Summary: Sam and Dean try one last time to destroy the Mark of Cain.
The Evil Within
Dean stared at his breakfast absentmindedly. He hadn't had an appetite in weeks, not since his confrontation with Cain. He saw it every night when he tried to go to sleep, replayed it in his head. At the time, he thought he had been strong, but now he realized how weak he was. Weak enough that he couldn't even admit to Sam and Cas exactly what had happened in the barn that night.
He knew his brother was worried. He knew it by the way Sam watched him when he thought he wasn't looking. He knew it by the hushed whispers Sam and Cas exchanged when they thought he wasn't listening.
If he was being honest with himself, he deserved those covert looks and whispers, because he wasn't being honest with them. He knew if he told them the truth, they would show him nothing but support. He literally had nothing to fear. He wasn't entirely sure what was stopping him.
More lies. He knew exactly what was stopping him. He knew they would jump right into more research and would look for another solution, but he was done. He couldn't handle another plan.
"I have an idea," Sam said tentatively as he sat down at the table his brother was sitting at. When Dean showed no sign that he had heard him, Sam called his name. "Dean?"
Dean looked up from his scrambled eggs. He hadn't even been aware that Sam had sat down at the table.
"Sorry, what?" he asked uncertainly. He pushed aside the newspaper he had pretended to read. He took a bite of his scrambled eggs, but didn't taste anything. He felt like he was chewing rubber.
"I said I have an idea," Sam told him. He was slightly annoyed with Dean, but he tried not to let it show. He was worried that one wrong move and the black eyes that haunted him so much would be back.
Dean let out a tired sigh. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate everything Sam was doing for him, because he did. But everything they tried took them from bad to worse and Dean just didn't have it in him anymore. "I don't know…" he said hesitantly. He knew Sam was willing to try anything to remove the mark. "In case you haven't noticed, our ideas haven't exactly been helping this." Instinctively, Dean's left hand found the mark on his right forearm. He clutched it as if that would make it go away. He hated the thing with every fiber of his being.
He hated that he ever agreed to take it. Nothing was worth the effect it had on him, not even killing Abbadon. He would never admit it out loud, but he felt it in his core. They could have subdued Abbadon some other way, they could have figured something out. If he had been able to predict the consequences – hell, if he has just listened to Cain when he tried to warn him, Dean never would have accepted the burden.
"I know we haven't had the best of luck, but this isn't a way of destroying the mark, more like it's a way of educating ourselves more about the mark," Sam said evasively.
Dean looked up at him confused. "I'm not following you."
"Well, we tried to go straight to the source. Obviously we can't do that now that Cain's dead," Sam explained. "But he was alive for centuries. Don't you think that he tried a few things to destroy the mark, maybe kept a journal or something? I think maybe if we go look around his home in Missouri, we might be able to find something."
"I doubt he's still there. He probably moved on after we first found him." Dean didn't bother looking up.
"Maybe, but don't you still think it's worth a shot?" Sam asked.
Dean looked up at him with a neutral expression on his face. "No," he said without hesitation.
"No?" Sam asked outraged. "What the hell do you mean by no?"
"I mean that I'm done," Dean told him seriously. "Every step we take to get rid of this damned mark, brings me closer to it. I can't do that anymore. I can feel it. It's worse than before. It's over for me and the sooner we accept that, the sooner we can move on and figure out how to kill me."
"You can't die," Sam pointed out.
"I mean really kill me. Not running around like a black eyed freak dead, but six feet under dead. That's the only option left and snooping around Cain's diary isn't going to change anything."
"No way," Sam said. "I don't care if you've given up, I haven't and I'm not going to. I meant what I said before. You are strong enough to beat this mark. Even if everything we try fails, I still believe that you can win."
"No we can't," Dean argued. "You don't understand. You don't see what this is doing to me. It's too strong."
"It's not too strong! I have seen it. Even if you don't realize it, I have seen it. You were able to kill Cain and walk away from that. Sure, it was a couple of days before you were back to normal, and during those days I was worried as hell, but you still recovered. You were stronger."
Dean looked away from his brother. With those words, he could feel the last shreds of his hope dying. He had been holding onto slivers, grasping at whatever fragile tendrils he could. But that broke him. Even his brother's faith in him was misplaced. Sam saw the change in Dean's eyes, but he couldn't explain it.
Before either of the brothers had a chance to say anything, Cas seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "What's wrong?" He asked concerned. There were lines that framed his forehead, lines that were a product of stress, lines that Dean had only started noticing after he took on the mark.
"What makes you say something is wrong?" Dean asked.
"I can't hear you," Cas told him.
