Vampire Poison

Blood slid down his throat as Dean Winchester pulled his long, sweat soaked golden-brown hair out of his piercing green eyes. His black leather jacket lay shredded around his broad muscular shoulders, snaking its way down his pure ashen back where it lay draped at his knees. His 'Metallica' shirt was torn apart from the branches in the forest. Denim jeans, which once hugged his legs, now loosely tried to stay intact despite the lack of material left after all the infamous run-ins with local dogs. Although his battered body was sore, he had had worse. Reminiscing, Dean stared out the window as he ran his fingers down his scar. When he had understood what he had become, understood what he was going to be forced to do…. Sighing, he glanced at the scar that ran down his toned chest, a constant reminder of dragging his own fingernails into his skin, in a desperate attempt to tear his heart out and end this misery. Leaning against a church's outside wall, Dean inspected his legs and stomach, making sure to note any injuries that might have occurred during his latest struggle. Meticulously, he started the process of picking every strand of hair off of his jeans, shirt and jacket. He then went on to tending to the injuries he had sustained. Taking a fistful of salt in his hand, Dean proceeded to grind it into every open wound his eyes fell on.

"Nothing like a good batch of rock-salt to ease the pain, huh?" he gasped through clenched teeth.

After the searing pain in his wounds lessoned to a constant throbbing sensation, Dean began to rip away at the cloth that used to be his socks, in an effort to cover the deeper looking gashes to avoid infection. During the time he spent on his once-over, Dean consciously kept his line of sight away from his latest victim. Just the memory of it made him ill, his night had been interrupted by the tears of one so innocent, as he had approached, the eyes that stared at him were trustful, trustful blue eyes….

Clutching his stomach, he silently cursed at himself. Why did he have to lose control? For the past two weeks he had been living off the blood of cows, but,

You couldn't help yourself.

"Stop it," he begged as he grasped his head, "please, just stop it." At that moment his eyes connected with his latest prey. His stomach lurched leaving him breathless on the ground, as he noticed her beautiful lock of golden curls, twisted and grimy, streaked with a deep, rich trail of blood from the struggle she had put up, a fight she was destined to lose.

"Stop it". He had killed an angel. He could see her face so clearly now, her blue eyes were swimming with tears as she stared up at him with the realization she was being watched. She had smiled then, smiled, and asked him if he was alone. When he had stayed silent, she had nodded and told him she understood, she was always alone too.

"Shut up". A child at that. She had been so inviting, her pain had started with a simple hug, but her blood called for him, for him to liberate her from this world. Her eyes, her eyes had been wide as the realization she was not going to be spared had hit her. First came the struggle, and for a little girl, she was quite strong. However, acceptance soon won over, even happiness took its toll on her. Her smile was the last thing he remembered, before her eyes had gone blank and she had seemed to be staring up at the dark sky.

Since you stole her soul, darkness is all she will ever know.

"Get the fuck away from me," roared Dean, as he threw a punch at the brick wall, feeling his flesh tear away. Specks of blood flew into the air as he heaved his fists into the wall, one blow after the other, until there was no skin left on his knuckles. However, the pain in his hands couldn't even compare to the hole in his chest that was rapidly growing larger. He couldn't stop the torment he was putting his body through. He couldn't stop until he felt the same pain that little girl had felt.

A muffled laughter was starting to fill his mind, burrowing into his thoughts until it completely consumed him. Digging his nails into his hair, he fell towards the ground, slightly aware of a piercing scream emitting from his lips. He had to get away from that little girl, he would surely go insane if he had to watch her lifeless eyes stare at him for another second. With his eyes cast downwards, he picked up the now motionless body and heaved it out of the window. The array of broken glass falling around him was the only accompanying comfort as he dejectedly collapsed in a corner.

"Fuck" sighed Dean, now that the threat had been taken away, his breathing was returning to normal, "Where's Sam with that machete?" Two weeks ago, after stumbling upon a pack of vampires, the brothers had given each other a promise, that should either of them succumb to the night, the other would hunt down the unforgiven, and end his misery. Dean looked down at his blood-soaked hands, his breath started to catch in his throat, as the realization that yet another life had been sacrificed for him hit him at full force.

And you enjoyed it didn't you.

Startled by the sudden truth, Dean's throat closed as his eyes glazed over. He had enjoyed it. He had enjoyed taking the young girl's neck into his waiting mouth, forever silencing her unheard screams. He had enjoyed the coppery taste of warm blood spilling into his throat and running down his cheek. Dean started mechanically licking his blood-soaked fingers, in an attempt to prolong the ecstasy he had experienced. Methodically his tongue worked into the ridges of his hands as the child's drying blood seeped into his mouth, sending his mind and body into a fantasy.

His body felt light, free, and his mind was blank. Utterly, thankfully, blank. He had nothing to worry about, no guilt about his father's death, no Sam constantly reminding him of his promise, and no Joe. No more Joe to torture him. It took all his self-restraint not to kill her where she lay every time he laid his eyes on her. She thought she had his world in her palm, and she used it fully to her advantage. But now, now with a dead body over his head and the sweet taste of sin in his mouth, he was free. How fucked up could irony possibly get?

When he had finished off the last of the blood, the sensation stopped, almost as soon as it started, and the only memory he had of it was his heart rate, which was gradually going back to normal. Yes, he had enjoyed every minute of his kill, as much as he now wished it over. Dean felt his nausea coming back in full force, and he crawled under a lone tree, begging his body not to reject the dinner he had hastily choked down. Panting, he tried to keep his shallow breath under control, silently swearing to himself.

You're no better than those you hunt, soon you will become just like them.

Dean's hand shot up as he tried to clear his pounding head.

"Dammit, the last thing I need is a fucking voice in my head", he whispered as he tried to stand up. A shot of pain ran through his leg, causing him to fall into his original position. Inspecting the injured area, Dean found a piece of glass wedged into his lower leg.

You're losing blood fast; you're going to need to feed again soon Dean. Do you really believe you can go back to cow blood after tasting the pleasure of human sacrifice?

"I'd rather die then go through that state of mind again," sneered Dean as he tried to tear the glass away from his skin.

No you wouldn't, you still believe you can be save. You'll do anything to live, as much as it disgusts you; you believe you have more of a right to live than everybody else, don't you?

Silence followed as a tear slowly slid into Dean's mouth washing away the cheeky smile he had on a moment earlier, mixing with the sins of the night, forever giving his answer. Wordlessly, he looked towards the cloudless night sky, as he whispered his cry of anguish before blacking out.

"Sammy, please don't let me live like this anymore."