Title: The Temptation of Dean
Author: Dhvana
Series: 1) The Monster Under the Bed, 2) A Little Help From Bob
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean, but the Wincest is implied and unrequited (so far)
Summary: The monster under the bed returns with an offer for Dean.
A/N: I feel like I went all melodrama and soap operatic in this chapter, so please feel free to dissuade me! ;)


"I think I've figured out who he was," Sam called to his brother, who was finishing drying off in the bathroom.

"Who who was?"


Dean groaned as he slung the towel over the curtain rod. "Are you still thinking about that?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. Of course Sam was. Dean had discovered that once his brother got his teeth into something, he didn't let go until he was satisfied it had been thoroughly dissected from every possible angle.

It got old real fast.

He'd never understand why Sam couldn't just. . . oh. . . kill something and simply be happy it was dead. Or in this case, simply be happy Bob had let him go and forget the old coot ever existed.

"Of course I am," Sam said from the bed where he was copying down the account of Dean's encounter in his journal--or at least, the account Dean had decided to tell him. He wondered if his brother suspected just how much he'd left out, and he did feel kind of guilty about it. Sam had started keeping the journal to record all their cases for future reference and to try and discern any pattern in the strange happenings across the country. Dean could see the benefit of it, so he knew that if he left a few things out, Sam might miss a crucial connection, but he still just couldn't tell him everything.

"So who is he?"

"I think Bob's the Rock."

"The Rock?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "As in the wrestler turned actor?"

Sam snorted. "Yes, Dean, as in the wrestler turned actor. You didn't realize he was a source of all supernatural knowledge happening throughout the world?"

"I had my suspicions."

"And I've got my own, but not about him being an omniscient being. I'm talking about Enchanted Rock."

Dean peered around the corner at his brother. "Enchanted Rock."

"Think about it. He said he doesn't have a name--the Native Americans had never given Enchanted Rock a name. He said he never moves--the Rock never moves. It's believed the Rock has power--Bob certainly has power. I think you met the spiritual embodiment of Enchanted Rock."

"And I think you're thinking about this a little too hard," he said, walking out of the bathroom in a pair of boxers and flopping on his back onto the bed. "He's probably just the nutty old spirit of a guy who took a tumble off the side of the Rock a couple hundred years ago and has been hanging around ever since."

"Or he IS the Rock and he was trying to talk to you, which, I realize, is rather like talking to a rock, so it's no wonder he chose you instead of me. At least you have something in common."

"Ha ha," Dean said, shooting him a dark look as he picked up the remote and turned the television on. Muting the sound, he began flipping through the five channels the TV actually managed to pick up, not really watching, just flipping. "So," he started, ever-so-casually changing the subject, "we're leaving tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," Sam sighed as he closed the journal and stuck a pen in the binding. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"'bout damn time. Found a place for us to go?"

"I've got it narrowed down to a couple," he said, glancing at the screen of his laptop. "We can talk about it tomorrow as we head out of Texas."

"I don't suppose--"

"No, we're not going to Florida," Sam said, cutting him off with a grin.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Dean asked, glaring at Sam as he went into the bathroom for his turn at the shower.

"Sorry, man, there's just nothing going on down there."

"Yeah, right," he muttered, looking back at the pictures flashing across the screen. "I'm sure all the dead Conquistadors are sleeping peacefully while their bones are being plowed over to make room for yet another theme park."

"They haven't complained so far," Sam said before he shut the bathroom door, "unlike some people I know. And I still say Bob is the Rock."

The door clicked shut and with a disgruntled sigh, Dean turned the TV off to stare up at the ceiling. He wished Sam would drop the whole 'Bob' thing. He'd told him everything he thought his brother should know, but had kept to himself what was admittedly the most important part--the whole guardian-dormant power-control thing. While he knew Sam should probably know about his powers, Dean himself wasn't quite square with it and he didn't want to break the news to his brother until he had a better handle on it himself.

The sound of the shower turning on caught his attention and he groaned, grabbing a pillow and putting it over his head.

That sound was another reason to hit the road already and actually do something. All this down time spent doing nothing but research with only the occasional trip to Austin to break the monotony had failed to eliminate his three week run of celibacy. It wasn't that he hadn't had the chance, it was just that when the moment came, he couldn't bring himself to take the final plunge and instead returned home to Sam.

Which only made things worse.

When he could have been spending time easing his frustration with a willing anonymous partner, he chose instead to lie in bed next to his brother, growing accustomed to his warmth, his breathing, his scent, how surprisingly soft his skin was. . .

