Demon Blood:
Dean woke from his sleep smiling, he'd had another dream. The same dream that he used to wake up screaming from.
He walked down the hallway of the bunker, the first blade and a hammer in his hands. His prey was elusive and hard to kill, but that didn't matter, they would die. He would find them and slit their throats….no he had to take his time. He would eviscerate Cas, watch as the angel would try to hold in his guts as the magic of the blade slowly drained him of life. Then he would continue with his hunt, invigorated by the angelic blood he had splatter painted with. Now he would find Sam. He would take his sweet time with Sam. He had tried to force Dean into being good, being soulful, to have a conscience, and be immersed in guilt and grief for all the things that he had done. He would slice his brother into ribbons for that, watch him scream with betrayal and pain, maybe even drink some of his blood. Show that fucking would-be savior just how wrong he had been about Dean.
And then, finally when Dean rounded one last corner. He had found his prey.. Of course Sam fought, but it was useless. Dean was always going to win this fight and somewhere in Sam's heart he had known that. And yet he still carried on saying things like, "This isn't you,"
"You're my brother Dean, fight"
"Dean fight the Mark"
But Dean didn't want to fight it. But IT wasn't even the Mark anymore, its thirst for blood had been sated with Cas. Dean wanted this. It wasn't the lack of caring he used to profess, he cared quite a lot, he cared for the sweet blood that would coat his hands, the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling. He watched gleefully as this final horror dawned on Sam, the fear and hopeless-ness that flooded through his eyes. And Dean rejoiced when Sammy finally died leaving a mangled and bloody corpse scattered….well, everywhere.
Dean had begun to look forward to that particular dream, he hadn't acted on it yet, he was building suspense; making the kill all the more enjoyable when he told his dearest brother that he had been fantasying about his murder for weeks. So to pass the time Dean would go out on secret little hunts. Usually going out for the monsters; they were harder to kill than humans so it was more enjoyable to him. It didn't mean that he didn't occasionally catch criminals and torture them until they died. Dean wanted to be the monster that killed other monsters.
He loved the feeling that spilling blood gave him. Once he even called the cops of himself just so he could kill the police that came for him. As Sam would say "he's gone off the deep end," only Dean didn't only go off the deep end, he was trying to swim to the bottom of the fucking pool.
Dean was killing almost constantly, it was glorious, and Sam was still oblivious to everything. Dean might decide to kill him next week….he hadn't decided yet. But he did know one thing, whenever he plunged his hands into his victims' bodies; he felt such strong satisfaction it was orgasmic in the extreme. He would also sometimes cut out their tongues if he wasn't in the mood to listen to their screams. Really, begging was predictable, he liked it better when they fought. Let them think they had a chance of making it out alive, because when the hope dies from their eyes he knows that nothing can stop him.
He wasn't quite a demon (really they're so dysfunctional), but he most certainly was not human. Maybe he wasn't anything anymore, except desire and lust, blood and death. He could take anything he wanted. Nothing could stop him anymore. Dean would come to be a new monster, immortal and fierce. Created from his own twisted soul. Something not human, much stronger than both angels and demons. He was in a way death, or murder personified. Maybe he would kill death, not now, but sometime within the next millennium.
Although, thinking of things he should get to; killing Cas and Sam should happen tonight…..