musicalluna

She looks maybe eight years old with long black hair tied in braids on either side of her head. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, eyes a freakishly pale color that reminds Sam of some of the ghosts they've hunted. Only she's definitely not a ghost. She's too...solid.

She steps inside the room, tiny little mouth pursed, her legs thin and white beneath an even whiter sun dress with a big blue bow around the waist.

"Are you shitting me?" Dean demands. "What the hell is this? I did not get captured by a freakin' little girl!"

The girl's pale eyes drift slowly over to look at Dean and a chill worms down Sam's spine. Dean shuts up, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he eyeballs the little girl warily.

There's a catch. There has to be, because Dean's right. There's no way some scrawny little girl got the jump on them and dragged them off to this...whatever.

The low hum of unease in Sam's stomach revs and jumps into overdrive when the little girl smiles.

"Glad you're awake," she says, voice like a faint breeze.

Dean's lip curls in a sneer, but Sam recognizes the subtle hesitation belying fear. "I'd be gladder if I wasn't strapped to the damn wall."

The little girl isn't listening to him anymore. Her eyes have moved back to Sam and the fear is suddenly very near terror, his mouth going dry, sweat gathering on his temples. He swallows hard, unsure of what he's afraid of, but eager to get space between them nevertheless. He shuffles backward on his butt, stopping only when pain flares up in his leg, electric.

It distracts him and when he looks up, the little girl is standing right there, just inches away.

He sucks in a gasp and breathes, "Dean!"

The shackles around Dean's wrists rattle as he pulls at them, snarling, "Get away from him, you little bitch!"

She ignores him, smiling at Sam. "I just want a taste," she says softly, wrapping one small hand around his arm.

Sam can't pull away no matter how hard he yanks.

Dean continues to bark at the girl, but she refuses to be deterred and her pale jaw elongates and widens, pouty little girl's lips shuddering away into a dark mouth, lined with long, thin teeth.

"Oh, shit," Sam hears himself whisper, Dean echoing the words.

She drags him forward with impossible strength, stretching his arms out in front of her now gaping maw, and then carefully lines her teeth up along his arm at the elbow and bites.

Sam howls, nearly wrenching his arm out of socket as he jerks away, trying to free the limb.

It only gets worse.

Something slick and hot slides along the portion of his arm in her mouth and Sam moans, realizing that it's her tongue. That the little--whatever she is--is tasting him.

Then her tongue withdraws and the wide mouth opens carefully, long teeth sliding easily out of the wounds. She releases Sam's arm and he collapses backwards even as her face re-forms into the sweet little girl facade. Blood flows freely from an arch of closely spaced holes stretching from the middle of Sam's forearm all the way up to his bicep.

"SAM? SAM!" Dean is shouting.

"I--I'm okay, Dean," Sam tells him shakily, staring, fixated at the wound. It's enormous.

"Like hell you are!" Dean snaps.

The little girl has a few drops of his blood at the corner of her mouth and a tiny pink tongue pokes out to swipe them up. She smiles at him and says, "Not bad. A little too much height, I think. Not as much muscle as I expected."

Sam swallows and tries not to freak out even though he can feel the shudders of horror and revulsion building up inside him.

"...get my hands on you, I'm going to--to..."

Dean's threats falter as the little girl turns her gaze to him, purring, "Your turn."

"Don't even think about it!" he snaps, but the color drains slowly from his face, his jerks at the manacles growing more frantic. A thin tendril of blood trickles down the inside of his arm.

The girl's smile just grows wider. "I think I'm going to like you," she murmurs.

"Fuck," Dean breathes, staring as the girl's face morphs again into the wide, toothy mouth.

She makes no move to loose Dean's arm and Sam's stomach lurches. What the hell is she--

"Don't you frigging--AAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!"

It's teeth bury into the meat of Dean's thigh and Sam's head jerks in the opposite direction, breaths coming hard and fast. This is NOT HAPPENING.

The girl-creature lets out a hmming noise of pleasure and Dean moans, the shackles rattling as he struggles.

The--feeding--or whatever it was had seemed to go on forever when it was Sam, but it seems even longer now. Dean's face grows red with strain, blood trickling in thin rivulets down both wrists, moisture beading at the corners of his eyes as he spits mindless curses.

Finally, the girl's head shifts and her jaw opens, teeth retracting and shivering out of existence as she steps back. The thigh of Dean's jeans is dark with blood, the arc of punctures giving glimpses of bright red beneath. He lets out a low moan, eyes cracking open just enough to see the girl beaming at him.

"I was right," she says, barely restrained glee in her voice. "You're delicious! Full of muscle and raw power. Sex appeal and strength. Perfect."

Dean takes a shuddering breath and spits, "Fuck you."

The little girl just smiles and pats his stomach. "I'll be back for seconds later," she promises.

When the door closes behind her, Dean groans and snaps, "Sam, what the hell was that?"

Sam shakes his head and keeps shaking it. "I don't know. I don't know, Dean. I--I don't know what she is. It. What it is. What. I don't--" His mouth works, words failing and Dean's eyes open again, zeroing in on him.

"Sam, don't you dare crack on me now. I swear to God--"

Sam shakes himself and sucks in a deep breath. "I'm not. I'm fine. I'm...I'm...okay, fine might be an overstatement. Just--give me a second."

"Get it together fast, Sammy. That freakin' thing just had a big helping of Dean Winchester slurpee and that is not okay with me!"

"Okay," Sam says, arms drawn up close to his chest. "Okay. Based on what she--it--whatever--said, it--it sounds like she's feeding off of us--or, I guess, you--to...I don't know, absorb some of your traits."

"Well, I don't want to share, dammit! Especially if sharing involves chewing my frigging leg off!"

For all of his bluster, the episode has clearly taken it out of Dean because he can't seem to hold himself up any longer, his eyes refusing to open further than half-mast. "Just...frigging...figure somethin' out, Sam."

"Okay, Dean. Okay