"I said, what makes you…"
"That's not what I meant. I can hear you loud and clear, but I cannot hear you. You've stopped praying. You've never been silent, not since we cured you of your demonism. But now? Silence." Cas almost looked frantic. He was standing very close to Dean, studying him as if he would suddenly be able to hear his thoughts.
Dean took a step backwards. He didn't think Cas staring at his facial hair would help anything. "I have not been praying," Dean argued.
"Perhaps not intentionally, but you were projecting your prayers none the less," Cas told him.
Dean stared at Cas. If he didn't know wholeheartedly that Cas was incapable of making jokes than he would have thought he was joking. He didn't know that he could pray without meaning to. For some reason, he felt like he had been violated. His thoughts were supposed to be his and his alone. The idea that someone else was privy to them made him cringe. Dean froze as he considered something. If he was subconsciously praying, what was he saying?
"What do you hear?" Dean asked.
"Nothing," Cas said frustratedly. "That's the point I'm trying to make."
"No, not right now. When I didn't know I was praying, what did you hear?"
Cas' expression shifted slightly. It was almost unnoticeable, but Dean noticed it because he knew exactly what to look for. "The usual. You've obsessed over this mark and trying to find a way to destroy it or control it."
"What else?" Dean asked. When Cas didn't answer, Dean pressed. "What else have you heard?"
"I've heard tidbits. I know you're close to giving up," Cas said frustratedly. Those lines on his forehead were back. They made him look much older than he was. Dean almost wondered if somehow his vessel was still aging.
Dean nearly let out a sigh of relief. "But you haven't heard why?" He asked.
Cas shook his head. "We only know the exact why's when you actively pray to us, but most of the time, it's just you searching for answers. I believe that subconsciously, you are so desperate for answers that you reach out to anything that will listen. I don't listen most of the time. I only check in on you when I am worried or when Sam expresses his concerns."
"Feel free to explain what the hell is going on," Sam said grumpily.
Dean closed his eyes. He needed to be honest with them if there was a chance in hell of them agreeing to kill him. Cas had said he was aware that Dean was close to giving up, but Dean didn't think he knew how close.
"I need to tell you both something," Dean said quietly. He frowned. He could remember so clearly how it felt to hold the blade in his hand. He had felt so alive as if he were breathing fresh air for the first time. He also had felt out of control. He became the servant of the blade the moment it touched him. He fought against that every way he knew how. "That night in the barn… When I was with Cain… I wasn't strong enough. I knew… I just knew if I did… I would have lost."
"Did what? Dean, you had to kill him. We understand that," Sam told him gently.
"I didn't kill Cain," Dean whispered.
He looked away from Sam and Cas for a moment and thought back to that moment in the barn. He had been faced with a choice. He could kill Cain and lose the last shred of his humanity, or he could fight it. At the time, he thought he was being strong by refusing to kill him. Now he realized that he had chosen to be weak. He had let the father of murder go because he wasn't strong enough to kill him. By refusing the mark, he became its servant all the more.
When the time came down to it, he couldn't make himself kill Cain. He had clutched the first blade and slashed it down across Cain's back. He had heard the sickening sound of skin breaking and tasted metal in his mouth. It was a taste of the power he could possess and it was almost too strong. He only knew Cain was screaming by the arch in his back, not by the sound he was making. There was a pounding in his ears that blocked out all sound, but Dean knew all too well exactly what Cain's scream would sound like. He had spared Cain, but he still felt like he had lost.
"This is your warning," he had said. "I have to believe that there is a way to fight this thing, even if you don't believe it. If you do not find a way to stop I will kill you. There will not be another second chance. Consider yourself in remission."
Cain nodded once before he disappeared. Dean stared at the spot where he had been standing moments before. His blood still glistened in the straw of the floor, marking the place where Dean had stabbed him. Dean wasn't sure how Cain had managed to escape, he only hoped he had taken his threat seriously.
It had been several weeks since that incident and as far as Dean could tell, Cain had stopped killing people. Dean had kept his eyes out for any strange murders, but there had been nothing out of the ordinary… well other than the usual monsters they hunted.
"He's… he's alive?" Sam asked uncertainly. "But you said… you said he was gone."
"He is gone. I have no idea where he is," Dean said honestly. "But I couldn't do it. I was afraid. I thought if I killed him I would lose and walk out of there a demon."
"But why didn't you tell me?" Sam demanded. Cas elbowed Sam. Sam shot Cas an annoyed look. "Us. Why didn't you tell us?"
"You looked so proud of the idea that I killed him and was able to walk away from it," Dean whispered. "I didn't want to worry you."