And now Sam was in the shower. Naked. Wet.


Come on, Dean, think about Bob. Think about the Hookman. Think about coffee grinds, so long as he stopped thinking about Sam in the shower!

Or Sam stepping out of the shower. Sam crawling onto the bed next to him.

Sam still wet, and dripping, all cool slick skin so close to his own.

Sam's hand reaching out to touch his foot, his calf, his thigh.

Dean bit the pillow to keep from moaning aloud.

He had to put a stop to this fantasy right now--it wasn't sane. It wasn't legal. It was his brother, for gods sakes!

But he could almost feel the soft warm tongue licking the inside of his leg, teeth grazing his skin, nibbling on his flesh. Nibbling a little too hard. Biting, in fact.

And that was when Dean realized it wasn't a fantasy.

Dean threw the pillow off and sat up to find the monster under the bed attached to his leg, all his instincts freezing as he stared at it. For the first time he was able to see it clearly, and the sight did nothing to ease his fears. The creature's skin was gray and wrinkled, clinging to its bones so that it gave the appearance of being emaciated. It barely looked strong enough to bat away a fly, but he knew better. If it wanted, it could throw him across the room with the ease of a dinner roll.

But then it started to change.

As the creature continued to feed, its body began to fill out. The straggled gray hair on its head slowly lightened and grew thicker. The skin expanded across its bones, inflating and losing its grayish tone as the monster drew sustenance from his leg. Dean was nauseated to think that when the thing had eaten its fill, it would almost resemble a human--if it weren't for the razor sharp teeth and the yellow eyes with irises shaped like vertical slits.

A wave of dizziness hit him and he tried to pull away, but that just made monster clamp down harder. Dean opened his mouth to scream in pain when it placed a hand on his stomach and the flood of images strangled the cry in his throat. He fell back on the bed, his palms pressed against his temples as the creature sucked at his thigh.

It was offering him a trade--information for a piece of his life, information about himself and his brother that the creature assured him would be worth the exchange. Though the voice of reason--which sounded a lot like Sam's--yelled at him to grab the knife from under the pillow and kill it, his own voice told him this was too good a chance to pass up. Just this once, perhaps a little bit of sacrifice on his part would be worth the trade if it could give them an advantage and help save their lives.

Opening his eyes, Dean looked at the parasite, and made one of the most difficult--and possibly stupidest--decisions of his life.

"No flesh. Just blood," he whispered, and he could feel the creature accept his proposition. He let his head fall back onto the bed and closed his eyes again. He didn't want to be distracted as he tried to incorporate everything the creature was telling him.

The first thing he saw was himself through the creature's eyes and how he differed from other people. Where normal people bled red into the creature's gullet, the blood in his veins glowed with flickers of gold. Where normal people were easy targets for it to just suck down at will, bologna on white bread to this thing, the monster seemed to look at him like he was some sort of colossus, and his flesh the rarest delicacy.

He'd almost be flattered, if he wasn't so repulsed.

But then the creature's thoughts turned to Sam and he got to see what his brother looked like through evil's eyes.

Dean had never realized how beautiful his brother could be.

When the monster looked at Sam, his brother's entire body burned with a white light that nearly blinded them both. It was such a pure light that it made Dean want to cry, and he half expected wings to sprout from Sam's back and a halo to appear over his head. But it wasn't like that--Sam may have been different, but he was still human, and Dean could see the ripples that passed through his power, providing opportunities for evil to infiltrate his body and take him over. To the forces of evil, his brother truly was something special and Dean understood better than ever why evil would either want to stop Sam, or own him.

"Why are you telling me this?" he whispered

The creature released his thigh and Dean felt the mattress shift. "Look at me," it hissed. Dean opened his eyes to find the creature straddling him, and it was now fully transformed.

Though the irises remained gold, the monster under the bed no longer resembled a thing out of his nightmares. Instead, it looked like something out of his wildest fantasies. The white-blond hair that fell to its shoulders brushed across his chest, and he almost reached out to feel if the strands were as soft as they looked. The creature had a well-toned slender body that made his mouth go dry, and he stared a face of such ethereal beauty, he was almost hypnotized, but he didn't dare look any lower than its chest. He was afraid of what he would see.

"Your blood gave me this," it said, its words coming easier as it continued to speak. "I've known no other flesh that can grant me this form. Your blood will keep me like this for weeks. I can walk around like one of you in this body. I can see the world through your eyes."

Desperate, Dean tried to gather control of his scattered senses and snarled at the creature, "I will not be responsible for making it easier for you to lure in your victims."

