Last night's episode was amazing, but that final scene killed me.
Sam cocks his gun as he enters the Bunker, preparing himself to either calm or restrain a haywire Dean. Sam doesn't know why he headed back to the Bunker directly after killing over a dozen people, but I surely can't be to just take a shower. However, when he walks in, there's no fight. Their library shelves have been rummaged through—all the meticulously organize files scattered—and the smell of death permeates the air. Sam's mind immediately jumps back to Charlie and how this scene mimics how they found her in the bathtub, but he reels his thoughts in. He can't think about that now, he has to be on his guard. There are four dead on the ground, and Dean—because who else could have done this?—could still be around.
The first man has a knife in his back. The next two, one just a kid, have bullets in their skills. The fourth is wearing a trench coat and—Cas?
"Cas!" Sam exclaims and rushed over to the fallen angel. His face is bruised and bloody, and he's obviously trying to regulate his breathing with his eyes closed. When the angel doesn't make a response, Sam shakes his shoulders. "Cas!"
One of Cas's blue eyes flutters open, though it's red-rimmed and he looks extremely sad. "Sam," he whispers, voice nothing but a low growl, "he's gone."
Sam swallows, trying to comprehend that. He spots the angel blade right next to Cas's head, not even three inches from his face. "Did Dean do this?" he replies quietly, eyes going over the abrasions on just Castiel's face alone. They're deep cuts, and blood is still bubbling from his mouth.
Cas nods slowly, then closes his eyes again. Sam can see how much Dean has hurt him, and not just physically. Castiel is strong, because of his angelic Grace, so whatever moves Dean pulled on him to beat an angel almost to unconsciousness had to be fueled by the Mark. Sam knew now more than ever that they needed to cure him, and quick. Before Dean hurts someone else. He's killed too many people today and, judging by the nerdy disposition on the dead kid, not all of them were murderers. Dean had killed to satisfy the urge for revenge, no matter who he killed. And it looks like he almost killed Cas.
"C'mon, Cas, let me patch you up," he begs, helping Cas sit up.
"I don't need healing. My Grace will heal me," he replies, though still complying to Sam's motions to help him stand.
Sam laughs dryly and without much real humor. "I… Just let me do it anyway. Just to clear my mind. Brooding about Dean won't solve anything right now."
Cas nods and lets Sam lead him to the table, where he sits while Sam goes to get the medical kit. Sam goes over every possible diagnostic for Cas's injuries in his head, though it's not helping. His mind keeps going back to Dean.
They should go out to look for him, immediately. So why are they waiting? Is Cas's ego broken because Dean beat him to a pulp and tried to kill him? Sam hopes not, because he still needs him to help cure Dean. As far as he knows, Rowena isn't working on translating the Book because he hasn't killed Crowley yet. So they're no closer to finding the cure than they were at the beginning of the day, only with a lot more casualties. They need to find Dean before he does anything worse than killing off the Stynes family.
He returns to Cas, who is staring down at his hands. Sam can't tell what he's thinking about, so he says, "Hey, Cas, did he say anything about where he was headed?"
The angel shakes his head. "He said to stay away from him, or next time he won't miss," Cas says in a dejected voice.
Sam doesn't need to ask what Dean missed.
"Well, we'll track him down," Sam insists as he begins to dab Castiel's face with an antibiotic wipe. "I'll track the Impala, he can't have gone far—"
"Sam, listen to me," Cas pushes, voice firm. He looks at Sam through his swollen eyes. "He has killed more than twenty people today. He's angry, and if he sees either of us right now, I have no doubt that he'll kill us. We need to find the cure first, then find him. Rowena does have the cure, correct?"
Sam sighs. "She's still working on it. But I don't care what Dean will do to us. He needs someone there. He doesn't know it, but he needs us with him."
He drives away from Lebanon, goes about three hours out of town, then parks his car and just sits. A classic Motörhead album that he could care less about is playing softly, and he just sits. The Impala's engine hums, low and growling because he hasn't turned the engine off yet, and he just sits. There's nothing around for miles, and he just sits. His body is drenched in blood, and he just sits. Cas's blood, still bright, stains his hands and, somehow, he just sits.
He knows he should feel something. He knows he should be remorseful. He knows that every ounce of his being should feel extreme anguish. He knows that he's racked up an enviable body count in less than twelve hours, knows that he almost added one of his closest friends to the casualties. But, somehow, he feels nothing.
Well, physically he feels a growing headache, a dull throbbing at the base of his head, and a slight aching in his muscles from shooting, punching, stabbing, killing. The Mark is burning with so much pleasure, yet so much desire. He can feel its anger, which thus translates into his anger. It's reprimanding him for not getting the job done, and he feels a shred of regret for not having killed Cas while he had the chance. His opportunity had been so close, yet he'd purposefully missed. His freaking hand had been shaking for a reason he couldn't comprehend, and he'd had no choice but to stab right next to the angel's head in fear of what might happen if he finished the job. The Mark had been screaming its eternal mantra of Kill kill kill kill kill kill, but Dean had been unable to complete the task.
Maybe it's because Cas was his friend. They were friends, right? He'd killed the Stynes because they deserved vengeance—they were monsters—but is Cas a monster? Certainly not. He can't be. But then again, why had Dean tried to kill him? He only kills monsters, right? Isn't that the job description?
There used to be a fine line between killing monsters and killing humans. Over the years, however, that line had blurred and faded to the point where Dean hardly cares what's monster and what's human. If it deserves to die, then they kill it, end of story.
Dean can think of so many times Cas has wronged him. He betrayed him by working with Crowley, was responsible for the angels falling. Cas could be killed easily because he's done wrong. And, since he's done wrong, he's a monster, right? The added bonus is that the angel won't even fight back if Dean tries to kill him, just like today.
The Mark throbs with a newfound agony, so bad that Dean has to clench his teeth and clutch his forearm to slightly subdue the pain. It's begging for more blood, as if the amount that already staining his skin isn't enough. Dean swallows past a lump in his throat, realizing that the Mark is right. He may have killed well over twenty-five people today, but it's not enough. Somehow, he doubts it will ever be enough.
Dean won't sink as low as to slaughter families in their sleep like some sadistic psycho. Even him as a demons didn't do that. However, he won't hesitate to destroy anything and anyone in his path, including Crowley, Cas, or Sam. He knows they'll all try to stop him, to cure him, but he also knows they won't succeed. They're dealing with some dark magic that will ultimately destroy them. Dean tried to warn them, but they didn't listen. Now, they are going to suffer the consequences and all Dean will do is sit back and watch.
Because all of this will end in blood. Dean knows this as he looks at his bloodstained hands—Cas's blood on his hands. Somehow or other, no one will survive this battle.
The Mark will make sure of that.
Anyone else having extreme feels after last night? Well, me too.
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