"You didn't want to worry me?" Sam asked incredulously. "I was worried Dean. I thought that by killing him you had lost it. When you went to bed that night, I was terrified that all I would find the next morning was another note saying "Sammy, let me go". I knew you weren't okay. Maybe if you had told me why I would have been less worried. I would have been able to help you."
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?"
"No, it's not okay. You can't keep doing this! Every time you do something you think I'll get angry about, you keep it from me."
"I guess that runs in the family," Dean pointed out angrily. "Where do I start? Ruby, Rowena maybe?"
"I'm not saying I'm innocent in all of this, I'm just saying we've been down this road hundreds of times. When has lying ever been a good thing? I trusted Ruby and started the apocalypse. I trusted Rowena and nearly got you killed. Neither of us are innocent, but at least I'm admitting it. You have to be honest with me. Nothing good has ever come out of you not being honest with me! I'm tired of this man. I get that you're in a strange place right now with the mark, but you can't keep shutting me out… or one day, I'm going to let you. I'm going to let you shut me out and I'm not going to come back."
"You don't mean that." Dean looked at his brother, but he couldn't read his reaction. He felt like he couldn't recognize the man that was standing in front of him.
"I do. I wish I didn't, but I do. I don't want that to happen. I want to help you, I want to find a way to destroy this thing, but I can't do it on my own. I need your help."
"Why do you have such faith in me?" Dean asked bitterly. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"
"You're my big brother," Sam told him softly. All of his anger from before seemed to disappear. "What haven't you done to deserve that?" When Dean looked up at Sam, he seemed so small and vulnerable. When Sam had been very young, Dean had promised himself that he would do whatever he could to keep Sam safe and happy. He hadn't been doing a very good job of that lately.
Dean looked away. He sighed. Sam was right. He was his big brother and he needed to act like it. If he was going to throw himself off the cliff, he might as well humor his brother while he does it. "What's your plan?" Dean asked gruffly.
"Well, we know the only thing that can kill a knight of hell is the first blade right?" Sam questioned.
"Yeah?" Dean asked. He wasn't following Sam at all.
"Well Cain was a knight of hell. You told me that he was planning on calling you one day to have you use the blade on him. He may have changed his mind, but maybe now he changed it back. Let's go to him now. He might know something we don't know about the mark. He might be willing to help us if you're the only one that can give him what he wants," Sam suggested.
"I don't know man," Dean said uncertainly.
Sam shot Cas a desperate look. Cas let out a tired sigh. "I have to agree with Sam on this. We have to exhaust all possible solutions before we begin planning your death," Cas told Dean.
Dean stared at Cas, his expression a mix between disbelief and surprise. "Thanks," Dean said sarcastically.
"What Cas means is that we can't give up if we still have a chance of destroying this thing," Sam said quickly. "Cain might know what that is."
"Don't you think if he did, he would have done something about it already? Centuries ago." This was an old argument. Ever since Sam first started tracking Cain, Dean had been saying the same thing.
"Unless Abaddon was his unfinished business," Sam pointed out. "He may not have been planning on killing her, but that had to have haunted him."
"He cared about Collette. I don't think he gave a damn about Abbadon," Dean argued.
"Well I think it's a worth a shot," Sam argued defensively.
Dean help us his hands in a sign of surrender. "Okay. How do we find him? I know he left Missouri. There was no way he was staying there when all of hell knew his location."
"You know how. Crowley wants to get rid of this thing as much as we do," Sam pointed out. Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam spoke before he could. "Don't even try to give me that Crowley won't help you because you lied to him crap. He lied to you over and over again and you still helped him. Because you needed to. He'll realize he needs to do this."
Dean sighed. He had made the mistake of trusting Crowley too many times, but he knew they needed him. He had dug himself into a hole he couldn't climb out of. There was no going back now. "I'll give him a call."
"I must go now," Cas said quickly. They didn't need his help when they met with Crowley. They had come up with a plan and no matter how flawed it was, it was a plan, so Cas felt okay about leaving them. "I am being called." Cas disappeared without another word.
"I hate that he can do that again," Dean muttered. Sam didn't break his gaze from his brother. He knew Dean was going to try to get out of calling Crowley, but Sam wasn't going to let that happen. This was their last resort. There was no other option.
Dean let out an exasperated sigh and pulled out his cell phone. He hesitated before he called Crowley. "Squirrel," Crowley answered. Dean made a face and briefly debated hanging up and faking a conversation in which Crowley refused to help them. He instantly dismissed that thought. He was a pro at running from his problems, but in this case his problems had an uncanny ability to follow him.
Speakerphone, Sam mouthed. Dean nodded and clicked the little button on his phone.
"I need a favor," Dean said, jumping right into business.
