Sleep for four days—yeah, right.
Dean tried. Honestly, he did. But he couldn't get himself to fall asleep. His mind didn't seem to care how his body was exhausted and desperately needed sleep; no matter how much he attempted the feat, it seemed impossible.
So what that he was tired, right? Who cared that he felt as if he'd just run one hundred consecutive marathons with a smoker's lungs while having his being ripped apart molecule by molecule, blood boiling? He tried listening the the most scream-o rock that he could to get some of Cain's final words out of his head. It didn't work. You know your life's officially screwed when even Judas Priest can't put an end to your suffering. He attempted to get his mind off of things by reading. Nope. Painfully fabricated images of Sam's mutilated body and Cas's lifeless figure plagued Dean like foreboding visions of the near future. He saw himself, the First Blade in hand, slicing his brother, his best friend. He saw their intestines spilling out, their eyes bleeding, their fear. Fear of him and the monster he's become.
When Sam walked into his room to check on him, Dean pretended to be sleeping. He pretended he was sleeping even though he was actually crying. Crying for his brother, crying for Cas, heck, even crying for Crowley. He couldn't possibly be expected to sleep when he could hear his own maniacal laughter, feel his own hand's carving out his baby brother's heart in a macabre nightmare. Cain's words floated around his head, the demon's taunting voice never leaving him:
It's called the Mark of Cain for a reason! First, first you'd kill Crowley - there'd be some strange mixed feelings on that one, but you'd have your reason, get it done, no remorse. And then you'd kill the angel Castiel, now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful. And then! Then would come the murder you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as a much of a savage as it did me - your brother Sam.
His head was buried in his pillow, and he jumped when someone touched him. Sam. His brother's hand was on his back, soothing him in his time of misery. Dean cried even harder.
Sam said something about finding a cure. Dean bit his lip and didn't say what was on his mind: There isn't a cure. Even if there was something Metatron could do, and that was a big if, there was no way that the angel would even think about helping them. He was probably up there in his heaven jail cell, watching in sadistic amusement the brothers' trial. Dean could almost hear him laughing.
Eventually, Dean calmed down and Sam removed his hand from his brother, leaving the room. A bitter pang of abandonment stabbed Dean in the chest. Even his brother didn't want to be around him for long. How much of a screw-up was he?
Dean Winchester did not, in fact, sleep for four days. Instead, he laid in his memory-foam bed, better than what he deserved, a broken man.
As I'm sure all of you did, I had many feels after last night's episode... This is the result.
Review and let me know hoe you liked it!