He dug his fists into the ground, digging up the fresh earth, enjoying the feel of the ground beneath his touch. He has always enjoyed the simple human sensations that most take for granted, like touch, taste, and sound, because it helps him hold on to the only shred of humanity he has left.

When hes shifted, he loses the sensations of fingernails digging in the ground, or the feeling of bare skin on the coarse grass.

Dean pressed his head to the damp grass and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the pain that the full moon brought. The searing pain tore through his through his enitre body, touching his soul, leaving scars that would never completely heal.

As a child, he pretended that shifting was the like the beginning of a superhero origins story in his beloved comic books, when the superhero fell into a chemical bath or was struck by lightning. The hero endured pain, but from the pain came a better man, and a changed world.

As he got older, he recognized those stories for what they were. Pure fiction. Nothing but products of overactive imaginations, designed to give false hope.

A scream emerged from his throat as he felt his skin rip, bursting with hair. He smelled the familiar coppery scent of his own blood as he struggled to remain conscious. His vision blurred and his ears rung as his senses heightened all at once, one of the most nauseating parts of the process.

The burning pain started to numb as the shifting was completed. He laid there, regaining his composure before timidly standing up and shaking his light brown fur. He felt another familiar powerful urge as he stared at the full moon, the only thing illuminating the dark night.

The urge to hunt.

Werewolves can be the most controlled people on the planet, but once they surrender to the full moons call and shift, their most primal instincts show forth.

Dean always told himself as a young child that he would be different than his brothers in that sense, he would never lose control and kill mercilessly, for no reason other than for the pure thrill of it.

But once he shifted, he lost control, and he will always remember the first person he killed. Every time he looks at the full moon he sees the boys face, full of shock and confusion, his eyes glassy, staring into the oblivion.

But every shift, he would do it again. And tonight was no different.

Dean pushed the memories out of his head and took off at a full sprint. The past couldn't hurt him if it can't catch him. He smelt the air and let out a long howl, catching the close scent of a human. For as many times as he has killed, the guilt still hit hard. He would always think of the person's family or kids, but the urges were to strong to ignore. So he dealt with the guilt, allowing it to seep into his veins, killing him slowly.

He went from a sprint to a silent jog as he spotted movement. He saw bright lights, and he concluded that is was a small cabin, nestled in a very nice spot in the forest. Dean spotted a woman, appearing around his age, standing on the cabin steps, looking at the sky. He could make out her slender frame and long hair in the dark, but not much else. He stalked closer to her, crouching in a bush just beyond her line of vision.

As he watched her, his memories clouded his thoughts.

"Youre a monster Dean! I could never love you know that I know who you really are!"

"You said your love was unconditional."

"Not when Its something like this! You're a black hole, Dean, You suck everyone and everything into your personal hell so they can wait out an eternity of darkness with you, Because you can't stand what you've become. But i'm not suffering with you. I am not going to sit around and wait to be killed the next time you lose control. Not like he did."

Dean howled at the memory, causing the woman to look his way in shock. He struck, charging at her, using his large body to tackle her and pin her to the dirt. She barely made a sound, her fear rendering her silent. She squirmed underneath his body, but it was no use as he dug his sharp teeth into the soft flesh of her neck.

She halted her movements as the blood poured, covering Deans mouth and fur. He jerked his head side to side, trying to kill her quickly. He looked at her and halted his movements as the moon shone on her face. She was beautiful, with pale skin, but her eyes just about killed him. They were bright blue, and they were calm, not frantic like the other people he killed.

To his own surprise, he released her, his urges to kill replaced by an urge to stop the bleeding in the gash he caused. Unable to shift back until morning, he dragged her by her legs deeper into the woods. Thankfully, he didn't go far to hunt, It was only a short run to where he called home, and he was sure Roman would help her, If he could. Dean pulled her through the woods, listening to the girls faint heartbeat, the memories ringing through his head.

"Youre fire, Dean. You burn everyone you touch to the ground."