"Why should I help you?" Crowley asked. After a moment when Dean didn't say anything, Crowley continued. "Cain got your tongue?"
"Because you'd also be helping yourself," Sam said loudly. He ignored Crowley's words, hoping Dean would follow his example and do the same.
"Ah Moose. Long time no see. How are things with the step-son of murder?" Crowley asked.
Sam frowned for a moment before he realized what Crowley meant. A dark look spread across Dean's face, showing he too had come to the same realization. "Not now," Sam warned. He didn't know why Crowley always had to pick a fight. He and Dean were worse than a married couple. One minute their saving each other, the next their trying to kill each other. "We really do need your help."
Five hours later, they were leaning against the wall in a dark, creepy alley. Every time they heard any kind of noise they tensed, whether it was the rustling of old newspaper or the creak of a garbage can lid. When Crowley finally showed up, he was over an hour late. "Moose," Crowley said as he nodded to Sam. He completely ignored Dean. The last time they had met hadn't exactly been on the most peaceful of terms. Dean had ended up killing his mother and eliminating any chance they had for this curse to be broken by magical means.
Not that Crowley had been particularly affectionate about his mother. Especially after he found out that Rowena was trying to get Sam to kill him, but he still held it over Dean's head.
"It's about time," Dean grumbled.
"Last time I checked, I was doing you a favor. You're lucky I showed up at all. You do know that this is the worst plan you have ever come up with, right?" Crowley asked sharply.
Dean shrugged. "Definitely not the worst. You of all people should know that," Dean pointed out. He had briefly told Crowley what their plan was over the phone. Crowley was less than pleased, but Sam had been right. Crowley knew it was essential.
"It's definitely down there," Crowley muttered.
"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears," Dean retorted.
Crowley glared at Dean. "If this is how I'm going to be treated, I will leave," Crowley warned.
"No you won't," Sam said quietly. He shot Dean a look to warn him to stay quiet. "You need our help as much as we need yours. This affects you too. Right now Dean is unpredictable and you can't kill him. If he goes dark side again, who do you think will win? You or him."
Crowley frowned. "Let's get this over with. I'm doing this and then leaving. Do you understand? I want nothing to do with this half brained cockamamie idea you call a plan. You want to find the father of murder, fine, but I'm staying out of his way. He's not going to be happy with you. Especially you Dean."
Crowley leaned against the wall and casually knocked on the door. He knocked twice, then five times, then three times, then once. Sam and Dean exchanged an uneasy glance.
The door opened and a frightening looking man opened the door. His eyes flashed black as he looked around. He stepped out of the doorway to grant them entrance once he was certain they were alone. "You are to tell no one we were here," Crowley warned him. "No one." Crowley reiterated. He and the man exchanged a meaningful look.
The demon nodded. "Of course," he promised. He stayed at the door as Crowley navigated the twists and turns of the hallways.
"That was a bit dramatic," Sam said as they walked.
"Things have been crazy in hell. Turns out dear old mum had a group of followers. They are not happy now that she's gone. I've had a whole fleet of demons executed." Crowley frowns. "That sounds barbaric, but she left a huge mess behind. You think you missed out on having a mother? You're wrong."
"Go to hell," Dean snarled. That was a low blow, even for Crowley. He knew perfectly well that their mother's death was the start of it all. It was the start of the demon blood and the hunting. It was the spark that lead to the roaring inferno that their lives became. They missed out on having a mother, because without a mother their lives were complete and utter hell.
"I would, but you need my help. Remember?" Crowley asked.
They walked through a door to a small lounge with a round coffee table and a pair of couches. The coffee table was empty except for a clear mixing bowl.
Dean pulled out the map that Crowley had told him to bring rather than respond. He rolled it out and laid it down on the table. He picked up the bowl and held it out to Sam. They had gathered most of the materials needed for the spell, including ash, a little bit of human blood, and bone fragments of a goat's jaw. Dean put the bowl back down next to the map and looked at Crowley. "How do we even know this is going to work? I have the mark, aren't I technically the source of the blade's power now?"
"Don't flatter yourself. Cain is the true owner of the first blade. He's the father of murder. You're just the step-son. With or without the mark, he is the source of the power."
Dean frowned, but didn't argue. He had to hope Crowley was right.
Crowley walked around the map, muttering under his breath as he did so. He pulled a small vial of a sickening black liquid out of his coat pocket. Sam and Dean knew what it was. It was the only reason they had needed his help in the first place. Essence of Kraken. He poured it into the bowl and mixed everything together. He carefully poured the liquid over the map and handed a match to Sam. "Would you like to do the honor?" Crowley asked. "I know how much you like to play with fire."
"Will you stop already?" Sam asked. "I don't know what is up with you today, but you do not want to mess with me."
