it's scary how much control this creature has over his body. "You have a mate, Dean Winchester. He is your brother. You may be able to fight your instincts now, but as time moves on and the moon grows fuller, your wolf will get stronger. I will get stronger within you, and when that night comes you will claim your mate. Claim him in my name, and make him your Beta."

"Sammy?" Dean gasps, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. He shakes his head. "No. Never."

Olivia smiles a cruel smile. "Sorry, beautiful. It's the only way."

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat. His brother asks him what is wrong and he doesn't answer.

Olivia wasn't bullshitting him.

The wolf is strong. And it wants.

Dean tries to fight it – tries to turn the attentions of his creature to any willing sluts he can find. Male or female, it doesn't matter, as long as he can fuck them raw and he doesn't bite – luckily there isn't a problem there because his wolf has no desire to turn any random whore, which just makes it all the less satisfying.

He and Sam have simultaneously been trying to track down the pack that turned him and the supposed cure.

There must be one.

There's always a way out.

The Angels don't care enough to intervene, if they're even listening, and since their debt to Crowley was settled the Demons don't give a rat's ass anymore either. The Winchesters are on their own for once in their lives and it's kind of…freeing. Dean doesn't feel any different aside from the nervous skittering up his spine. It makes him a little shorter with Sam, who grows more and more tense as the full moon approaches.

Sam refuses to shoot Dean or chain him down. He trusts Dean, the stupid bastard.

Dean knows he can't win. Knows he won't be able to fight the wolf back when the time comes. He has nine days to make Sam willing, to make Sam want him, so that it's not rape when the time does come. He doesn't have time to start off small.

Sam's scent is driving him crazy. The boy smells like heat. Heat doesn't have a smell, but Sam does. He smells potent, like blood and sweat and life, and Dean wants a bite. When Sam's asleep, he prowls around the room, trying to get up the courage and fight the urge to go over to Sam, to take him and make him Dean's, Dean's wolf's. He ends up standing at the foot of Sam's bed all night, staring at his baby brother, all loose-limbed and sprawled with just a thin sheet hiding his gorgeous tan body.

And it is gorgeous; Dean has time to realize now. Sam's muscled, but he's not as strong as Dean is, not anymore. He's well defined, with plenty of divots to grab onto when Dean will finally take him from behind, hold on for dear life as he rides his brother, fucks him hard and deep and when they're so slick with sweat that every motion isn't motion, it's momentum, Dean'll fill Sam up, flood him with his come, and Sam'll have it leaking out of him for hours, days if Dean has anything to say about it. When the time comes Dean will fuck his brother into oblivion and back. His wolf's practically decided it for him.

He grips the sheet between his fore- and middle finger, pulling it slowly down and off Sam's body. He's beautiful. His shoulders and chest are broad and muscled – would feel fantastic underneath Dean's hands. Already the werewolf's palms itch to touch. His smooth skin gives way to ribs and a six-pack that makes Dean's mouth water. The only imperfection is that anti-possession tattoo, and Dean wants to lave at it with his tongue, drink down the ink and completely erase it, replace and mar it with his bite. He wants to bite above Sam's heart, leave a mark right in the middle of that perfect chest. Sam's hair is flared out like a brown-honey halo, and Dean knows how soft Sam's hair is from the stupid horse shampoo he uses, how smooth his baby brother's skin is and how Dean will lick into his mouth, because Sam'll be shy. He won't know what's going on, body trembling and his fear tangible and Dean will teach him, mark him, and bite him. He'll make Sam scream and howl for him.

Dean's grinning at the thought, and he's getting overexcited. His cock is hard enough to hurt on the inside of his boxer shorts, tented and stained a little with precome already. Dean reaches down to press the heel of his palm into his erection, stifling the pleasure just a little. He's not ready to come yet.

His gaze travels possessively downwards, and it's a miracle Sam doesn't burst into flames from the heat of it. There, between his brother's slightly spread, beautifully long and muscled legs, lies his cock, buried in a thick mass of wiry brown hair. Dean's mouth waters, looking at it and his eyes flash yellow and he growls.

He can't take it anymore. He climbs onto the bed between his little brother's legs, his breathing heavy and rough through parted lips, bitten red by his own teeth while he fantasized, and Dean leans down, nuzzling at Sam's thigh, pushing his brother's legs further apart with his nose. Sam goes willingly with a low, sleepy rumble, and Dean smiles.

It's too easy, almost.

His breath ghosts along his brother's cock, and he mewls low in the back of his throat at just how much he wants that thick, glorious length inside of him, to taste Sam and fuck him already. The wolf's already getting so impatient that Dean wonders how he ever thought of keeping the animal in line. Dean buries his nose in the hair around Sam's cock, inhaling the potent scent there, and his tongue snakes out to lick along the base. It tastes like sweat and musk and it's glorious. Dean could come just from smelling Sam, and that says something.

Dean trails down Sam's cock, feeling it start to harden under his tongue and he purrs, all an animal now, unable to speak even if he wanted to, and he licks at the head daintily – like a kitten – before sucking it into his mouth. His hands come into play as he crouches over one of Sam's legs, running his fingers down behinds Sam's balls and along the perineum, because to make sure his plan succeeds he's going to have to make this the best damn blowjob of Sam's life.

There's a hand in Dean's hair before he knows it, pressing at the back of his head to force him further down, and Dean whines and takes it, takes it because he needs it, and he no longer doubts what Olivia said – Sam is special. Sam is his, because none of the other lays felt this good and Dean hasn't even touched himself yet.

He moans around Sam's cock, taking in as much of Sam as he can – which isn't as much as he'd like but he learns to deal – and swallows around his brother. He wiggles two of his fingers into the side of his mouth, slicking them up while his tongue goes to work on the thick vein and under the head, before his fingers go back to exploring undiscovered territory – Dean can smell that no one has touched Sam here before, and it makes his wolf purr at the victory and ultimate domination. By the full moon Sam is going to be so fucked he'll practically be a whore.

His littler brother's not awake yet – he's stirring sleepily, face set in an expression of bliss and Dean smirks, sucking Sam down just a little more until he feels the head press against the back of his throat. It's uncomfortable but at the same time it's so good, and Dean's eyes flash up to Sam's face as he pulls off, fighting his brother's hold on the back of his head, and just turns his attention to the head of Sam's cock, sucking like there's venom in a wound, tonguing along the slit, and with just a little scrape of teeth over the bundle of nerves under the head. Sam writhes at that, so Dean smiles and does it again, all the while his fingers circle Sam's hole, already clenching from pleasure and the werewolf pushes one finger in to the first knuckle, crooking it slightly so he won't get pushed out. Sam mewls at that, and it's the most delicious sound Dean thinks he's ever heard – his little brother is purring like a kitten for him, spreading his legs and bucking his hips and Dean thinks he might just come, just from sucking Sam off.

Dean slides his finger in a little deeper, stretching Sammy's hole out as best he can while he has a mouthful of Sam, and he pulls his other hand away from balancing himself on the mattress, puts all his weight on his legs and fists the base of Sam's cock, forming a tight ring for Sammy to fuck into.

It's when Dean finds his prostate that Sam finally shoots awake with a shout, erupting in Dean's mouth and coming down his throat. Dean purrs and whines and drinks it down, lapping at Sammy's cock and milking him for as much of his come as he can get, before Sam pushes him away.

"Dean, what the fuck are you doing?" Sam pants, trying to put heat in his voice but he just shot all his brain cells out his dick, so Dean forgives him for not being able to see the obvious.

So he rolls his eyes and, like a good big brother, does it for Sam; "What does it look like? Sucking you off," he says, voice a low, throat growl from where Sam rubbed his throat raw, and he doesn't miss how Sam shivers at it. Dean grins, prowling closer. "Was so fucking good, Sammy," he purrs, nuzzling into Sam's chest, and his brother catches his head but doesn't push him away again. His eyes are wide and dilated and his skin is flushed, and he smells so delicious that Dean can't help himself – he bares his teeth and nips lightly at Sam's skin, above his nipple, and Sam jerks in his grip. "Taste fuckin' divine, and you smell so good…"

"Dean…" Sam's hands are shaking, trying to pull Dean away but he'll be damned if he leaves now. "Dean, stop." But his hands are tight in Dean's hair and his body is pumping out adrenaline and testosterone like woah, and Dean inhales it greedily, licks it off of Sam's grin with a Cheshire cat smile, splaying his hand over Sam's flank where he knows his little brother is sensitive from many tickle wars in the past. "Dean."

