He had never felt like this before; so alive yet dead inside. In fact, he even bet Sam didn't feel like this when he had Lucifer inside him. This whole thing was new—everything being thrown into sharp relief. The liquid he drinks warmer, the food fresher, and the women practically begging…always begging.
Not for what they used to, of course. No, this was completely different from what they were used to. He'd gotten used to it years ago when his brother had screwed him over in a plan gone wrong. Everything had gone to hell in just one night because of Sam. It's always because of him now, Dean realized this seven years ago.
A single drop of crimson liquid rolls down his chin as he backs away from tonight's meal; pale, ashen now, shoulder length hair, and glazed brown eyes. Her mouth hangs open slightly from where she was begging him to spare her life. They were always begging, but never had the guts to just end his life. Sam wouldn't, Bobby wouldn't, not even his own grandfather would save him from this cursed existence. He let them live, not quite knowing why. That was centuries ago, they are long since dead and he lives on—feeding on whatever hunter comes after him.