"Both of you stop!" Dean warned. He took the unlit match from Sam. "We're not going to accomplish anything if we're constantly at each other's throats." He lit the match and threw it onto the map.
They watched as the map burned up until there was nothing more than a little square left. "Wisconsin?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.
"What the hell is he doing in Wisconsin?" Dean asked.
"He was a beekeeper the last time we saw him. Maybe he's taken up cow milking," Crowley said with a shrug. "Either way, it's not my problem anymore. I've got a kingdom to run and you've got… whatever you want to call it." Without another word, Crowley disappeared.
"I hate that he can do that," Dean grumbled. "Why can everyone do that?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "So Wisconsin," he said slowly.
"Wisconsin," Dean agreed.
Not long after the sun rose, Sam and Dean were driving up to the farm in Wisconsin where they hoped they would find Cain. The moment they drove up to the premises, Dean could feel something calling to him. It reverberated through his blood. Cain was here, there was no doubt about it.
They had to stare at the farm for a moment before they actually approached the house. It was completely abandoned. There wasn't a single living thing in sight. The grass was brown and there were entire patches where it was gone. The house itself look like the perfect hide-out for the father of murder. The roof had collapsed in the front, caving in a little over the front door. The window embedded in the splintery wood has spidery cracks in it. Ivy crawled its way up the walls, looking like it was trying to choke them. Sam half expected lightning to strike the house as they sat there.
When they finally walked down the path of broken stone to get to the door, they half expected the deck to collapse under their feet. When that didn't happen they tentatively knocked on the door.
When Cain answered the door, he didn't look surprised to see them. He invited them in for tea as if they were invited guests, not two people that had sporadically shown up at his decrepit doorstep.
Sam couldn't help but stare as Cain poured them tea. He looked so ordinary. Somehow he had been expecting him to try to attack them, but that wasn't the case. He looked so human it was almost more frightening.
Dean told Cain he was using the bathroom, hoping to find something that would help them destroy the Mark of Cain. "To what do I owe the displeasure of your company?" Cain asked Sam. He didn't give Sam the chance to fabricate an excuse. "I do not know what your brother is searching for right now, but I am certain he will not find it."
Sam wasn't surprised that Cain knew what Dean was doing. They had known he probably would have had his suspicions.
"We wanted to ask you a couple of questions," Sam said quietly. "About the mark and how you controlled its effects."
"It took me centuries," Cain said quietly. "If it weren't for Collette, I'm not certain I ever would have gained control over it."
"You must know something. You never tried to figure out how to get rid of it?" Sam asked frustratedly. This was his last hope.
"You remind me of him you know," Cain said softly. "Abel. He was quick to anger, much like you, but he was always looking out for me. Sometimes I forgot I was the older brother and he the younger. When he found out that I had to kill him, he tried to find a way around it, to spare my soul, but there was no way, not once I had set my mind to it. I think you may find the same will be true for you. You can search all you want, but that does not mean you can save Dean's soul. I am sorry Sam, I truly am."
"What makes you so sure that Dean has made up his mind? What makes you so sure he has given up?" Sam demanded.
"I think you forget who I am. I went through this. Even you cannot deny that there are certain similarities between myself and Abel, and you and your brother. We are a bloodline."
"It's funny. We heard that before when we were supposed to be Lucifer's and Michael's vessels. We found a way around it then, what makes you so certain we won't this time?"
"He is not strong enough. You were," Cain said simply. "Now if you don't mind. The door is that way."
Sam didn't move. His jaw was tensed. Dean returned and looked back and forth between Cain and Sam uncertainly. "Did I miss something?"
"You don't know my brother like I do," Sam told him evenly. "There is nothing he cannot do. He was a demon and now he is human. If that doesn't tell you he can beat this, then I don't know how to convince you."
"He may not be a demon, but don't fool yourself into thinking he is human," Cain said sharply.
"Hey now. I'm standing right here," Dean told them, hoping to ease the tension in the room. It had the opposite effect.
"How many innocent people have you killed since I gave you the mark? How much destruction have you caused?" Cain roared. He turned to Sam. "You want me to help him, but I cannot, because he does not want to be helped."
"You're wrong," Dean said. He was surprised to hear the words leave him. Cain had been right. He hadn't wanted to get help. Maybe it was what Sam had said when he had walked back into the parlor, or maybe it was because he wanted to prove Cain wrong. "If you know of a way to stop this then tell me, because I don't want to be like this. I won't be like this anymore."
"Why should I believe you?" Cain snarled.