That's right, baby, scream my name. Dean chuckles at the wolf's voice, nuzzling into Sam's collarbone and his breathing is heavy, leaving warm condensation behind. He drags his hand up, nails catching on Sammy's ribs and his brother's breath hitches. Dean can smell the blood rushing through him, his heart flying for him.

"Dean, damn it, I mean it! Stop!" Sam growls suddenly – and it's fucking hot, hearing that guttural sound coming out of his brother – and Sam uses Herculean strength to push Dean away to the foot of the bed. Like a good little housedog, the wolf inside of Dean screams and the older Winchester snarls, both sets of teeth bared as his eyes flash yellow at Sam.

Sam's outwardly calm, but his heart is still flying, and his body still burns for Dean's touch. The werewolf can taste it. He grins when Sam runs a hand through his smooth, ridiculously fluffy hair, and Dean can only imagine how a wolf would feel, covered in that beautiful fur. He purrs at it, his cock twitching in his pants, and he knows he can't fight it. Can't even go slow. It's not just the wolf talking – Dean knows. He wants.

When Sam's finally got control of himself again, and his breathing and heart rate are semi-normal, he chances a glance back at Dean. "I thought you said nothing was wrong," he says, voice low with distrust, and Dean swallows back his low purr.

"Nothing is wrong, Sammy," he insists, watching Sam as his little brother rolls his eyes and snorts. Dean's in his lap in an instant, panting in Sam's ear as he clings, because Sam's not going to push him away a second time. "I mean it, Sammy," he growls into his little brother's ear, delighting in the elicited shiver. "Mates. Soul, body, all mine. Yours." He's pulling at Sam's muscle, kneading them between his hands as he drags his fingers down Sam's back. "Imagine it, Sammy – mates. Already are. Can feel you, smell you…God, you smell so good…" And Dean knows that his wanton ramblings don't make sense, but that's okay because he's pretty sure Sam – the brainiac – is getting what he's saying.

Dean drags his second set of teeth across Sam's pulse and his little brother shifts, tenses, shivers for him. It sends a low growl and fissions of pleasure running down Dean's body as Sam's hands grab blindly, dragging him down unintentionally, and Dean's hard, jean-clad cock rubs against Sam's bare one. Already Sammy is baring his neck – might be involuntary but it's instinct either way. Sam knows already.

"You're mine," he growls, bared teeth resting against Sam's racing pulse. "Can feel how much you want it." He threads a hand through Sam's hair, reveling at the softness, and jerks his little brother's head to one side. "Can already imagine it, can't you? One bite, Sammy, one bite and you're mine forever. Can already imagine how your blood will taste like…" His tongue snakes out, licking at the sweat on Sam's neck, and his little brother is shaking and the fear is so delicious, Dean feels his eyes roll back into his head as he tries to hold himself back. "I'll sink my teeth in," he growls, voice fucked-out and raw as he places light kisses on Sam's pulse, sucking a mark, talking in between; "Nice and deep, so you can feel me, and I'll…I think I'll find a vein. That way I can take my time with you. And while I'm doing that I'll fuck you, make you come at the same time I bite you, bring you to heights you can't even imagine, Sammy." His teeth slide in, just a little, and it's then that Sam jerks back to motion. He shoves at Dean bodily, forcing his head free and away from Dean's mouth, and Dean goes because just that little taste of blood has him coming, inside his pants like a fucking teenager. It's the most intense orgasm of Dean's life, tainted with blood and sweat and fear, and for a long while all he can do it pant on all fours over Sam's legs as his body shudders through the aftershocks.

"Dean?" he asks tentatively, placing a hand between his brother's shoulders, and Dean looks over at him with a satisfied smile, eyes flashing yellow. He leans in and inhales at the fresh come on Sam's abdomen from where his little brother had leapt over that edge, just from the tease of his bite.

"Mine."

Sam's not taking any chances. He chains Dean down onto his bed, as tightly as he dares because he doesn't want a repeat episode of the other morning. His body thrums whenever Dean is close and the almost-bite burns on his neck. The werewolf that has taken over his brother smiles like he knows exactly what Sam is thinking.

The days were a mesh of teasing, pulling close and backing off. Sam knows it's the wolf inside of him, knows that his brother would never do something like this – hello? Incest. As in, wrong, and Sam's the one who sleeps with sin, not Dean. He's the Angels' bellboy, and even at his horniest Dean wouldn't sink that low.

But it's hard to remember that when those bright green eyes shine up at him, his full lips parted and set in a leer, his hands wandering shamelessly regardless of where they are. Already they've been cautioned for public indecency, and it's humiliating and Sam's so confused, because while his brain is totally not on board with this, the rest of him most definitely is. His entire being practically seizes up with pleasure whenever Dean speaks, breathes, looks at him, like there's a pull, an instinctive submission that makes Sam want to pleasure Dean, to take care of him so totally. He puts it down to guilt over being a lousy brother over the past few years, but whenever he touches the almost-bite on his neck – there's a thin line from Dean's canines and that's it – his body is from zero to holyfuckmustcomenow in three seconds flat.

And Dean keeps smiling, like he knows. Like he's planning something. The last time Dean had that smile, Sam ended up under the influence of a Gorgon because it had been someone's brilliant idea to use him as bait.

Sam's afraid of Dean. It's been a while since he felt like this. He's been afraid for Dean thousands of times, but actual fear of his brother is foreign and settles in his gut like a leaden snake. And the worst part is that when Dean smiles like that, and his eyes gleam, Sam swallows back the urge to make himself smaller, because power leaks from Dean now, surrounds him with danger and awe, and Sam's helpless against the influence.

He knows that when Dean finally puts his plan into action, Sam will be helpless to fight or resist.

So Sam chains Dean down. All the while his brother is smirking at him. "This is fuckin' kinky, Sammy," he growls lowly, his eyes half-lidded and his body curved in an inviting little arch. It's all Sam can do not to touch Dean, but he swallows and steps back. Dean looks up at one wrist, tugging experimentally. As a human he has no chance, but when the moon's up Dean's sure he'll be able to fight his way out. Breaking the fucking headboard if nothing else…

Although…He can think of much funner ways of breaking a headboard. Dean sighs, arching his body again in the pretense of stretching as Sam sits down on the other bed, determinedly not looking at Dean. The werewolf lets out a low little groan, bucking his hips up and closing his eyes, smiling to himself, and for about an hour it's just tense silence.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean asks when Sam looks like he's about to nod off – the TV is set as low as to almost be on mute and they're starting to show the Adult side of entertainment. His little brother blinks over at him. "I think I'll go to sleep now." Dean smiles slowly. "Mind helping me out of my jeans, since I can't move my hands?"

Sam bites his lip, torn between being a good brother and helping, or avoiding the thinly disguised trap that await him should he leave the safety of his bed. He gets up after a long, tense moment, and goes over to the side of Dean's bed. The older Winchester smiles, voice a purr as he reads the hesitance in Sam's eyes – the full moon's almost here, barely three days away, and he feels strong. His wolf is Shifting in the background of his mind and he knows that tonight will be the night. It's a little early but he's tired of waiting around. He knows Sam wants him and he'll take what he fucking wants even if Dean has to make him.

Sam leans down and quickly unzips and unbuttons Dean's jeans, trying to keep as little contact between them as possible. He's biting down on his lower lip, slightly to one side and Dean's enthralled with the action, watching tiny blood vessels burst and make Sam's lip all swollen and red. He swallows; his mouth has gone dry.

Dean lifts his hips for Sam, letting his baby brother undress him in a mockery of what he'd been doing for years before Sam learned to dress himself. There's a smile on the older brother's face when Sam's wide, terrified eyes meet his, and Sam gasps because Dean's eyes are glowing yellow. The wolf is so close to the surface that, when Sam lets his fingertips trail over the bared skin of Dean's stomach, he feels fur.