"I have no need to lure in victims," it said, brushing long fingers over his face, "but I do not want any others. I want your flesh. Your power." It lowered its head to smell him and its eyes closed, its expression one of pure ecstasy. "You are unlike anything I've ever tasted--those first few drops from when we last met have been all I can think about. You fill me, make me strong, make me whole. I need you."

"You're proposing a deal," Dean growled, wanting nothing more than to move out of its reach, and the creature nodded, again focusing its gaze on him.

"Let me taste you once a month, and I will not only avoid the rest of your kind, but I will give you information on those who want you dead and wish to possess your brother."

"How can I trust you?"

It smiled, revealing teeth that didn't look as sharp anymore and making it seem even more human. Dean's stomach twisted in horror. The worst ones were always those who looked just like everyone else.

"You can't," it said. "I could just take you in your sleep, keep you hidden, feed on you when I please, but that would cause that pretty gold light that runs through your veins to fade, and the light is the key."

"And the information--how do I know the information is good?"

"When we are connected--" Dean shivered as it ran fingertips over the bite on his thigh. "--we cannot lie to each other. Everything you see is true."

Dean made the mistake of looking down when the creature touched his wound and he swallowed hard past the lump in his throat--the thing resembled a human in every possible way. If he didn't already know it was a monster who fed on the flesh of innocents, he probably would have made a pass at it.

"Once a month?" he asked, searching the unnerving golden eyes. "And what you took just now--that's all you would need?"

"That is all," it said with a smile that in any other situation would have stolen his breath away. "No more, no less. It is an exchange we will both benefit from."

"Dean, don't do it," a voice said softly from the back of the room and his heart lurched into his stomach. The last thing he'd wanted was for Sam to find out about this. He knew for certain his brother wouldn't understand. Hell, he didn't understand it himself. He just knew that an edge--any edge--had to be better than running around blind the way they were now.

Dean saw the creature's eyes widen hungrily as it turned to look at his brother and he pushed it out of his way, rushing to stand in front of Sam. He felt the room spin and his legs wavered, but he forced himself to remain upright. He could not let that thing near his brother. "You stay away from him! You are not to come near him!"

"As much as I would love to taste your brother," the creature said as it stretched out on its side across the mattress, practically drooling as it stared at the both of them, "that much feral power would destroy me."

"You'll get no arguments from me," Sam growled. "Dean, we need to kill this thing, and we need to do it now."

"Sam," he said, turning just enough to meet his brother's eyes, "I know it goes against everything we do, but it could help us understand what it is we're fighting. It could help us find the thing that killed Jess and our mom."

Sam shook his head, distrustful eyes fixed on the monster. "It isn't worth it, Dean. It's not worth your body and it's certainly not worth your soul."

"I'm pretty sure my soul's intact," he said, summoning up a weak version of his smirk, but Sam just narrowed his eyes at him.

"Not if you make a deal with this thing. Dean, whatever it is we're fighting, we can figure it out on our own. We don't need its help. If we start making agreements with them, what does that make us?"

"Smart enough to use the advantages that are given us. Sam--"

"NO," he snapped. "You either kill it, or I will."

At that, the monster rolled off the bed from where it had been watching the exchange with amused interest. "I think I'll leave you two to discuss this on your own," it said, and met Dean's eyes. "I'll see you in a month."

"Not if you know what's good for you," Sam warned the creature as it disappeared under the bed. He then pushed his brother out of the way and Dean barely managed to catch himself as he slid against the wall to the floor.

"What the fuck are you thinking?" Sam yelled as he started to set up the wards around the bed. "We can't start making deals with the devil and fool ourselves into believing he wants us to win."

"It's hardly a devil," he sighed, wishing this argument was over already so he could go to sleep.

"It's evil. It kills people. Our job is to kill the things that kill people, not arrange transfusions for them."


His brother stopped in front of him, holding out his hand. "Get up."

Dean let Sam pull him to his feet and help him over to the bed.

"You're lucky I don't kill you myself," Sam snarled as he set Dean down on the mattress and knelt down in front of him. He roughly cleaned the bite with a washcloth bathed in holy water, ignoring his brother's hisses of pain. "What if that thing had kept on drinking? What if it had just taken everything from you? What's to stop it from doing that the next time?" Sam dropped the bloodied cloth onto the floor and stared at his hands, saying in a small voice, "I can't lose you too, Dean."

"You won't lose me. I promise," he said, taking Sam's hands between his own. "I'm only doing this to protect you."