"Because you and me, we're not that different," Dean told him without blinking. "We both did what we thought was necessary for our brothers and now we have to live with that evil. You found Collette and managed to control that evil. That's all Sam has been trying to do for me. You are a big brother, even if Abel is dead. You know what it feels like to have to live up to those expectations. All I'm asking for is the same chance."
Cain studied Dean for a moment before he frowned. "About fifty years ago, I found this old book. It was written in a dead language and the closest translation to its title is 'Eternal Damnation'. I thought it might have held the answer I was looking for. After reading it, I believed it to be nothing more than a work of fiction. Several years passed before I realized that the book did have the answers to my questions. It just wasn't what I wanted to hear." Cain hesitated. "I was not strong enough when I found out how to destroy the mark, but I had no reason to be. I had nothing to drive me to be good. You have your brother and I still remember the responsibilities that come along with that. Not a day passes that I don't wish he was still here to depend on me. It is for that reason that I am entrusting you with this knowledge. Before I tell you, you must promise me something. You must kill me before you get rid of the mark. I can't live with this anymore than you can. I have lived a long life and I am tired."
"I promise," Dean said without hesitation. He knew this moment was going to come one day. It had been one of Cain's original conditions for giving him the mark.
"Very well. Listen closely, because I am only going to say this once. I created the knights of hell and despite the evil we wrought, it does not please me to see it end. The first blade is the only thing powerful enough to kill a knight of hell. When you possess the mark it is damn near impossible to control that power, but you must if you wish to do this," Cain warned.
Dean frowned, muddling through Cain's words. His eyes widened as they clicked into place.
"I'm not following you," Sam said confused.
"I am," Dean said curtly. He finally understood exactly what Cain had been saying. He knew why Cain hadn't been strong enough. When he held the first blade, he didn't feel like he was the warrior and the blade was his weapon. It was more like the blade was his master and he existed only to serve it. "Sam, the blade." Dean held out his hand for it without looking at Sam.
"The… what?" Sam asked, trying to look as confused as possible.
"I've felt it since we got in baby back in Kansas. I know you brought it with you," Dean told him, a little harsher than he meant to. The last time Dean had seen the blade, he had handed it to Cas. He wasn't sure what Sam must have told him to convince him to give it back.
"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Sam demanded.
"I didn't want you to change your mind," Dean said with a shrug. "Now give it to me. I need to end this."
"But how?" Sam asked.
Dean looked away. He couldn't answer Sam's question. "Give me the blade."
Sam looked at Cain. "What is he going to do with it?" He asked.
"Don't answer that," Dean ordered.
"Tell me!"
"He's going to kill himself," Cain said bluntly.
"No," Sam said, taking a step away from Dean.
"I have to," Dean said in a broken voice. He had tried it Sam's way, but if the only way to destroy this thing would be to kill himself, then so be it.
"I won't let you do this," Sam warned. He shifted so that he could better defend the blade just in case that became necessary.
"You have to," Dean told him. "This has to end. I can't go on like this anymore. I'm tired."
"No," Sam said stubbornly. "Don't you remember what you said to me when I tried to close the gates of hell? You wouldn't let me sacrifice myself, because you said it wasn't worth the price."
"That was different!" Dean pointed out. "This mark… it's unpredictable. I don't know what it's going to make me know, I just know that if I don't do something soon, it's going to be too late. And you're not going to be able to cure me this time, because I'm not going to be a demon. I'm going to be me. Don't let that happen to me. I can't handle being the monster anymore."
"Dean, we'll figure something out," Sam promised. "We always do."
Dean shook his head. It was different this time. He could feel it.
"Let me end this," Dean pleaded. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Sammy, let me go." It was a low blow and Dean knew it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Dean knew what his words would do to Sam and sure enough, when he looked up again, Sam's eyes were swirling with conflicting emotions.
They locked eyes for several moments. An unspoken conversation passed between them. Sam reluctantly pulled the first blade out of his jacket where he had stashed it before they left the bunker. He thought he had been so sneaky. He had called Cas once they had found out they were coming to Wisconsin.
He studied Dean for a moment before he handed him the blade.
Dean took it, his fingers wrapping around the hilt gently. He instantly felt wide awake as the power coursed through him. The world held a certain clarity he hadn't experienced since the last time he had held the blade. Why would he want to destroy something that made him feel so alive?
"Dean," a voice called. It was deeper than what he had been expecting and it took him a moment to realize that was because it didn't belong to Sam. It belonged to Cain. His soul seemed to hum as his adrenaline started to dwindle. He knew what Cain was going to ask him to do.
"No," Dean said stubbornly. Now that he had the power back in his hands, he didn't want to stop it. His blood sang to him, begging him to kill Cain. The last time he had been faced with this choice, he had chosen wrong. This time, he faced the same dilemma. Somehow, he knew that by killing the father of murder, he would be succumbing to the mark.