Dean shivers, closing his eyes just briefly at the touch of his mate, back arching into Sam's hand until the younger Winchester splays his fingers across Dean's stomach, thumb dipping just under the waistband of his boxers. With his jeans half around his ankles, Dean is essentially hobbled, but he's far from helpless.

He smiles, words a purr; "You like touchin' me, Sammy?" Sam's eyes fly open – and he didn't know he'd closed them – and he hitches in a breath, fingernails digging in a little into Dean's soft stomach, but he doesn't pull away. "Like feeling me getting all hot and bothered for you?" Dean can feel his teeth extending, and his hands twist a little in the ropes which don't seem so strong anymore. "I bet you like having me tied down, kinky son of a bitch, like having me at your mercy."

"Dean," Sam snaps, pushing himself upright, jaw clenched and body hard but eyes full of desire. "Shut up."

"Shut up?" Dean repeats, and he can't help it – he laughs. Throws his head back, bitten throat bare, the mark red and dark against his skin. "Don't you like it when I sound so fucked-out, Sammy?" Dean's voice is low and he makes it lower – throatier, coming from his chest. "You might be able to lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me," he hisses, the wolf surging to the forefront of his mind, making him strong, and he pulls at the headboard, snapping the now-flimsy wood as he tenses his muscles and sits upright. Rope hangs from his wrists to shards of wood and there are splinters in his arms, drawing blood, but Dean can't seem to care. His sights are set on his brother.

Sam sucks in a breath and takes a step back. Dean sheds his jeans and pushes himself upright, and his blood drips down to the floor. "Stop trying to fight it, Sammy," he says in a low voice. "It's already destined – fate and all that crap. My wolf wants you. My soul wants you. We're already mates." He crowds Sam's personal space, backing his little brother against the wall. There's no weapon against werewolves in the room – Sam wouldn't take the chance of Dean accidentally injuring himself, or taking his own life to save Sam – and so Sam's practically helpless except for any brute strength he can conjure, but he feels weak in the power and heat of Dean's gaze. Feels…submissive.

"You're already mine, Sammy," Dean hisses as he finishes; "You were mine from the moment Dad put you in my arms when you were six months old. You've always been mine. Always will be."

He's so close – Sam can feel their chests brush together on their inhales, and Dean smiles. A smile that is all Dean and warm brotherly affection, and it damn near makes Sam break down. The little brother sighs out a sob, and Dean leans forward and up, swallowing it down as he kisses Sam. It's light – bottom lip resting on bottom lip – and chaste and…sweet, almost. If Sam could forget that this is his brother and said brother is a werewolf, it would almost be perfect.

Dean's very warm, and when his hands slide up Sam's arms, over his shoulders to cup his face and deepen the kiss, it's every bit of Dean that Sam's ever loved coming out. This is not the wolf guiding him – Dean loves him, and wants him, and who is Sam to deny him that?

Dean's tongue snakes out, licking along Sam's red, sensitive lip, coaxing his jaws apart and encouraging his tongue to come out and play. He licks along Sam's teeth, his gumline, along the roof of his mouth, mapping and finding every part of Sam that's sensitive. His fingers drag backwards, knotting in Sam's hair and tilting his head back, just slightly, so that Dean can take control. Sam gasps into the kiss, his hands wrapping around Dean's waist and pulling him closer, and the werewolf purrs.

It's time.

Sam is his, now, and Dean's not going to wait any longer. The moon is up and though it's not full, he feels strong with it – his body thrums with power and he grins and growls, grabbing Sam's body and hauling him over to Sam's bed. The wood and rope cuts into his wrists but he doesn't mind. One fucking bit. The pain gives him clarity, reminds him that Sam is not a kill – Sam is not something to rip apart. Sam is something to fuck and keep. A pretty plaything.

Dean smiles and pushes Sam backwards when Sam's calves hit the bed, his little brother letting out a soft 'oof' when his back hits the mattress. He bounces slightly and Dean doesn't waste a moment – he's on Sam, crouched over him in an almost spider-like sprawl. One hand knots in Sam's soft hair and forces him back, and the other splays over Sam's tattoo through his shirt, keeping his body down as Dean straddles his hips and rocks in a maddeningly smooth, slow motion.

Dean's hard. Has been since he decided tonight would be the night he had Sam. He gives a pleased little purr to find that Sam's not exactly flaccid himself.

"Been thinkin' about this, Sammy," he growls, nosing along Sam's jaw and ghosting his breath over Sam's racing pulse, his bare neck that would look just so beautiful with Dean's bite in it, marring the otherwise perfect skin. "All fuckin' week. Since I turned, even – been thinkin' about you underneath me, all spread out and beautiful, like a fuckin' siren only better…" He bares his teeth and bites down light enough to mark but not break skin on Sam's collarbone, licking at the sweat already beginning to gather, and his hands move, trail down to dip under the hem of Sam's shirt and pull up, exposing flawless muscle and tanned skin. If Sam wants to move, to stop this, he doesn't – pinned as he is under the weight of Dean's gaze that only breaks when the shirt gets tossed over his head and out into the oblivion of the motel room. "God, the smell of you, Sammy, and your body…fuck can't wait to have you. Can't wait to fuck you and make you mine forever."

Sam's trembling and the friction is delicious, and Dean doesn't waste time – he's getting so excited that he has no time to waste. His rope-bound hands drag along Sam's chest and then Dean leans up onto his knees so he can roll Sam over, pinning his little brother onto his stomach. Sam finally starts struggling then, arching his back and bucking his hips, but it's just too good, and it gets him nowhere. Dean rocks his thinly-clad cock against Sam's ass, growling low and continuously in his throat at the pleasure that is not nearly enough, but he's getting there…Sam's not going anywhere.

Dean trails his hands up Sam's arms, purring hard enough that his chest vibrates against Sam's back, and he forces Sam's hands up, makes him grab the headboard. "Keep them there, Sammy," he snarls with a low warning bite to the back of Sam's neck, and his little brother shivers and bucks, once again trying to dislodge him and really, Dean would punish this insubordinate behavior if the power trip wasn't turning him on so fucking much.

He tears at Sam's clothes, gets his little brother as naked as the day he was born, and Dean grins, sliding himself down Sam's legs, over his ass and clenching thighs. He purrs, spreading Sam's cheeks with his thumb and baring that tiny little hole to the world, immediately leaning forward and licking at it. Sam yelps and jerks, trying to see Dean, what Dean's doing, and the werewolf snarls.

"Don't fucking move, Sammy." His voice is low, not even loud, but Sam hears it and immediately goes still, aside from where adrenaline is making his body shake. Dean smiles at the victory and goes back to his task. He licks at Sam's hole, moaning at the musk-and-sweat taste, knows Sam hasn't been willing to leave him alone for even a second, and so his showers have been more rushed and less thorough. Dean plans to remedy that, because there's nothing satisfying about fucking a dirty slut.

The muscle loosens under his continued caress, Dean's tongue sliding in easily enough after a few moments. He shifts his grip, leaning forward a little and dips his thumb in alongside his tongue, pushing as deep as he can go inside of Sam. His little brother mewls and whimpers for him and it's just about the hottest thing Dean's ever heard.

Dean doesn't have lube to hand and doesn't trust the whiney little bitch to stay still long enough for him to get it, so he improvises. Dean works his tongue in deep enough to slick that first ring of muscle, then replaces it with the fingers of one hand, while he sits up and plasters his body against Sam's impossibly long back, and pushes the fingers of his other hand against Sam's mouth, wanting to get them slick.

His little brother suddenly finds fight in him, tosses his head and turns away, and Dean smirks, trapping Sam between his own head as he twists to get at Sam, and digs his fingers behind Sam's teeth like his little brother is a stallion refusing the bit.

He chuckles at his own analogy.

