CAIN-TERVENTION

The First Murderer looked deep into his eyes and took his hand in a tight handshake. "If you do this – there will be consequences."

Dean glared in reply and ground out, "It's a means to an end. I'll deal with the consequences."

"Will you?" Cain's eyes narrowed. "Will you really?"

And Dean felt a searing, white-hot agony rip into his right forearm and spread through his entire body. When he picked himself up off the floor, he was alone.

And his arm was branded with the stylised backwards "F" that Cain had sported.

The next few months were a haze of bloodshed and alcohol. Without Sam's anchor – Dean kept hearing the damning words that he would let Dean die – he felt adrift. The only times he felt even marginally like himself was when he held the jawbone of an ass that was the First Blade and was able to wield it, killing anything that he deemed needed it.

He was judge. He was jury. He was executioner. He was in control.

Dean was the killer he'd always known he was.

And if he was alone? Hell, it was no less than he deserved.

Abaddon was no match for him. So he figured Metatron wouldn't be, either.

It was a fatal mistake.

He felt the spell weaving when he was about to leave his body. He felt that bastard Crowley doing something to him, through the Mark. He felt-

-He felt a hand squeeze his and he felt his eyes open.

He found himself staring into the amused eyes of the First Murderer. "So," Cain said with the same level of amusement in his voice. "Tell me again that you can accept the consequences."

Dean swallowed hard and forced his answer out through clenched teeth. "...there's no other choice..."

"And who told you that?" Cain asked. "Crowley? The demon bastard of a human witch who's been weaving a spell around you?"

From the next room came Crowley's indignant "HEY!"

Dean frowned as Cain released his hand. "...a spell? What..."

"Please," Cain sniffed. "I can smell it all over you. It's a suggestibility spell – to make you willing to trust him, so long as he believes he is speaking the truth."

Dean glared in Crowley's direction, but said, "If it's the truth, then there's no other way." He held out his hand. "So give it to me."

"I didn't say it was the truth. I said he believes it is the truth." Cain moved to the table and calmly poured a drink. "Lies that are believed to be truth are still lies."

Dean blinked as that settled into his mind. "...so there's another way to kill Abaddon?"

"Plenty." Cain looked into his eyes. "You just have to put in the time to find them."

"And in the meantime, that bitch-"

"Does what Knights of Hell do. Believe me, she will fly under the radar until she's ready to make her move." He knocked back his drink. "You have two advantages she doesn't." At Dean's incredulous look, Cain said, "You have a massive repository at your fingertips. Abaddon has no idea what's in there. She made her move prematurely. Oh, yes, I know about that. Your puppet master in there hasn't bothered to shield his thoughts. He doesn't think I have the juice without the Blade to read them."

"Oh, he is so breaking this spell once I get hold of him," Dean snarled. "And what's the second advantage? You said I have two."

"Your brother."

Dean snorted. "He's not my brother anymore."

"Don't be stupid. Of course he is. You think brothers stop being brothers by saying words? Dean, I killed my brother – and he is still, and always will be, my brother. Whatever he said to you was calculated to hurt – because that's how brothers lash out when they're hurt. God knows Abel and I had more than our share of words."

When that sank in, Dean sat down at the table, gratefully accepting the finger of whiskey Cain slid down the table to him. "...so what do I do?"

"Go home. Tell your brother you're sorry. Work with him to find something in that massive repository of yours to kill Abaddon. I can't give you the mark, but I can give you something."

Dean frowned. "You can't give me the mark? Or won't?"

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Won't because there's another way. Can't because you're the Righteous Man, who went to Hell for his brother – and that future I showed you might be mild in comparison to the reality if that kind of good got hold of the Mark of Cain." He stood. "Now, let's stop talking about what I can't or won't do and focus on what I can and will."

"Which is what?" Dean asked.

Cain held out his hand, and Dean's phone flew into it. He opened it and sent a text. "Give you something to eat while we wait."

"Wait? For what?"

Cain tossed the phone back to him. "For your brother to arrive."

"What?" Dean roared and snatched the phone. "What the hell—!"

The phone flared to life in his hands – a text from Sam. Be there in 2 hours.

Cain smiled at Dean. "Want something to eat while we wait? I make a good grilled cheese and tomato soup."

"Uh – hello?" Crowley yelled from the other room. "Remember me?"

"Unfortunately," Cain growled. He walked over and opened the door, drawing a sigil onto it before slamming it closed. There was a flare of light, and it grew very silent in the room.

Dean blinked. "What did you do?"

"It will take him awhile to find his way back here," Cain said, turning to the stove. "Now...about that food."

Dean sighed. "Can... Can there be rice in that soup?"

"I think there's some in the cabinet," Cain replied.

TO BE CONTINUED...