Monster in the Mirror
I know what it's like to look at yourself in the mirror, and not liking what you see...
The solitude of the bathroom was refreshing. It was nice to not throw up that front to anyone near. Lately, that's all Dean's been doing. He's been ignoring, been hiding the truths. It was his own mistake to even take up the dangerous mark commonly known as Mark of Cain. Cain himself had warned the Winchester it came with strong burdens. At first, he shrugged it off. That was Dean Winchester for anyone, really. The son that was always thinking he could handle it all, who could be the Superman of the story. He'd make the sacrifice each time, no matter the cost. It was a tight time slot for Dean to even think through the possibilities in obtaining the mark. The demons outside were working on breaking in, and in a fast choice, he rolled his sleeve up and took the mark. Back then, in that given time, all he could think was 'Yeah, I've had worse thrown at me. I can handle a cursed mark no problem'. If only that were true. Honestly? The mark was terrifying him. It was changing him, it was turning him into something he feared, disgust even. A monster. Try as he might, he still forced it down, still tried to fool himself into thinking he was perfectly fine, when really he was far from.
With the mark, it wasn't so bad. It burned here and there, ached. But it was nothing he couldn't ignore. He wanted the first blade, which he was trusting Crowley with, but that turned into an absolute mess when the blood-junkie was literally dicking around when time was literally of the essence. Magnus, an ex-Men of Letters held the blade in his own secret sanctuary. Dean thought it'd be simple as pie to get the blade. Boy, was he wrong. The moment he was all too shareable with the mark on his arm, it made Magnus having the idea in keeping Dean as part of his twisted collection. Feeling the mark and blade were brilliant combined, which it was in all actuality. To wield the first blade – the very first ever blade created by Cain himself – the wielder had to also possess the mark somewhere on their body. With Sam sent out of the sanctuary, Dean found himself discovering the real power of the combined duo. Magnus had forced Dean to hold the blade in a mere observation of what'd happen. The moment his fingers wrapped around that blade, it was like a calling. A sudden scorching fire took over, making his body tingle. A new desire soon developed from the mere "experiment". His fingers clutched at the blade's hilt, his arm was shaking as the fire intensified within him. It was a power unlike any other Dean's ever felt before. It was...amazing. It made him feel unstoppable, powerful even! But then, he dropped the blade. The combination was getting to be too much for him, because he was starting to get scared of this power and how it made him feel. Panting, Magnus had only assured him it'd be easier each time. Little did Magnus know that Dean's nerves were unsettling, and that comment made him even more unsettled. It'll get easier? Easier how? Would his desires out-win to the point it becomes a near obsession? His heart was still thundering within his ribcage. His emerald eyes went to the blade as Magnus placed it back on stand. Already, he was missing that power – craving to have it back.
Sammy, he managed to find a way back in. Dean was relieved to see him, see something familiar and helping him remind himself that he was still him. However, he couldn't afford to smile, or for that feeling to last long. He tried to warn Sam, but before he knew it, he was helplessly watching Magnus slice at his brother's face. Dean tried to jerk at the restraints on himself, but nothing! He was hoping for some miracle. That miracle came as a short plump in black. Crowley had freed him, and before Dean could even realize what he was doing, he grabbed the blade from the stand. With his brother needing help, Dean didn't have time to waste. He didn't even realize just how numb he felt at that point, how keen he was in delivering the final blow. He noticed that in the aftermath of it all. Even still, he didn't know what had happened. Killing Magnus without flinching, yeah, he didn't mind that. But looking at Sam and then to the blade, listening to the hushed whispers of it, he got lost in the trance. Luckily, Sam had broken through, and Dean dropped the blade from his hand. Near instant just like before, he was overcome by exhaustion, as if he was holding his breath in too long. His mind was hazy as he just looked around like he was lost. What was happening to him?
Crowley had taken the blade, making the forced agreement that he'll bring the blade when the Winchesters had tracked down Abaddon. Until then, Crowley would keep possession of it. Honestly? Dean was somewhat relieved. It would be less tempting then for him to wanting it, or so he thought. Ever since he's been back at the bunker, he's found himself unable to fully rest. He'd toss and he'd turn, his arm, he'd find himself subconsciously touching it, rubbing it and finally taking notice of the inner-flame that itched the surface. Some were worse than others. He'd have flickers of those moments. The moment he obtained the mark down to the moment he wield the blade for the first time. It all resulted into him obsessively working through many literature in the bunker. He's read them so many times he could more than likely recite them all word-for-word. Sam's taken notice, but Dean threw it under a rug. His obsession, his fear, it all controlled him. Sam went on a hunt alone while Dean was drinking numerous ounces of alcohol behind his brother's back. Dean was wasting away, but alcohol, it was his escape. His not-so-smart remedy in dealing with reality of everything. No matter the amount he's drank, he couldn't seem to get a buzz, but it didn't stop him from consuming many more amounts.
His desire for the blade, it was controlling him. The mark was his steroid and the blade was his boost. The longer he remained in solitude, alone with his own thoughts, the more he got scared. Would he admit it openly? No, never. That just wasn't Dean. Voicing and acknowledging what was really going on, that wasn't him. Ignoring it and stubbornly saying he'd be alright was his way. After all, who else would someone go to if they knew Dean was falling apart inside? He had to stay connected, pieced together for the sake of everyone else.
He stripped from his clothing that felt ten times heavier on him than they should be. His body was released from the weight, safe for the weight still heaving his shoulders. Even still, he felt exhausted. The hunter walked inside the shower and turned the hot water on. He stayed still beneath the trickling waters, allowing it to try and relax him. The water continued to spill down his face, tracing each line within it until he finally brought his hands up to push his hair back. The water was soft on his flesh in it's own form of remedy to waken his tired muscles and body. He seemed to be doing this frequently. Not necessarily to wash his body and hair, but just to feel the comfort of the water, for it to make him feel good for a short moment or more. Today was one of those days. He stared up into the shower head, in-taking soft breaths as he allowed himself to relax. He just stood beneath the water until it ran iced-cold. It was always his alarm in telling him he had to reluctantly face the world through a front.
Turning the brass knobs off, he stepped on out and took the towel near him to towel-dry his hair before wrapping it around his waist. Like each day he's showered, he'd walk over to the steamed mirror and he'd wipe his hand along the glass. He'd stare at the reflection, but all he saw was this tool for killing. He tried to see pass that, tried to see what the mirror to anyone else reflected, but it never happened. As if on cue, the mark began to burn, calling his attention. He stared down to it and softly brushed his thumb along the shape of the scar. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, but let it out in a heavy sigh. Sometimes, he wished it'd be all a nightmare, but each time he opened his eyes, he'd see the mark as if it were mocking him for his stupid choice. His head turned back to the mirror; he saw nothing but black eyes and a twisted smile curling at the lips. It sent a shiver down his spine as he flinched away from the reflection.
If Dean could go back to himself at that moment when he had to choose yes or no in getting the mark, he honestly wouldn't change his answer. That part is what terrified him the most, he thinks. If being able to change the outcome, he'd still choose the path he's going down right now. After all, why wouldn't he? He's spent his life doing nothing but protecting others, doing all he could to ensure their safety...why stop now? The concept was the same, the level was just worse. Being this thing, if it meant taking out Abaddon and protecting people, protecting Sam and Cas, then he'd willingly do it over and over again. That's all he was meant to do, being the disciplined soldier that took all the pain, took all the sacrifices, and smiling while doing it...even if he was crying on the inside.