Sam bites down on his fingers but it doesn't hurt – it actually makes Dean purr, that bite of pain against all the pleasure thrumming through his system. Sam winces as Dean presses closer, his bicep against Sam's ear and jaw, Dean's own mouth trapping Sam's head in a crude, loose kind of headlock, and he pushes his fingers back as far as they can go, getting them as wet as he can while his other fingers work at stretching Sammy open.

It's a long haul, really. Sam's writhing like a Goddamned octopus and no matter now many times Dean growls at him to stay still, to behave like a good little bitch, it seems his little brother can't. Animated with pleasure and fear, his scent is overpowering in the room. Dean can still taste Sam in his mouth and his scent is overwhelming, all-encompassing, and Dean's just about done with the waiting and preparation – both he and his wolf are ready to take.

Two fingers slide in without much trouble, already stretched and licked open as Sam is. Dean's brother mewls and fists his hands in the bed sheets next to the undamaged headboard and Dean smirks. He leans over his little brother, adding a third slick finger and stretching him as much as he can. He figures he's found Sam's prostate when his brother jerks in his arms and howls. It's a fucking glorious sound.

"Do you see why you can't fight this now?" Dean asks, fisting his free hand in Sam's hair and tugging his head to one side, making Sam bare his throat. His little brother is panting and whimpering and sweating and shaking, and Dean's mouth waters at the sight of him, all spread out and open and all Dean's. "Such a good little bitch, aren't you Sammy? My good little bitch…" Dean smiles when Sam not only doesn't refute the name, but moans at it, wantonly pressing back against Dean's fingers, spreading his legs just a little further.

He's ready.

Dean pulls his fingers out and spits on his palm, slicking himself up. There's no time to waste – the moon is at its peak and Dean's wolf is ready. Dean got rid of his own clothing ages ago, and so when Dean slides in, it's perfect skin against glorious heat. Sam grips him like a vice, still so tight after so much preparation, and he fits around Dean like a glove that's one size too small. Dean moans, his chest rubbing along Sam's bowed back, forming himself perfectly against the curve of his brother's pleasure-seized body. They both moan when he bottoms out.

Dean grabs onto the perfect cut of Sam's hip, where bones jut out and provide the best handholds. He pulls out and slams back into Sam, groaning low in his throat, because even in his wildest imaginings he never believed it could have been this good. Why didn't they do this sooner?

"Dean…" Sam reaches back and digs his long fingers into Dean's ass, urging his brother back inside of him.

Dean smirks. "You're such a little slut for it, aren't you?" he growls, but obeys Sam's needy request and thrusts back into him, building up a slow, harsh rhythm, rearing back so he can get a good look at Sam – his Sammy. "All flushed and panting and just begging for my cock. Begging for my bite."

"Yes, Dean…yes, fuck…" Sam's hair is plastered to his face and neck, face set in an expression of ecstasy as he tries to look back and see his brother, and his eyes are bright and hazel when they meet Dean's glowing yellow. Sam moans at the sight. "Dean, please…"

"Please, what, Sammy? What do you need?" Dean asks, smirking.

Sam whines again, baring his teeth, and fuck, Dean might just come at that – at seeing his Sammy, so much more human than he ever was, reduced to such an animal just by being fucked. Dean throws his head back and quickens his pace, because he's not going to last long.

"Fucking love my cock in your ass, don't you?" he snarls, leaning forward again, pulling Sam's body into an arch so that both brothers can feel each other's heat and heartbeat and rapid breathing. "Like being fucked, treated like a bitch – like a whore, because you are one, aren't you Sammy? My little bitch…beautiful slut for me and just for me…"

Sam moans, head dropping, and Dean growls and grabs at the hair at the back of his head, pulling Sam's gaze up to meet his. "Say it," he demands, eyes flashing yellow. "Say who you belong to."

"You," Sam replies after a moment, breathless and so unable to form a coherent sentence. "You. Dean. Please…"

Dean smiles. "S'all I needed to hear, Sammy." Then, he lets Sam's head go, thrusts into his little brother one more time, and bites Sam on the back of his neck, right before it begins to curve forward. Sam cries out – screams, more like – and his whole body convulses, wrenching Dean's orgasm from him just as Dean's bite draws out Sam's. All Sam can feel is heat and fire and lust, and it feels like coming home. There's no pain – there's nothing painful about this. Finding his mate and finishing that bond that was started from birth – that eases Sam's heart and prolongs the pleasure of his orgasm until it feels like he has to stop or die. Dean's still inside of him, panting, sinking his teeth just a little too deep, licking at the blood that leaks out of Sam's neck.

Dean was right. Sam tastes divine. Better than anything Dean can think of with what little brain power he still has, and he groans into his little brother's neck, rocking into his baby brother while they both ride out the waves.

By the end of that night Dean has Sam more times than he can count. Every position, every variation, as much as he possibly can. It's like he's trying to keep Sam's body alive with pleasure, and perhaps he is – Dean remembers the pain of turning, knows how much he'd rather have been distracted through that, and Sam's fully conscious at this point. So he keeps his hands on his little brother, fucking and touching and kissing and tasting him. When he's too spent to get it up again he laves Sam's skin, sucks marks onto his ribs and chest and neck, making him look like a fucking Dalmatian by the time he's done.

Sam's a sweating, shaking, writhing mess, and it's delicious – the scent of fear and adrenaline and pain are intoxicating, and Dean feels drunk on the high. He pets through his little brother's sweat-dampened hair, licks at his temple and shushes him through the final stages, unable to keep giving Sam distractions – too exhausted to – and he just holds Sam, his wolf purring in his mind at the final victory over claiming his mate.

Sam belongs to Dean now, and that's the way it's gonna stay.

Sam wakes up feeling alive. Like really, truly alive. His body is a quivering mass of nerve endings and they're all clamoring for attention. There's warmth at his back and sunlight in his eyes, and a damp spot underneath where he's sprawled. He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably, and the air molecules against his skin feel like a cheese grater.

Then, deliverance. "Shh, Sammy, shh…" There's a touch so gentle that it's like it's not even there, so gentle that it doesn't hurt, against his forehead, petting down the side of his face. Something inside of him Shifts at that touch, turns and leans into it, and Sam's eyes flicker open to see Dean staring down at him with an expression of concern and affection. Dean smiles when Sam's eyes focus and meet his, leaning down for a gentle brush of lips against cheekbone, hand still gently petting, thumbing over Sam's jaw. "Just take it easy, little brother, okay?"

"What…?" It hurts to talk but Sam makes himself do it anyway; "What did you do to me?"

Dean chuckles. "I think you know," he says, nuzzling into Sam's neck, hand moving around to Sam's hairline and brushing over Dean's bite – the bite that turned Sam.

Sam stiffens at the lightning shock of pleasure and pain that comes from that single touch. "You changed me." He's not sure if it's an angry question or a deadpan statement. There's a distraction in the back of his mind, something moving in the shadows of it, waiting. Biding its time. "It feels…" He holds a hand to his head, wincing a little as the thing comes closer, drawn out by Dean's affectionate touch.

"It's your wolf," Dean says, smiling as he rests his face against Sam's, buries his nose in the sensitive skin on the underside of Sam's ear. "The part of you that is part of me." He splays a hand along Sam's heart, listens to the thrum-beat of it. "The part I gave you and the part that makes you mine. My mate. My beta…" Dean hums low in his throat, licking along Sam's pulse. "My Sammy."

"My wolf," Sam says softly, fear and awe in his voice as he turns to look at Dean again, where his brother is a warm line of muscle and skin against his back, arms encircling Sam as they had been during his transformation. "I'm a…"

"Werewolf, Sammy, you can say it," Dean says with a light chuckle and a roll of his eyes, and it's so Dean that Sam damn near sobs, because this isn't his brother anymore…but it is. The wolf is background noise – Sam is aware, could probably interact, but it's not controlling him.

"Is this what it's like for you?" he asks, feeling at his head again as though the wolf's presence was a physical manifestation on the back of his head. "The…wolf? Just…lurking there?"

