Chapter One
Dropping the twenty pound sledgehammer head to the floor with the handle standing vertical, Dean swiped an arm across the sweat coating his forehead and blew out a breath. It had been a while since he'd done any challenging physical activity outside of hunting and sex, but as he surveyed the large hole he'd smashed through the wall before him he felt a small surge of pleasure at his handiwork.
Between hunting and watching out for Sammy, Dean's life now revolved around finding areas of the bunker he could give a more homelike feel to so that Sam could at least see the place as such and not just their workplace. He needed Sam to be able to see that. Needed it as he needed air. Neither of them could predict the outcome of the Mark of Cain – though Dean had more of an insight thanks to Cain's last words - but the bunker was the safest place for Sam if things started to go south.
Especially if they started to go south and something triggered that darkness within Dean again.
He refused to hurt Sam; refused to be the cause of his baby brother's destruction, because Cain was right. That would be the death that tipped Dean over the edge, and Dean knew he would never come back from it. He could live with the guilt of having killed people; that was nothing new in Dean's life, but he would never survive wearing his baby brother's blood on his hands.
So now he was doing what he does best; hunting, watching out for Sammy, and knocking down a couple walls here and there. The kind of destruction that didn't include killing people.
Besides, they were Winchesters. They were never going to live in the world of normal, and that included the place they called home. Course, they could probably have made do with the bunker the way it already was, but why should they have to? The bunker offered up all this space to them, it wouldn't be right if they didn't utilise it. And the small dorm he was currently standing in wouldn't have been large enough to shove a couple couches in to make a living room which is why Dean had taken the sledgehammer to the wall connecting to the next room.
Glancing at his watch, Dean sighed. Hefting the sledgehammer, he rested it against the wall beside the door and headed out to the library. He found his brother in practically the same position as he'd been in four hours before, but for once he received an actual response to his entrance.
"Hey, how's the destruction going?" Sammy asked tiredly, bleary eyes rising from the book he was reading.
"It's going," Dean responded, the words 'how's the research coming' right on the tip of his tongue but refrained from voicing. Such a loaded question wouldn't garner a positive reaction from his baby brother and Dean would undoubtedly be subjected to bitchface's one through ninety. He wasn't up to dealing with that right now. Instead he said, "Going for a shower, then I'll be back to help."
He sighed again as Sam just went back to his book. Fuck it all to hell, this has to stop! Dean fumed as he marched down the hall to the bathroom. Stripping off his dusty clothing and boots he stepped into the middle shower cubicle, and stood under the spray just letting the hot water wash over him. He had long ago realised how fruitless the search for a cure was, but Sam was adamant the answer had to be there. Dean would love nothing more than to just let the kid get on with it without his help; however if he didn't help, Sam would only try to go behind his back and Dean would still know what he was up to anyway. It was simpler this way.
Unfortunately, with every passing day Sammy was devoting to research, pouring over all the books, scrolls and files the bunker housed, and anything he could find on the internet, the probability of a cure jumping out from the dwindling information was looking less and less likely. And as much as it was exhausting Dean, he had an outlet with hunting and wall deconstruction, but Sammy had nothing outside of this research and Dean was having to drag him away just to go on hunts.
Sam was barely eating or sleeping and as much as Dean wanted to shove the kid into a chair and force feed him, or shovel some sleeping pills down his gullet, he more than anyone understood the need the kid had to save him. Dean had felt it himself on too many occasions. Sammy was determined to find a full cure; to remove the Mark from Dean's arm without having to resort to cutting off any limbs as Dean had caustically suggested as a solution several months back. Hell, if Dean thought that would actually work and the Mark didn't already have a hold over his soul, he'd have taken a blade to it a long time ago and saved them both this never-ending rollercoaster.
It was all taking a huge toll on his little brother and Dean was running out of ideas as to properly help without resorting to being a full-on bastard. Because as much as he wanted this over with and the Mark gone, he refused to sit back and watch his baby brother drive himself into the grave.
#SPN#
Dressed in clean clothes a half-hour later, Dean re-entered the library with a shake of his head. He crossed to the middle table and slammed a thick book shut with a loud snap, waiting for any kind of reaction from his brother. Sam didn't even flinch. With another shake of his head and knowing the kid was finished with the discarded book, Dean slid it off the table, and turned around, striding the three steps to the middle round-topped shelf unit and slid the book back into the correct place. If it wasn't for the fact he'd have to listen to a meticulous little brother complaining about it, Dean really wouldn't give a shit if he put the books back in the right order or not. Grabbing the next book in line, Dean scrubbed a hand down his face as he crossed back to the middle table. Taking a seat, he surveyed his little brother. The kid had been sat in one place for too damn long; hunched over one useless book after another without barely pausing to raise his head and breathe.
"Sam, you need to take a break."
Sam blinked, blood shot eyes rising from the book in his hold. Dean was surprised to see that there was only half of the usual tiredness in the hazel eyes that Dean had come to expect, rather they held a hint of wide-eyed excitement. "Dean!" Sam's voice reverberated around the library as if the kid thought they were standing at opposite ends of a football pitch and shouting was a requirement of being heard.
