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I drive down the highway to the next hunting job, tears threaten to fall but I'm positive I made the right decision. Dean was different, always aggressive, quick to anger.

He had changed from an affectionate lover to rough and controlling. Sex with him was raw and animalistic, and I loved him regardless. He could melt me with a single caress. Enflame me with one look.

I was distracting the Winchesters from finally getting rid of Metatron and then finding the way to rid Dean of the Mark of Cain.

When the brothers left the bunker following a lead one night, I knew this might be my only chance. I left, leaving Dean a letter on our shared bed. I poured my heart out, letting him know how much I loved him but at this rate someone was going to end up dead and I was scared it would be him.

He wasn't focused, he was jealous of anyone who glanced my way and picked fights with these "rivals" constantly. Afterwards he would need to prove to himself and me, that I was his and his alone.

In the throes of passion I wouldn't feel the bruises forming. The first time it happened he'd been distraught, the next few times apologetic and then he seemed get a perverse pleasure seeing the mottled discolorations and love bites. He liked marking his territory, a big neon sign to the world proclaiming "Mine".

So I had left, hoping that every mile put between him and me would lessen the need. It had been a few weeks and hundreds of miles, and I still ended up clutching one of his old flannel shirts at night to get to sleep.

Every day I awoke reaffirming the vow not to have any contact with him. Weeks of avoiding the constant barrage of calls and texts, and Dean had finally gotten the message and stopped trying. I hoped that it meant he was finally starting to focus on the mission and not indulging his darker impulses. The quicker Metadouche was taken down, the faster Sam could get to work bringing back the old Dean.

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I drive into a motel parking lot, park the car and head into the lobby to get a room. Walking out, key in hand, I grab your duffel bag out of the car and walk over to the temporarily lodging.

A small prickle of awareness has me taking a covert look around while unlocking the motel door. Seeing nothing but knowing my instincts are usually good, I appear casual as I enter but prepare for a potential fight. I came here after hearing a tip that some demons had set up camp somewhere in this small town. Maybe closer than I originally thought.

I lock the door and begin the nightly hunter ritual, secreting weapons in various spots around the room, grabbing a bottle of liquor out of my bag and taking a couple swigs.

I take out your phone to check for messages, and then end up just looking at the lock screen picture. Dean and me laughing and embracing on his last birthday. I repeatedly trace the outline of his face tenderly on the screen til a noise outside pulls me from my musings.

I flip on a music app to cover the sound cocking my weapon. I turn off the lights to hide my movements.

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A quick look out the curtains shows a cat racing across the parking lot. I huff out a breath, safety the gun and take another long drink from the bottle. Music is still echoing in the room as I lay on the bed, drink in hand.

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It's strange that I still feel unsettled, almost like someone's watching me. Dean would say my Spidey-senses were malfunctioning. I shake my head and begin to strip for bed.

Clad in a tank and underwear I reach for Dean's flannel and stuff in under my pillow. I continue drinking until I finally drift off into an uneasy sleep.

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I'm blissfully unaware as the locked motel room door is picked. A dark figure enters to room and I whimper in my sleep.

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I turn over, cracking an eye and realize I'm not alone. I sit up and simultaneously draw my weapon to shoot.

The assailant manages to disarm me with a few well executed moves. Both my arms are pulled up and tied to the headboard. I continue to struggle as first one leg then the other are also tied leaving me spread eagle on the bed.

A single tear drips down my face as I wait for the torture to begin. One of the lamps turns on, and I am momentarily blinded, barely able to discern a large man coming back to the bed.

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As my vision starts to return, I look up to see bright green eyes watching me, narrowed in anger.

My lips part in shock "Dean?"

His mouth curves in a sardonic smile, his eyes flash to black,

"Someone's been a bad girl.."

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