Dean smiles, resting his chin on Sam's shoulder and relaxes, settling down to explain. "Yeah," he says, voice low. "I think it's a power thing. Like…the children of the Alpha, they were strong enough to be wolves even when the full moon was two weeks away and…the Alpha and Beta, they were fully wolf and everything. I think…" Dean bites his lip, averting his gaze for a moment as he drags a hand down Sam's chest, unable to stop touching his little brother now that he's taken the freedom to do so. "I think the closer we are, the more control we have. I was turned by the Alpha female so…it's not like a power struggle, in my head. It's more like he gives me strength and I, in turn, give him a little freedom."

"How much freedom?" Sam asks, voice low and dread coiling in his gut as he stares at his older brother, afraid that in three – now two – nights, both of them would lose control and hurt someone – possibly each other. Sam has no idea how strong he is now, but if Dean's theory is correct then Dean is still stronger than him, and has more control. Sam will be more of an animal than his brother.

It's like the demon blood all over again.

Dean smiles. "I'm always in control, Sammy," he says, sliding closer as his hand finally reaches Sam's half-hard cock, circling the base slowly with a Cheshire cat smile that only widens when Sam gives out a small whimper, eyes wide when he tries to move away. Dean's hold keeps him still, one arm underneath Sam's head with the hand over his heart, the other between his legs, and Dean's legs tangle with Sam's to keep his little brother down. Dean dips his head, breath ghosting over Sam's neck and his little brother shivers and bares his throat for Dean.

The older Winchester smirks. "Such a good little bitch," he growls, and pulls back just a little to give himself room, before he slides into Sam without a hitch, because Sam's all fucked open and so wet from lube and Dean's come, that it would be like fucking a woman were it not for the delicious tightness and heat, burning into Dean from where they're joined.

Sam gives a low, breathless moan-whine, eyes clenched tightly shut as Dean starts up a slow, firm rhythm and pulls Sam back against him for leverage. Sam spreads his legs, lifts one to holds it to his chest to give Dean more room to move, and his alpha growls in pleasure, rewarding Sam by reopening the bite on his neck. Sam's wolf has rolled over in submission to this stronger werewolf and Dean's own creature revels in it, in the scent of Sam and the sweat slicking their skin, making movement just that little bit easier.

Sam's digging his nails into the skin of his thigh hard enough to draw blood, which Dean sniffs at briefly, making a curious little noise in the back of his throat, and then he pulls out of Sam, leaving them both unsatisfied, but not for long – in an instant he's back between Sam's legs, holding his little brother down on his back.

He smirks at Sam's flushes cheeks and chest and eyes that are glazed over from pleasure and sensation. There's blood and arousal in the air and Dean inhales deeply, lets his wolf experience it too, before he slides right back in, intending to fuck Sam right into oblivion (for the eighth or ninth time) before he finally rests.

When Dean finally fills Sam up – as not just his brother, but his mate as well, just as much a werewolf as he is – it's like nirvana. Like everything was coming to this point and now they've finally reached it. Sam howls like an animal when Dean wraps his hand around his cock, jacking him off forcefully to try and bring him to orgasm before Dean lets himself go. It's as close to a simultaneous orgasm as Dean's ever come and he snarls in a baser harmony to Sam's cry, throwing himself into his brother, as deep as he can go, as close as he can get, and they lay there, sated, exhausted, covered in sweat and blood and semen, and drift off to sleep.

That night the werewolves share a dream. She's there. Olivia. She's smiling and Dean and Sam watch her watch them, wary and tense. Dean carefully, slowly, places himself between his beta and his Alpha, only relaxing slightly when he can feel Sam's hard chest against the line of his back.

Olivia raises an eyebrow, a beatific smile on her face. "Well, boys, I must say you do work fast," she says in a light lilt, one that sends shivers up Dean's spine and makes him want to turn his face away, to hide and submit to her, but he holds firm and aggressive, meeting her gaze directly.

If she feels any insult at that, she hides it. She steps forward towards Dean, smiling up at Sam. "What beautiful wolves you both make." Dean snarls when she comes closer, touching Sam's chest where the tattoo lies, and he jerks his head to one side, fully intending to bite her as a deterrent.

Her own answering snarl stops him in his tracks, her eyes flashing yellow as she glares at him. She doesn't say anything – just stares Dean down until the young alpha looks away, but leans back into his mate all the same. Sam's body is tense and defensive behind him and Dean inhales quietly, taking in Sam's scent and letting himself relax, just a little.

He can almost feel it himself when she touches Sam – just a light trail of fingernail down Sam's chest until Dean's shoulder gets in the way, but the pheromones she puts out are potent enough for both wolves to smell her, and Dean's eyes flare open again. Sam tenses behind him.

"You've done well, my child," Olivia says, smiling at Dean as she presses closer to him, her petite body slotting in almost perfectly in front of his. Dean flinches away from her chilling touch. "There's just one more thing I need you to do." Her hands encircle Dean's waist, curve around his back and she presses close, and Dean can feel her skin and hair against his chest, and her eyes flash yellow when he leans away from her mouth, letting her nuzzle at his bite mark because this is his creator, and his wolf submits to her.

"What do you want?" Sam's more defensive, snappier. He's tense and trembling a little behind Dean and the older Winchester reached behind Sam, finds his thigh and squeezes gently, reassuringly, he hopes. Sam's arm comes forward around under Dean's arm and splays over his heart and Dean exhales against the skin of Sam's bicep, face still turned away from Olivia.

"The answer is simple," she answers smoothly, smiling and tongue trailing along the edges of Dean's bite, making him shiver. "More."

"More what?"

"Just…more…" Olivia has mercy and steps away from Dean, letting him relax, but her eyes are still glowing and the powerful aura hasn't been depleted one bit. "More werewolves – more children. More power. Just…more." She turns back around to face the brothers. "And you're going to help me."

They don't have time to respond before she continues, Dean relaxing a little in the circle of his little brother's arms, their co-dependency still so blatant after everything that's been happening the past two weeks.

"On the night of the full moon, your beta will go into heat." She's talking to Dean but her eyes are on both brothers, flickering periodically to their natural blue color. "And you will breed, and conceive." Her lips curved into a cruel smile. "And you will bear natural children."

"What -?" Dean speaks up, manages to find his voice after being awash in the presence of his creator, shakes himself and straightens in Sam's arms, makes to go for Olivia and would have were it not for Sam's hold keeping him back. "That's -."

"Spare me the impossible speech," Olivia says, holding up her hand for silence. "We all know 'impossible' just means 'slightly more surprising when it actually happens'." She pauses, considering the two for a moment. "You will make strong children," she whispers, "and when they are old enough you will bring them to me."

So many questions and yet Dean can't find the words to ask them – he's struck speechless and his wolf refuses to do anything lest he anger his creator. Sam, too, seems too afraid to speak. Olivia is powerful and here, where she creates and houses them in their own minds, she has all the influence.

Still, Dean manages to put one thought together; Like Hell she's getting my kids, he tells himself, thinking of Ben, of Lisa, of the family he almost had but was never quite his. If he manages to get that with Sam, his Sammy – his mate in soul and body – there's no way he'd let someone take that away. Ever. He'd die first. Again.

Olivia smiles after a long moment and waves her hand. "I'll let you boys get to it. We'll be in touch." Then, Dean and Sam jolt awake, crusted with sweat and come and with wide, panicked eyes and gasping breaths.

"We have to fix this, Dean," Sam says after breakfast, because the silence has been stretching out too long and it's getting over the uncomfortable levels into 'You need an Angel blade to cut the tension' zones. Dean stops packing the duffle and looks over as his little brother. "Before the full moon. We have to…be human again." Sam's biting his lip and there's a frown of concern, of panic, on his face. Dean doesn't blame him, but they're probably panicking for different reasons.

Dean just doesn't want the bitch coming near his family. He hates that his wolf gives him no power around her. He hates that he just rolls over like a good submissive little bitch – that was Sam's job, thank you – when she was even in his dreams, and it annoys him and she's evil and she has to die.

Sam's worried about, well, everything else. They can't hunt like this – there's an itch under Sam's skin like his wolf is getting ready to come out, and despite the fact that Dean says he's in full control, they don't know whether that would still apply when the full moon comes around. Already Sam feels like he's losing it a bit, and that frightens him. This new relationship with his brother frightens him – it's like he has no control when Dean's eyes start glowing. He trusts Dean with his life – he'd been to Hell and back for Sam – but Sam still can't fight the niggling feeling that this…isn't fully Dean.