"Sammy," Dean started as if he was talking to a five year old, "I'm sitting right here, there's no need to shout."
"Huh? Right, sorry, but… Dean, I think…" Sam's eyes widened further, "I think I may have found a solution. To the Mark."
"What?" Dean shot to his feet, crossing around the table to join his brother.
"It's a spell," Sam said, the same excitement in his voice as he pointed out the information in the book. "In its simplest form it's to remove a demonic hold over a mortal's soul. The Mark is demonic in nature, right?"
"I dunno, Sammy," Dean replied, leaning over his brother's shoulder to read the spell in the book, sceptical of a simple spell working on something as powerful as the Mark of Cain. "Wasn't it Lucifer who gave Cain the Mark? Lucifer's powers originated from grace."
"Grace that was twisted and deformed to create the origin of demonic powers after Lucifer was cast into Hell, Dean."
"Yeah, but wouldn't Cain have known about this, though, Sam?" Dean really didn't want to dampen his brother's excitement, but he had to be realistic, they both did. "He would've searched high and low for a cure back when he'd wanted to be with Collette." Sam's shoulders sagged in defeat and Dean hated it. "Maybe we can get Cas to have a look at it, yeah?" He suggested to at least take some of the world weariness from Sam's shoulders. "See if it could be in the slightest way possible."
Sam blinked up at him, hazel eyes filled with tears of exhaustion. "Can we?" he whispered.
Dean nodded as he pulled out his phone. "Hey, Cas, can you haul ass to the bunker a-sap? Yeah… Sam found a spell for the Mark… Yeah, alright, we'll see you then." He pulled his phone from his ear, sliding his thumb across the screen to end the call. "He'll be here in a little over two hours." Dean informed his brother. "Sammy, why don't you try getting some rest while we wait?" Sam predictably shook his head.
"There's too much work to do, Dean," Sam told him picking up the book holding the spell and started to read once again.
Sighing, Dean reached over and pried the book from his brother's hold, crossing back around the table to retake his seat. Sam looked at him in confusion. "I'll look into the spell a little more whilst you're snoozing, see if I can find anything else along the same lines okay?" he tried to appease. Sam of course was having none of it and reached across the table to take the book back. Dean smacked his hand away and knew it was time to take the much firmer approach. "Little brother, you either get some sleep now or there'll be no more researching or hunts for you in the foreseeable future," he told the kid sternly, cutting off the protest that had been coming. "But there will be a trip over my knee."
Sam's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "You can't do that, Dean! I'm thirty-two!"
Dean's eyebrow rose slowly. When he spoke he made sure to keep his voice level, calm but firm. It was a tone Dean had learnt early on to use with Sammy when he was in trouble rather than yelling. Yelling only provoked defiance, something John Winchester had unfortunately never learnt when it came to dealing with Sam. Of course Dean himself hadn't always remembered that over the past decade either.
"You're forgetting who you're talking to, Samuel Dean Winchester." Dean took note of the squirming his brother was trying to hide at hearing his full name spoken in the 'dreaded' tone, something else Dean had learnt quickly. Because as much as Sam had protested Dean's calling him 'Sammy' during those first few years back together, he was all too aware Sam would rather be called that than ever hear his full name in accordance with his behaviour. "I can and will tan your hide if it's necessary. I've never given a shit about how old you are in the past when I've had to spank you, so I know full well you understand that kind of reasoning isn't going to cut it here." Sam shot him a fierce glare, but Dean wasn't about to relent on his threat. He hated having to do it this way, hated being the bastard, but the kid desperately needed sleep, and if this was the only way of going about it… then so be it. "So what's it gonna be, Samuel, because I have no qualms about putting you to bed with a sore butt if that's what's needed."
The library was clouded by silence for a good minute, Dean staring at Sam, Sam glaring at Dean, and neither willing to relent. Dean however was only willing to wait another minute before he hauled Sam off to little brother's bedroom and did as promised. Twenty seconds away from having to go through with it, the glare slipped from his brother's face. Sam reached up and scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.
Dean found himself relenting - just a fraction. "Look, Sammy, I don't want to have to spank you, okay, but it doesn't mean I won't. I think you know me better than that, kid."
"Yeah, I do," Sam finally spoke, voice quiet. He looked across the table at Dean through his eyelashes. "I don't want a spanking, Dean," Sam gave in. "I'll sleep."
"Good choice, buddy," Dean said, quietly thankful. He really hadn't wanted to spank the kid.
Sam nodded, gave him a half smile before he finally pushed back his chair with his knees and stood. Watching as he turned away, Dean was expecting him to head off in the direction of their rooms, but instead Sam dropped down heavily on the floor beneath the bookshelf directly opposite Dean. Lying on his stomach and burying his arms beneath his face, Sam was asleep in seconds.
"Really not what I meant, Sammy," Dean grumbled, but couldn't stop the half grin that floated across his lips.
At least the kid was actually sleeping for once.