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Dean could feel his little brother’s lanky frame shaking, too long fingers trembling, head pounding. His fifth time through one sentence had him slamming the book shut and griping the long hair that hung in front of his face. Sam looked up at him and fuck if that wasn’t the weirdest thing, seeing his body move and knowing he wasn’t the one making it happen.
“What’s wrong?”
His own voice rang out from across the room where Sam in Dean’s body was furiously searching the internet to fix whatever it was that had swapped their body’s. A strange hunger lurked at the edges of Dean’s consciousness and it was all he could focus on.
“Dude, what the hell’s wrong with your body? It’s all shaky and shit. It needs something but I ain’t got any idea what the fuck it is. I feel like I’m comin’ off a bad trip.”
Dean finally looked up at Sam and his own green eyes were wide, face pale. Dean tried to stand up but clutched at the table, room spinning, belly clenching. He groaned, eyes squeezed shut, panting. This was ridiculous. Not only was he in his brother’s body but said body was ten kinds of fucked up. He could feel it, whatever it was, swimming in his body, his brother’s body, alive and dangerous.
Then Sam was there, using Dean’s slighter body to hold him up and maneuvering him to the tiny motel bed. He lowered Dean gently, steadying him with one hand, the other digging through his duffel. Sam knelt in front of him, placing the silver flask in his lap and running fingers through his hair.
“Dean, I… I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to find out. Everything was going to be okay. I’m so sorry.”
Dean cracked open an eye. Sam, his Sammy, looked heartbroken. He reached out and pressed a hand to Sam’s shoulder. He heard words run from his mouth even though he had no idea if what he was saying was true.
“It’s okay, baby brother. It’ll be okay.”
Sam opened the flask and offered it to Dean.
“Just drink it, Dean. I can’t… Please.”
The coopery scent of blood flooded Dean’s nose and he look incredulously at Sam but Sam wasn’t looking at him anymore, eyes fixed on the thread bare patches on Dean’s knees. Dean lifted the flask to his lips and the rich blood flowed over his tongue. He moaned, orgasmic and relieved; the power of the demon blood engulfing him. Sam sobbed.
“I’m so sorry, Dean.”