He's starting to get how Dean felt when Sam had no soul. This thing walks like Dean, talks like Dean, has the same mannerisms and crude jokes and love for pie, but there's just something inherently wrong here, and Sam's man enough to admit that he's afraid, both for himself and of himself, because as of last night he's the same way.

"How are we going to reverse this before the full moon?" Dean snaps, going back to packing his duffle. "We tried curing being a werewolf, Sammy, it didn't work. We're stuck like this until we can really take time and try and figure something out."

"So…what, we're going to just sit here with thumbs up our asses and wait until I go into heat?" Sam snaps, and Dean stops, looking over at Sam with a strange mixture of confusion and amusement on his face.

"Is that why you're afraid?" Dean asks, voice low, eyes soft and affection, and the totally caring big brother expression almost makes Sam break down. Dean abandons his stuff and goes over to Sam, pulling his little brother easily into his arms and holding Sam close. "I promise, Sammy," he says, combing a hand through Sam's hair, "I won't let the bitch get to any children we have."

Sam sighs in frustration and pushes himself away, glaring at Dean. "That's not the point, Dean," he growls, exasperated. Dean's just not getting it. "This isn't natural. This isn't normal. For fuck's sake, Dean, we're brothers!"

"What do you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean asks, standing as well, meeting Sam's glare head-on with a completely open expression, so unlike Dean's usually closed-off snarky countenance that, for a moment, Sam's stumped.

"I just…" Sam pauses, the wolf in him shifting uneasily at the words he wants to say, afraid of angering his alpha counterpart. "I wish you realized just how wrong this is."

Dean pauses, blinking, before he looks down with a soft kind of sigh. "I don't think there's anything wrong with loving my mate."

"For fuck's sake, Dean, I'm not -."

"Yes. You. Are," Dean growls, eyes flashing as he glares up at Sam. "You are my mate – your wolf and my wolf are two halves of the same." Dean steps closer, Sam steps back to compensate, and Dean bares his teeth, upper lip curling back slightly. "Your body burns whenever I touch you – you smell divine. You're perfect, exactly what I want and what I need, and though you won't admit it, I know you're the same with me. We compliment and complete each other. The demons know it, the Angels know it and the fucking werewolves know it too, Sammy. The only person who seems oblivious to this shit it you. Well, no more." Dean makes a dismissive slashing gesture. "You're afraid? I get that – I can smell and feel your fear, Sammy, like it's a fog in my head. I get that you're scared and you don't know what to do, so here's what's going to happen; on the night of the full moon we'll lock you in the room and I'll stay out all night, and nothing will happen. We'll wait out the night. I promise, Sammy, nothing bad's going to happen to you."

"You can't promise that, Dean," Sam says, shaking his head, something that's suspiciously like a whine sounding in his chest.

Dean smiles sadly. "But I'm going to anyway."

The journey to the night of the full moon brings no answers. Dean's idea remains the best one. So that's how the brothers find themselves in their motel room, Dean strapping Sam down in the bathroom so that he can still relieve himself, and Dean leaves food in there too because God only knows how long this heat will last or what could come up and he's not going to let his mate starve. There are four different kinds of locks on the door, both internal and external, and Sam's also attached to both the supporting pole where the showerhead hangs and the pipe under the sink. Dean handcuffs his hands there and has a collar around his neck that ties by leash to the metal pole. He's smirk as he attaches it, tracing a finger around the edge of the thick leather collar.

"We're going to have to put this to better use later," Dean whispers, tracing along the edge again where it covers Sam's bite mark. Already Dean can smell his heat – it's faint but it's there. Fertility and potency, testosterone and adrenaline all at once, and it's all Dean can do to keep his resolve strong, despite his wolf's best protests.

Still, he helps himself to Sam's mouth, because his brother looks terrified and Dean wants the contact, something to get him through the rest of the night. He's gentle but deep about it, holding Sam's head to his as he takes his liberties inside his mate's mouth, dragging his tongue along the roof of Sam's mouth and along his gum line, battling with Sam's tongue and willingly losing. He combs his hands through Sam's hair and purrs at the little whimper and whine he elicits, before breaking apart, because he's hardening in his jeans and if he doesn't leave now then the whole point of this will be wasted.

"Love you, Sammy," Dean mewls as he draws away with one last pull at Sam's hair and one last lick at his mouth. He stands and pointedly ignores his erection, willing it away but that's practically impossible with Sam like he is; gorgeous, fertile, his for the taking. Chained down and unable to escape even if he wanted to.

Sam smiles up at him, a little shaky around the edges, and Dean sighs – "Sammy -."

"I know," Sam replies softly, making a shooing gesture with his more mobile hand, and the clink of handcuffs seems deafening. "This is the best way. Go. I'll be fine."

Dean nods. "Do you want me to put something on the TV?"

"No. My iPod has movies." Sam smiles. "Go, Dean. I'll see you in the morning." Dean hesitates, torn between his body's desire to stay and his mind's assurance that leaving is the best thing for him to do right now, and he only manages to finally close the door and lock it when Sam says "Love you, big brother."

Turns out heat isn't just something for a mate to smell to know when it's time to breed. Heat is felt. It's like a second layer of skin on Sam's body, and it feels almost as bad as blood detox. The similar situation he finds himself in – locked in a bathroom and waiting for Dean to come back – isn't helping his emotional state any.

Sam starts breathing more rapidly only an hour after Dean leaves. Sweat gathers at his temples and trickles down his neck and spine, over his bite in a teasing caress that isn't nearly enough. He knows this is best – not being with Dean. Making sure they don't go through with this, because it's a Bad Idea with capital letters, but his wolf doesn't seem to agree. The beta inside of Sam is ravenous, strong in the time of the full moon and Sam's human body is fighting with all it can. His fists clench and he bares his teeth as he tries to fight the urge to call Dean back, to beg to be fucked. He wants it, God does he want it. He clenches, feeling so empty, so desperate to be filled it's unreal.

Sam can feel his lust and can smell his own heat, knows how potent it is right now, how if Dean even got a whiff he wouldn't be able to stop himself. His hands are chained loosely enough that he can reach around and grab things like food and entertainment, and he can stand up and piss if he needs to, so Sam can reach his jeans and he undoes them, his cock springing free, hard and flushed and red, and he takes it in hand. It's like an uncontrollable urge, a pleasure building up and making a home for itself at the base of his spine – like sex pollen, which Sam had the misfortune to come across during his year-long solo hunting after leaving Hell.

Except sex pollen was easy to masturbate away. As Sam jerks himself off roughly, touching all the places with all the right pressure that he knows will get him off the quickest way; he knows it's not going to be enough. He needs to get fucked, to be owned, right now. For once, he and his wolf are in agreement on the matter.

But it's not that simple. Sam knows his wolf will only be satisfied by his alpha. Sam can't do that to Dean – he made Dean promise and he'll be damned, again, if he also makes his brother break it and live with the guilt of risking him getting pregnant.

Sam throws his head back, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he grunts, coming all over his hand and stomach. The relief is only temporary, painful arousal building in his gut almost immediately. He's sweating and panting and the mirror in the bathroom is steamed up that he can't see the reflection anymore, and he knows he's screwed.

Or at least, he will be.

Sam's wolf lends his strength when the Winchester pulls at his restraints, testing them, because he's starting to lose his sense of reason – all that matters is sex, sex, sex. Hell, Sam would take a fucking toy right about now. Anything because fuck, he wants. So badly. After a few tries the rusty sink pipe shatters and his hands are free, and he quickly stands up, tugging on the leash as well. It's flimsier because the way Sam had been tied down, he wouldn't have gotten enough leverage to snap it off, and even now part of it still stays attached to his neck, trailing down his back. Sam tucks himself back in, wincing because he's already hard again, and then looks to the door. That'll be the biggest obstacle – it's heavy and wooden and so obviously made to be fucked against. Sam smirks as that particular thought crosses his mind, filing it away for later use.

