Dean sat on the bed of a ratty motel room cleaning his Taurus Model 92 pistol. His harsh, jagged movements hinted at his inner turmoil.
Sam, sensing something was off, had gone out to the library. The case they were currently on didn't require much research, but he knew Dean needed some time alone.
As the tired hunter held the now assembled gun in his right hand, the mark on his forearm began to burn. It wasn't quite an unpleasant burn. It felt like sticking a hand under water that wasn't quite scalding. Just enough to remind him it was still there. Remind him that the itch to kill was still in him, no matter how deep he pushed it down. He quickly set the gun on the bed next to him. Those thoughts, those feelings, were not things he wished to deal with right now. Not with everything else that was storming through his head.
Dean got up and sauntered to the motel room's dinky bathroom. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water. The icy chill on his almost feverish face helped calm him a little. He was feeling things strange and new to him, and he wasn't sure what to do. He placed his hands on the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. The reflection was one he barely recognized anymore. The eyes were harder, more empty; they had seen a lot of, if not too much, death. His mouth was shaped into a permanent frown. The Mark of Cain was taking its toll on more than just his mental health.
"Dean?" a raspy voice behind the hunter asked.
Startled by the sudden voice from the was-empty room, Dean whirled around. "What the hell, Cas!" he exclaimed when he saw the angel standing in the room. "What have I told you about beaming down behind me?"
Cas gave Dean a puzzled look, clearly not getting the Star Trek reference.
Dean sighed. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"Sam prayed to me," the fallen angel replied. "He wanted me to come check on you."
"Well, I'm fine. Just cleaning weapons for tonight." He pushed past the angel to sit on the bed and continue cleaning the gun.
"Dean, you are not fine," Castiel responded, sitting next to the troubled hunter. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, causing the hunter to internally quiver. "What's wrong?"
Dean sat quietly, lost in his thoughts. He honestly had no idea what was wrong. Yeah, the mark was messing with him, but there was something else. Something he couldn't put his finger on.
"Dean, I worry about you," Cas said in Dean's silence.
"Well, don't," Dean snapped involuntarily. He immediately regretted the words.
Castiel stood up, suddenly angered. "Fine, Dean. Push everyone who loves you away. That is a great way to try to fix yourself." He stormed to the door, but halted with his hand on the doorknob.
Dean sat, shocked at the sudden outburst. "I'm sorry, Cas," he muttered. "I didn't mean it."
The angel turned around. "You know how hard it is for me? How hard it is to be an angel and care so much for a single human being? I am looked down upon. My brothers and sisters think I am weak. They just do not understand. And it would seem neither do you."
Dean stared at the angel, confused. "What are you talking about, exactly?"
"You humans are so oblivious sometimes, are you not?" Cas almost smiled. He walked over to Dean and cupped his face in his hand, causing butterflies to stir in the man's stomach. Their faces were so close, Dean could smell Cas' sweet breath. "I love you, Dean."