"I never asked you to."

"There are some things you don't ask for. There are some things I'll do no matter what."

"But not like this," he said, looking up at him. "Promise me, Dean. Promise me you won't let that thing feed off you again."

He stared down into his brother's earnest face, the hazel eyes filled with worry and concern and the fear of being left alone, and he sighed. No matter how much he might have wanted direct insight into the mind of evil, it wasn't worth causing Sam any distress. "All right. You win. Next time it shows up, we'll kill it."

"Thank you," Sam said, turning his hands over so that he was holding Dean's, and he stared at their fingers, at the connection between them. "You don't know what it was like when I walked in here and saw it feeding on you. You were lying there and your eyes were closed and you weren't fighting it and I thought I'd already lost you. Damnit, Dean," he sighed, "you've got to stop scaring me like this."

Dean chuckled as the hands tightened around his own. "You don't need to be scared. I keep telling you, you're not going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. Not now, not ever. We're in this together."

"Then you've got to stop keeping things from me," Sam said, meeting his brother's eyes. "You can't make decisions like that without me, and you have to start telling me everything. You can't protect me if they know more about me than I do."

"You're right, I know you're right. I just. . . you've been through so much."

"So have you. And from now on, what happens to one of us, happens to both of us. You can't keep going behind my back."

"Sammy, that's not what I--" But of course that's what he'd been doing. To deny otherwise would make fools of them both. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know you didn't, but you are hurting me. You're scaring me. Dean," Sam said, his voice laced with pain and fear, "what is it about me that's so terrible you have to hide it from me?"

"Oh, Sammy, no," he said, reaching down to brush away the tear that escaped the corner of his brother's eye, then slid off the bed so that he was kneeling down in front of him. "It isn't terrible. From the little I understand, it's something truly amazing. You're special, Sammy. I've always known it, but I just never realized how special until now. I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure how you'd react."

"You think I don't know there's something different about me? Something that makes me even more of a freak than you?"

"Sam--" Dean started, his face darkening, but his brother wouldn't listen.

"And you know what it is, but you won't tell me! What are you afraid of? Are you afraid that if I know, it'll turn me into something different? Are you afraid I'll become one of them?"

"Sam!" he snapped, cutting off the growing panic he could hear in his brother's words as he grabbed him by the shoulders. "You will never be one of them! You're my brother, and that is not going to change, do you hear me? You will always be my brother!"

"Then why are you so afraid of me?" he asked softly, and Dean shook his head.

"Sammy, I'm not afraid of you. I'm afraid for you. I'm afraid of what they'll do if I can't protect you and they get a hold of you. You can't lose me? Well, I can't lose you, not again! Damnit, Sam!" he said, pulling his brother into his arms, clutching Sam's body against his own. "Why can't you see that?"

The room fell silent. They held each other until they'd both stopped shaking, Sam's eyes filled with growing understanding and Dean's with a pain he'd never truly accepted. Slowly, Sam pulled away from his embrace without fully breaking it and held his brother's gaze.

"You didn't lose me, Dean. You're right. We will always be brothers. Nothing can take that away from us, but we can change it, if we want."

Dean frowned. "Sam, what are you--"

Leaning forward, Sam pressed his lips against his. It was the softest of touches, the slightest of pressure, enough to let him know that something was being offered if he wanted to take it.

And Dean wanted to take it. He wanted nothing more than to accept Sam's kiss and deepen it, to turn it into something more, something greater, to give it meaning--to give it life. But in the end, he couldn't, because he wanted to. His want, his need for his brother scared him almost as much as everything he didn't know about Sam.

With his heart screaming in defiance, he forced himself to pull away.

"Sammy. . ."

His brother shook his head, unable to meet his eyes. "It's all right, Dean. Come on, let's get to bed."

Sam stood up, leaving him on the floor, and Dean watched as his brother continued setting the wards. He felt defeated, somehow, as if he'd lost a battle without ever getting a chance to fight. He didn't even know which side he was on. He just knew from the pain in Sam's face, he'd chosen the wrong one.

Sam waited until he had crawled beneath the blankets before sealing the wards, and then they both settled down for one of the longest nights of his life. Dean knew he was usually the first to fall asleep with his brother's eyes watching him, but tonight, seeing only Sam's back in front of him, he knew he was going to lie awake all night. It wasn't until Sam rolled over, unconsciously curling into his warmth, and his own arms and legs reached out to draw his brother closer, that Dean was finally able to let his exhausted body rest.


Next story in series - Questions Without Answers.