He slams himself against the door, using as much weight and momentum as he can get from the small running start, but the door refuses to budge. It's stronger than Sam thought it was and he grunts again, biting his lip as he tries to think of another way out.

There isn't one that immediately presents itself, so with a dogged determination Sam returns his attention to the door. After all, something's gotta give eventually and Sam's sure as Hell it won't be him. He barely feels the pain in his shoulder, and his wolf is lending his strength so Sam hits the door each time with twice the strength of a normal person. Eventually it falls, hanging sadly off of one hinge, and Sam smirks and growls in victory, eyes flashing yellow as he steps out into the room. He only stops to grab a jacket that will cover his bite mark and collar before sprinting out of the motel room as fast as he can. Dean's scent and taste is in his mouth and it won't take long to find his brother.

Dean has gone to a bar. It shouldn't surprise Sam, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth because the only reason Dean goes to bars usually is to find a pretty girl (or guy, but Sam pretends not to notice the guys) to fuck and dump, and Sam doesn't like the idea of his Dean picking up some random slut because he can't get laid with Sam.

Sam stops in his tracks when he realizes he's not alone. There's a man on the other side of the road, watching him. Watching Sam watching him, and Sam twitches a little, because maybe…if it wasn't Dean…then maybe he would be okay. And a random stranger would want to use protection because no one fucks a whore without protection. So that's how he finds himself crossing the street over to the man who watches him with beady, calculating eyes.

He reminds Sam a little of Alistair.

"How much?" he asks in a low voice.

Sam shivers a little, almost tempted to just say it's free because he's that fucking desperate, but hey – a quick buck's a quick buck, right? "One hundred," he says, not knowing how much prostitutes usually charged but judging by the short, sharp nod, it's a reasonable price. The guy jerks his head towards a battered old Mustang sitting next to a parking meter and Sam hesitates. "You above fucking someone in an alleyway?" he asks, and the guy just smirks.

"Not even a little," he purrs in reply, and this man's low rumble is nothing like Dean's drawl, liquid sex in Sam's ears. This is more like tar and bitterness and it makes the wolf in him whine, mewl even louder when the guy drags Sam into an alleyway and pins him, pins him like Sam's too weak to fight back and the guy's got the advantage, and Sam lets him. He lets the guy molest his mouth and brand him with his hands, smelling of cigarettes and whiskey in equal measure, and though Sam's inwardly cringing, it also feels good to have such possessive hands on him, quelling and banking the fire of his heat for now.

The guy pulls back and Sam swallows back his whimper just in time. "On your knees," the guy growls, fisting a hand in Sam's hair, and it's almost embarrassing how fast Sam drops, how load he groans into the guy's beer gut. His hands are frantic against the guy's jeans, breathing on his erection through them while clumsy hands grasp at the button and zip, and he's stopped suddenly by a low warning growl.

"The fuck -?" The guy doesn't have time to ask his question before there's a giant sandy wolf on him. A wolf with glowing yellow eyes and a snarl that screams of murder, with claws flashing in the sharp, warm street lights that barely touch the alley entrance. Dean shoves the guy away from Sam, jagged-edged canines extended and bared as he snarls at the guy, hackles raised, ears flat back. The guy doesn't stand a chance – he runs, and Dean doesn't chase him. Even at his worst Dean wouldn't kill an innocent man. But there's a long silence and Sam can't raise his eyes. Doesn't dare to. He buries his face in his drawn-up knees and tenses when he feels warm breath next to his face.

"Sammy…" Dean's human voice startles him and Sam looks up, sees his brother, naked and covered in blood, kneeling over him like a protective sentinel. Dean's pupils are dark and blown wide and Sam knows he's smelling his heat. "Sammy…" Dean takes Sam's chin in hand and lifts Sam's head, forces their eyes to meet. "Why?"

Sam swallows, knows underneath that concern and affectionate exterior, Dean is angry. He can smell it. "I'm sorry," he whispers, wanting to look away but unable to, "I just…Dean, I had to. I needed something and I…I thought if it was human then it wouldn't…" He shakes his head, can't complete the sentence. "I'm sorry."

Dean watches him for a long moment before he chuckles. "Sammy, if you needed to get fucked, you could have just called me," he says, leaning in and nuzzling against Sam's jaw in a way that makes Sam's protests die in his throat and makes cognitive thought very difficult.

"But…we can't…my heat…" he stutters, blushing into silence.

Dean chuckles again. "Fuck it," he growls, already pushing at Sam, forcing him down, "if Olivia wants our children she can try and take them herself and see where it lands her." He plasters himself over Sam's body, knotting a hand in his brother's hair and forcing Sam's head back. "You are mine, and everything that I create with you is ours, not hers, do you understand me?" He bites down at Sam's neck, above the collar. "The bitch can try…"

The response is Pavlovian. Dean has called Sam his 'bitch' so many times over the past few days, and his wolf loves the term so much, that Sam can't stop the involuntary shiver that runs down his spine, even though Dean isn't referring to him. Sam gasps and bucks his hips at the word, the title, the name, and throws his head back, throat bared for Dean.

It takes a moment for Dean to realize what he did, then he smiles. "You like that?" he asks, grinning a grin that would unnerve the Devil as he leans up, meets Sam's eyes by directing his head, and Sam whimpers, grabbing at Dean's hips, fingers digging into naked flesh as he grinds up against his brother with no more finesse than a fucking Chihuahua. "Like being called a Bitch?"

Sam whimpers again and Dean laughs.

"Should'a known," he growls, leaning down and claiming Sam's mouth in a quick but deep kiss. "Always acted like one, always came so hard and moaned so prettily whenever I said the word, even before…this. Always smiled…" Dean laughs again at Sam's wanton keen, dragging a hand down Sam's chest and reaching his cock, squeezing Sam's hardness through the material of his jeans, causing Sam to let out a choked off kind of moan. "You like that, Sammy?" Sam nods. Dean purrs his approval. "Such a beautiful wolf. My wolf. My mate…my bitch."

He's still touching Sam, still rubbing against him and Sam practically sobs when Dean finally undoes Sam's jeans, slipping his warm hand in and wrapping it around Sam's cock, pulling him out. The brothers know they would look quite a sight if someone bothered to look in, but in this kind of town no one pays attention to broken whimpers and low growls that sound in the darkness of an alleyway.

The full moon shines down on Dean and Sam, bathes her children in her light, and when Sam comes with a low gasp, head tilted back and eyes wide and staring, Dean leans down and kisses his neck, rumbling his love and devotion into Sam's skin. He sheds his brother's clothing quickly after that, and it's like the first night – Dean keeping Sam alive through pleasure under the light of their Mother.

They aren't naïve enough to think that Sam wouldn't conceive – animal heats are designed specifically to say 'Hey, I'm fertile, come sex me up', and so when Sam starts showing symptoms a few weeks later, they're ready. They spend the time they can before Sam's pregnancy incapacitates him hunting down Olivia and her immediate family, and find her five months later. It's the night of the full moon and Dean wants to insist Sam stays home, but he doesn't because leaving Sammy unattended could be just as dangerous. The Winchesters fully transform into wolves as they approach, ears cocked forward, nostrils flared and sniffing out the scents.

It's a lot like the first time.

They're closing in on Olivia. It's been a long, grueling hunt but they're finally closing in, and Dean can feel his nose twitch and teeth bare in an urgent need to attack, but he has to wait – they've only got one shot before Olivia cottons on and one mistake could mean his life, or worse, Sammy's. The plan's simple – take her out. Cutting off the head will kill the body, they think. No one wants the Alpha creatures to live anymore since Crowley found Purgatory and set up shop. There's nothing keeping his woman alive.

Dean can taste the presence of the powerful creature in the air and he's uneasy – the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he can't help but think that, somehow, it's too quiet. They should have been attacked, or at least found by now. Werewolves are dogs, practically – they smell things before they see them. They hear things before they smell them. Dean and Sam's heartbeats and breathing are too loud and Dean feels dread gathering in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that they were actually found out a long time ago.

But this time, they're a little more prepared.