"Our deal Dean," Cain reminded him. Dean set his jaw firmly and shook his head. "I told you he wasn't strong enough."
"He is," another voice said determinedly. This voice affected him in a much different way than Cain's. "He's strong enough. Dean, fight this."
Dean didn't turn to look at Sam, he only focused on Cain. He had to, for his brother. He had to be strong enough. Clutching the first blade like a lifeline, Dean plunged it into Cain. The moment he did that, he felt a shift. Something was gone. He felt like he had just gotten his first taste of freedom.
This was good. Oh so good. There was nothing better in the world. He was invincible. Dean didn't realize he was smiling until Sam spoke.
"Dean," Sam said tentatively. "Drop the blade."
An anger unlike any other filled him. "Why should I?" Dean asked angrily. Part of him wanted to fight it, but he couldn't. It was almost like he was being possessed, which he supposed he kind of was.
"This isn't you," Sam told him. He took a slow step towards Dean. Then another. Then another. Until he was right in front of Dean.
He put his hand on Dean's wrist and tried to relax his grip on the blade. That pushed Dean over the edge. He dropped the blade to the ground and in one fell swoop, elbowed Sam in the stomach and pushed him backwards. The guilt that would have normally plagued him was a tiny bubble in the back of his head. It pleased him that he was able to ignore such feelings. Feelings like that made him weak and right now, he was so strong.
Sam didn't give up. When he regained his footing, he felt a pang of pain in his side. He slowly approached his brother. "You don't want to do this," Sam said. "You aren't cruel. You are a good man!"
"Am I?" Dean asked in a whisper. He punched Sam in the face. Hard. He could see the blood on his knuckles and it gave him a certain sense of satisfaction. "Am I a good man?" Dean shouted.
"Yes," Sam said, his hand covering the area where Dean had just punched him.
"And what makes me a good man?" Dean spat. He pushed Sam again, sending him crashing into the wall. With every punch, he lost himself more. "Maybe when I slaughtered men in hell, breaking the first seal?" Another punch, another step away from humanity. "Maybe when I made bad decision after bad decision and got everyone we love killed." Another punch. "Maybe when I took this damned mark. Everyone's right Sammy. I'm not human anymore." He didn't even try to fight the anger coursing through him this time. "I killed Rowena rather than get rid of this mark. Doesn't that tell you something?" He kicked Sam in the stomach, propelling him back into the wall. "I don't want to change. I like this mark." Sam collapsed to the ground and showed no sign of getting up any time soon. "What exactly makes me such a good man Sammy, because I'm not seeing it… Well… I guess at least I didn't hook up with a demon or start the apocalypse. I didn't lose my soul for a whole year. I didn't kill Charlie. Compared to you I must look like a freakin' saint." Dean knew that what he was saying was wrong, he just didn't care.
Sam winced. That hit him harder than anything else had. "Charlie's death was an accident Dean," Sam whispered. He didn't have it in him to muster more volume than a whisper. Her death still weighed so heavily on him. He couldn't look at Dean, mostly because he knew Dean was right. Charlie's death was his fault. He was so hell-bent on stopping the Mark of Cain, he hadn't given a second thought to the people he put in danger.
"Just like starting the apocalypse was. You keep doing these things and then you try to convince yourself it wasn't your fault. Just because you didn't want something to happen, doesn't mean you're innocent. Face it man, you're just as screwed up as I am, you just don't want to admit it."
Sam didn't have it in him to respond. He rolled over with a moan so he could see his brother. "Dean, please," Sam whispered, in one last attempt to reach him. Sam looked right up at his brother. He was in pain, but somehow it didn't compare to what he felt watching Dean so out of control. He had seen what the mark had done to Dean. He had cleaned up after his brother had lost control, but this was different. The man standing before him looked like his brother and sounded like his brother, but it wasn't him. And Sam didn't know how to get him back this time.
Hearing Sam's broken words, Dean fought through his haze to see his brother's bloody face. His fists had caused the cuts and bruises that covered his open skin. He was responsible for the black eye that was forming over his left eye. Dean stumbled backwards. He was appalled. He had hurt his brother. He was supposed to protect him, he had sworn it. Without a second thought, Dean walked over to where the first blade lay, just inches away from Cain and picked it up.
He knew he could do it. He had never felt so in control in his entire life. He could feel the mark tugging at him, trying to pull him back into its world, but it wasn't going to work. He picked up the blade. The resistance of the mark became one hundred times stronger, but still Dean resisted. He had finally crossed the line. The strangers he had killed hadn't been nearly as bad, he had been able to convince himself that it could have been worse. But, Sam was his younger brother. Dean had become the very thing that he used to hate. He was a monster.
