The sun hit his skin perfectly, like it never had before. He could feel sunburn starting but he didn't care. He'd never had sunburn from the beach before. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had sunburn. With sand between his toes, waves hitting his skin, and the sound of peace washing over him there was nothing better in the world. "Doesn't it feel great Sammy? I told you I'd get my vacation." Dean smiled and turned his head, finally opening his eyes.

But suddenly he was no longer on his peaceful, beautiful beach. He was on the beach of Hell and bloodshed. The sun was now a burning red, tenting the blood flowing into the ocean. All of the happy faces who had once been enjoying the day with him now lay dead on the ground. Rage filled his core, covering the despair and sadness. That was until he heard a whimper, a small terrified whimper. He looked down to see the blade in one hand and his brother, scared and gasping for air, clenched in the other. "Sammy?" He wanted to let go but he couldn't. The mark on his arm shone bright.

"That's right Dean, you finally got your vacation." Cain appeared from nowhere, walking slowly through the sand. "You got your sunny beach and a nice little sunburn to go with it. Aren't you happy?" He smiled something wicked. "Aren't bloodbaths to die for?"

Dean tried to step forward, tried to attack Cain, but his anger only sent the blade in his right hand closer to his brother being held in his left. "You're doing this. This is all you. This is the mark. I'm not…this isn't my fault." Dean tried to rationalize this in his head. There is no way he would do any of this. He was just having some fun on the beach, thinking about joining the girls (who now lay bloody on the ground with their throats slashed) by the net for some beach volleyball.

Cain simply laughed. "That's right. Just keep telling yourself that. Keep encouraging that self-esteem of yours. 'It can't be me, I would never hurt anyone. It has to be the mark.'" Cain laughed at his wimpy impression. "How many people have you hurt over the years Dean? How many have you killed? This is in your blood. This was a part of you long before you stop by for a visit. The mark only brought it to surface, only sped things along." He was closer now, Dean could smell his breath. "You are going to go out bloody. Isn't that something you always said? That you will go down fighting? I bet you never thought you'd be fighting as the bad guy, did you?" He patted Dean's shoulder. "Just accept it Dean."

"No, I won't hurt my brother." Dean couldn't hurt his brother, not the little kid he had raised and spent his whole life trying to protect.

"Fine." Cain waved his hand and Sam was released from Dean's grip only to be held down to the bloody sand floor. "What about your little angel friend?" And with that Castiel appeared, bound and gagged. "Would it be easier for you to start with him? Because you are going to kill them all, it is just a matter of time."

Sam struggled from where he lay. "No Dean, you don't have to do this! You're stronger than…" Before he could finish his words of faith and encouragement, Cain was wrapping a piece of cloth around his mouth.

"Jeez, little brothers, they just talk and talk and talk. It's so annoying. I'm so glad I got rid of mine." He smiled. "So, what's it going to be Dean? Are you going to kill him or should I?" Cain pulled Castiel forward. "The poor thing trusts you unconditionally, I honestly don't get it. I mean, is he even a real angel anymore? Sure, he got his grace back but what's an angel without a mission?"

Castiel didn't look at Cain, didn't listen to his words. He only looked at Dean, his face full of peace and understanding. He knew he was going to die. He had seen that Dean Winchester would be the death of him the moment he pulled him from perdition. And he was glad to do it, because this was his mission. Finding a family, finding a reason to be proud of what he had done in life. Helping two boys save the world and themselves, that was his mission and it was a damn good one.

"No, I won't." Dean closed his eyes. Castiel was the best friend Dean ever had. He had always been jealous of the others in his classes growing up who had close friends but he was never around anyone long enough. Everyone died. He couldn't watch Castiel die again and he most definitely couldn't watch Castiel die at his own hands. "I won't kill him. I won't let the mark do this. I'm stronger than this."

"Ughh! Enough with the self-righteousness! Just let it go! Give in!" Cain grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the blade. Then he removed Castiel's gag. "Kill him!" He pushed the two together.

Without meaning to, without realizing what he was doing, Dean took a swing at the angel. "No!" Dean yelled out against himself and tried so hard to keep the blade at bay but it was hungry for another kill. It was ready to swing at the angel again, begging for it, begging for blood.

"It's okay Dean. Everything is going to be…" Before Castiel could finish the blade sunk deep into his chest and the life in his beautiful blue eyes faded away, causing him to sink into the sand. As Dean pulled away, tears running down his face, the blood-red water reached out and took the body away.

A hand fell on Dean's shoulder. "It felt good, didn't it?" The voice whispered in his ear and there was nothing but "Kill" on his mind. Dean turned and threw the blade through the air, not caring where or what he hit. It was a mistake. As the blade found flesh, as warm blood splatter onto Deans face reminding him of the sun rays he had felt earlier, Sam's face came into view.

Dean fell to his knees, catching Sam and bringing him in to cradle his brother in his arms. "No, no, no, no, Sam this can't be happening. You're not supposed to die like this. You can't die like this. You're supposed to be the one who takes me out. Damn it Sammy! Come on!" Dean shook his brother, feeling numbness spread through his body. "Sammy!"

"Dean? Do you remember when we were kids and we would play cowboys and Indians? You would never shoot me, not even pretend." He smiled. "It's a little ironic now, huh? You spend your whole life protecting me just to kill me. Hell, you brought me back, sold your soul. And now…" Sam coughed, blood spilling out onto his chin. "Fight the mark Dean. Remember what you told me all those years ago, huh? You keep on fighting, fight the good fight? Jerk…" A ghost of a smile played on his face as his last breath faded away with the wind, leaving nothing but an empty body.

"No, no…Sam! Sammy?" Dean felt something inside of him shift.

Cain lowered himself to be eye-level with Dean. "I told you. You will kill your brother."

"NO! Sam!" Dean jumped awake gripping his sheets; his whole body drenched in sweat for a moment he thought it was blood. It took him several minutes to calm his breath, to realize he was in the bunker and not on the bloody beach. Still he couldn't help but look down at his hands expecting to see them covered in blood, Sam's blood. "It was just a dream." He had to take a few more breaths before he could get out of bed and leave his room.

When he found Sam and Castiel in the kitchen, arguing over something in hushed voices he had to fight the urge to run over and hug them both because they were both alive, he hadn't killed them. "Hey, good morning, what are you two bickering about now? Did Castiel forget to change the toilet roll again? I know how that upsets you Sammy." He put on his best smile, reaching for the coffee.

"I don't use the toilet Dean, I'm no longer human." Castiel gave in his usual monotone voice.

"Uh, no, we found a case." Sam hurried away from the subject because they had been arguing about Dean. "So, Eureka, Illinois, there have been some mysterious…" He droned into his usual facts and theories and Dean listened, praying that he had more mornings like this.

Not mornings where he woke up scared and screaming, but mornings where his best friend and brother were right there alive and breathing. Mornings where he could drink his coffee and talk about a case that didn't involve the mark; mornings where he was still the hunter and not the monster, not the murderer. But he knew. He could still hear that voice at the back of his mind counting down the days. He could feel the itching under his skin on his forearm…the mark was calling to him…