He rushes in with Sam covering him, and meets Olivia with her changed children head-on. She's at the front of the pack, a wolf, and her eyes are glowing yellow. Her Beta mate is at her side and flanked behind her are easily a hundred wolves, maybe more than last time.

"Looks like you made it," Olivia says, her voice filtering into Sam and Dean's minds, and the wolves shiver slightly.

"Yes." Dean steps forward, hackles raising.

"Are you going to kill me, Dean? Kill your own mother?"

Dean doesn't even hesitate. "Yes," he says, because this bitch is not his mother. Not his family. Not even a part of him. He has a family and she's threatening it, so she needs to be taken out. It's the only way.

"You're outnumbered," she observes, yellow eyes flickering from Dean to Sam and back again. "One hundred against two. Doesn't seem fair, does it?"

Dean cocks his head to one side. If he were human he'd be raising an eyebrow with his famous self-satisfied, superior smirk on his face. "Whoever said anything about one hundred against two?"

Then, Sam sits on his haunches and throws his head back, and howls. Dean follows suit, the two wolves not bothering with trying to skirt around the stereotype. Around the warehouse, more howls join theirs. First one or two, then three, then more. Half a dozen. Another dozen. Fifty. One hundred. Olivia's pack shifts uneasily and the Alpha looks around, for once fear showing through in her scent.

"What is that?" she asks, ears cocked forward and Dean stops howling. Outside is the sound of many, many feet shuffling, the occasional snarl and snap and clatter of loose stone being kicked. Dean smirks.

"You said you wanted more." Behind Dean, the doors open again. Wolves start pouring in. Three at a time and there are plenty more outside. They join Sam and Dean's ranks, some of them too mutt-bred to be fully wolf, some of them half-human shaped and some of them purer, looking more like Dean and Sam. They gather around the Winchesters, matching Olivia's numbers and then some. "I gave you more."

Olivia shrieks in anger, but the wolves are just to force the stalemate. Neither Alpha will order the attack that means massive bloodshed on both sides. Olivia wouldn't watch her children die like that and Dean knows this, knows it because he's seen into her mind, seen how she thinks. Sam growls, then, standing up, and Olivia retaliates with a snarl of her own, but neither side moves forward. There is a circle around Dean and Olivia, around their betas as well. No wolf dares touch the four in the middle – Olivia is confident, would be smirking if she had a human face, because she's powerful and she knows she can beat Dean.

The sandy Alpha growls at his black-colored mother, baring his teeth and he advances. They circle each other, Olivia's glowing yellow eyes taking in Dean's stance, power radiating from her along with confidence and superiority, but she's shaking with anger and Dean knows that that will make her stupid, prone to mistakes. When she lunges, he's prepared for it – the wolves meet in a clash that is quick, Dean parrying her claws with a blow of his own across her face as she sinks her teeth into the scruff of his neck, and they both whine and flinch away from each other at the pain of their attack and retaliation. They part and circle, ready to go again.

It's an ebb and flow, and Dean's eyes stay trained on Olivia because he trusts Sammy to have his back if her pack tries anything funny. Olivia does not have the same luxury – her eyes are everywhere, nervously flitting from pack to Dean to Sam and back again, and Dean waits and paces and waits some more, because choosing the right moment is everything. Always.

"You're a fool to challenge me," Olivia hisses, top lip curling back. "What do you seek to accomplish with this?" Dean snorts, doesn't respond to her goading – refuses to get distracted. "When I kill you, I'll take your beautiful young mate and his child. I'll breed him out and make him my little whore." Behind Dean he can hear his brother shudder and snarl at the commentary. Dean feels red slowly descend over his vision at the threat.

"Dean," Sam's voice comes, "stay focused." And Dean's trying – Lord is he, but it's hard when his Alpha is acting like such an evil bitch. He wants to lunge forward and rip her throat out but such a rash move would be the end of him.

The moon shines down on the gathered wolves as Dean and Olivia continue to circle and watch each other, waiting… The silence is deafening, Dean's entire focus pinned to the one wolf that blends with the shadows behind her, whose bite burns on his neck, who changed him and made him into this – this monster.

He can smell his blood on his neck and her own in his fur. His nostrils flare and he comes to a stop, tired of this drawn out battle – it isn't what he's used to. The long periods of adrenaline are wearing him out and he's tired. He wants this over with – he wants his brother to be safe and damn it all, he will be. He hears Sam's gentle encouragement, and braces himself.

Olivia sense the change in the air, knows the fight's about to go down. She was confident before, but the unnerving steadiness in Dean's eyes is getting to her. This child of hers knows how to fight. He should provide a little challenge, anyway.

They both attack at the same time, claws scrabbling against cold concrete and leaving marks behind as the wolves run at each other, clash in a mix of loud growls and savage bites. Dean lands a blow to Olivia's chest, along the side of her ribs and she yelps, repays the wound by clamping her jaws around Dean's neck again, trying to snap it with her hold, but Dean's fur is too thick and her position is too weak and he shakes her off with ease, keeping his body close so that she doesn't have room to strike him with her claws, and her teeth is all he needs to fear.

He becomes blinded on his left side from a glancing slash, blood running into his eye at an alarming rate. His back is practically ripped open, staining the sandy fur red. Still, he growls forcefully at her, her power over him waning almost to nothing now that he is too an Alpha, like she is. A creator. He manages to clamp his jaws around her own, muzzling her with his own teeth and bites down as hard as he can. Olivia's pack give murmuring growls of anxiety, watching their Alpha falling, but Dean's own pack tense as well, and keep them at bay.

Dean has to end this quickly or there will be more blood on his hands than he's ever wanted.

"I'll kill you!" she screams, jerking her head away and the action causes his teeth to rip through her muzzle, and he winces at her own pain that he feels, but her anger makes her stupid. She lunges at Dean, and Dean ends her quickly with a snap of his jaws to her neck, bringing out the same move she tried to deal on him, jerking his head and snapping her spine. She slumps limply to the floor at his feet.

He's expecting a shock of pain in his mind, or a sense of great loss as he watches her body slowly revert back to her human form, the knowledge that the First Wolf is dead. He doesn't, but there's a…sensation. It's like the Shifting of his first days as a wolf. The shadow that is his animal that lurks in the back of his mind fades away. Is dragged away, fades like it was never there and leaves a strange kind of emptiness behind. Dean gasps as his form snaps back into his human self, and when he looks up and around, he sees that everyone else is too. Wolves are fading back to humanity, from the almost-pure-breeds to the half-breeds that Sam and he had changed at the last minute for this final showdown.

Around Dean is two hundred disoriented humans, staring at themselves in the light of the moon as though they'd forgotten what opposable thumbs felt like. Dean looks over at his brother with wide-eyes. "Cut off the head…" he whispers.

Sam just smiles shakily, human once again but no less pregnant, and comes over to Dean, pulling him to his feet. Dean is still badly injured with cuts all over his face and chest, and his ribs might be chipped and his neck looks a little worse for wear – Sam notices that the bite is still there – but for now they're alive and surrounded by humans, and that means they're as safe as they're ever gonna get right now.

"Let's get the fuck out of here,"he says, and Dean nods shakily, and they leave the newly reverted wolves in that warehouse, because they're human now and that means Dean and Sam have no beef with them.

Sam gives birth three months later to two healthy boys. They name them Tristan and Ross, and the first time Dean holds them, it's like something just…clicks into place, finally, and he smiles, really smiles for the first time in a long time and he kisses Sam breathless, can't believe that his little brother was strong enough to do this, and even though the magic that granted this made them monsters, Dean thinks that it's possibly the best thing to come out of a crappy situation.

Dean sometimes has nightmares about Olivia returning as some sort of zombie werewolf thing, but Crowley assures him that she's safely tucked away in Purgatory, and he sends his best wishes and can't wait to see the boys when they die.

That is an issue – what will happen to them when they pass – but Dean doesn't mind, because he has the rest of his life ahead of him with his little brother as his perfect mate and Dean's got a family now, and he's settled down, and now his life is filled with school and parenthood and a little bit of Hunting when he gets cabin fever, and it's closer to perfect than Dean ever expected to get.