Supernatural Fic: "Feast for the Senses" (1/1)
Title: Feast for the Senses (1/1)
Author: Dannyblue
Pairing: None.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 900 words
Warnings: I don't consider this story slashy. However, there might be the mildest hints of Wincest here and there, depending on how you look at it. But, at the most, it's implied, and can be ignored.
Spoilers: General "Dead Man's Blood" stuff.
Summary: An AU in which Sam has been vamped.


Dean didn't get it. Not really.

Oh, intellectually, he understood all the ways Sam was…different.

But he didn't really get it.

Dean understood that, once Sam had someone's scent, he'd never forget it, could track it to the ends of the earth and back again if he was motivated enough.

That's why he's still here, a little voice at the back of Sam's mind liked to whisper sometimes. He knows you have his scent, and trying to leave you now would be pointless. But you know your brother. If he really wants to, he'll find a way. I bet that's what he's looking into when he goes out on his own…

Sam tried to ignore that little voice.

Dean didn't know how much of a person Sam could read in their scent. He could tell when they were happy or sad. Angry or anxious. Aroused or afraid.

Sam was surrounded by the scent of fear every day, every job. Its sweetness stroked the…thing, the hunger that now lived inside him, making it purr with anticipation. Something else Sam tried to ignore.

He'd gotten used to the fear, and the effect it had on him. How, when he was consoling the latest victim of whatever they were hunting (a job he was still better at than Dean, in spite of everything), a part of him didn't want to calm their panic. He wanted to stoke it, nurture it. Harvest it like forbidden fruit. And it would be so easy. Let his eyes flash. Let his second set of teeth descend. Let them see what was holding their hand, speaking to them with such gentle compassion. Sitting right next to them, close enough to take a taste.

But he kept his other face hidden and did his job, easing minds and calming nerves. And he ignored how the thing inside growled with annoyance, like a tasty treat had been snatched away from it.


Dean didn't know that Sam could taste his nightmares.

Funny, because Dean would insist he never had any.

Sam used to say, "Bull! Everyone has nightmares. And, with this job, you can't tell me you never have bad dreams."

And Dean would say, "Nope. That's your department, little brother," with his trademark smirk.

But, sometimes, Sam would wake before sunset, dragged out of his slumber by the scent of Dean's fear. And he'd know Dean was having one of those nightmares he claimed he never had.

Sam had gotten used to the scent of fear. Could even tune it out, the way you'd tune out the smell of cheap perfume. But there was something different about Dean's fear. Maybe because it was an emotion he usually kept under tight control, even when they were hunting, even when their prey got the better of them, and he was looking death in the eye.

But, when he was asleep and dreaming, there was no control. And his fear was like fine wine, rare and rich and deep. And wild. Like a beast kept in a cage too long, suddenly let out to run free.

The first time, Sam had gotten lost in that scent. Because, when it was set free, Dean's fear was as powerful as everything else about him was.

The scent surrounded him, flowed over him like a waterfall. Like whispers, dancing feather soft across his skin. And it was like every pore on his body opened wide to drink it in.

Sam was breathing deep and fast, trying to get more, to take more of Dean's fear into himself. Lost in the taste of it in his mouth, on his tongue. The hot, electric hum of it through his veins.

And that hunger purred deep, content in a way it never was unless Sam was feeding. His body was alive with this strange pain/pleasure that made every nerve ending feel exposed and raw. And his insides felt like they were trying to crawl out of his skin. But it wasn't a bad feeling. Just strange and new and scary. And so good, he didn't want it to end.

But it did end. Dean's nightmare ended, and the scent of his fear faded. Sam woke completely and realized what had happened. And he was hit by a crushing sense of guilt as he remembered his own nightmares, all the horrors his mind liked to bring to life for him as he slept. And Dean had been seeing the same kinds of horrors, while Sam was lying in bed, eating his fear like candy.

After that, he always woke Dean up at the first scent of a nightmare. Even if a part of him didn't really want to.


Dean didn't know that, when he returned from a night out (which didn't happen as much anymore, but still happened) Sam could smell the sex on him. And it didn't matter that Dean always took a shower before coming back to whatever motel they were staying in. Sam could smell whoever Dean had been with, beneath the soap and shampoo.

Dean didn't know that Sam's was keeping a mental catalog of all of those scents. And even though he'd never seen most of the women they belonged to, he would have little trouble finding any of them if given enough time. One by one, he could find them all.

If he wanted.


Dean didn't get it. Not really.

And Sam was going to make sure he never did.

THE END