He looked away, unable to look at Sam knowing what he was about to do. Dean was confident that Sam would be okay. He was strong, stronger than anyone Dean knew. "I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered.
He saw a looked of horrified comprehension cross Sam's face in the split second before Dean stabbed himself with the first blade.
Dean crumpled to the ground. He was vaguely aware of Sam holding him and calling his name, but he didn't have the strength to respond. He knew Sam would try to save him, but it was too late. Already, Dean felt like the mark was a distant memory. Already, he could feel how heavy his limbs were and how foggy his brain was.
Suddenly there was a bright white light. Dean squinted. In all the times he had died, he had never experienced anything like this. He wondered if this was the infamous white light so many people talked about. But that didn't make sense to Dean. He had gone to heaven, hell, and purgatory. And not once had there been a white light. He supposed this time was different. He wasn't coming back from this.
There was a dot in the distance that was slowly getting closer to him. After a moment, Dean was able to make out the silhouette of a person. At first Dean thought it was a particularly theatrical reaper, but as the man got closer, Dean had a sinking suspicion that he wasn't.
It was a youthful man with curly brown hair. He was dressed only in a black tunic.
The man walked right past Dean towards Cain. He crouched down and touched Cain's forehead. "Rise brother. And come home to me," he whispered.
As soon as he had uttered those words, the man turned his head as if called by an invisible force.
Dean followed his gaze and his jaw nearly dropped. Cain was standing there, but a much younger Cain. His frown lines were long gone and his hair no longer was matted and dirty. Dean knew this was a Cain from a different time.
"I don't deserve this," Cain whispered. "I must stay down here. It's where I belong."
"No," he said quietly. "I have waited a long time for this."
Dean knew he was missing something, but his brain didn't seem to be working right.
"You're Abel," Sam whispered breathlessly. It wasn't a question, but an acknowledgement. For the first time, Dean realized that Sam could see the light and the man.
Dean had assumed that he was the only one that could see it, because he was passing through the veil to the land of the dead.
"I am," the man agreed. He looked towards Dean. "You have done a great deed today. God is pleased with your work. Only you had the power to eradicate the knights of hell and you succeeded. To show his gratitude, he granted me the power to do this." Abel touched his hand to Dean's forehead. A blue light traveled through Dean. There were thousands of tiny lines slowly making their way down to his feet. For a split second his entire body glowed pale blue, then the light disappeared.
Dean felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. His hands instantly found his stomach and he patted it, knowing that his wound would no longer be there. "God has given you a second chance. What you do with it is your choosing, but I urge you not waste it," Abel warned. He turned away from Dean. "Come." He spoke to Cain's spirit.
"Why would you want me?" Cain's spirit echoed. "You've seen what I've done."
"I don't care about that," Abel told him.
"Why not?" Cain demanded.
"Why not? Because you are my brother. And I'm here to take you home," Abel said strongly. Dean stared. It had been exactly what Sam had said to him. Abel held out his hand and after a hesitant moment, Cain grabbed it. For a moment, Abel's face lit up. Then he and Cain disappeared.
Dean got up to his feet and the first thing he did was roll up his sleeve. He marveled at the smooth skin there. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt like himself. The mark was gone. It would never bother him again.
"How do you feel?" Sam asked anxiously. His voice sounded small, like he was overwhelmed by everything that had just happened.
"I feel good," Dean said. He was surprised by how much he meant that. He remembered everything he had done since he had taken on the mark, but somehow that didn't seem like him. It was as if someone else were controlling his body and he was just along for the ride. A gurgling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't had real food in a long time. He had kind of just gone through the motions of being human, but he couldn't remember the last time he was truly satisfied with a meal. "Actually, I could really use a burger."
Sam chuckled. "Just what we need. An order of clogged arteries," he joked. Instantly sobering up, he let a small smile cross his face. "It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back," Dean said quietly. He hadn't realized how far gone he had been. Somehow he had managed to convince himself that he wasn't that bad. He didn't need to look further than Sam's face to know that he had been far worse than he could comprehend. "You… you've looked better."
"It's strange. I had a run in with your fists a couple hundred times," Sam said with a shrug. "Nothing I can't handle."
They stood there awkwardly for a moment, neither really knowing what to say. "So… we gonna do this?" Sam asked.
Dean didn't answer. Instead he wrapped his arms around his brother, his hands curling into fists along his back.
He closed his eyes. They had done it. They had destroyed the Mark of Cain and had killed off the last of the knights of hell. They had somehow survived. A single tear fell down his cheek. It was over.
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