A/N: I repeat, MAJOR SPOILERS! Anywho, I heard this song and started typing this story almost immediately...The most recent episode has weighed so much on my heart. Poor Dean...His broken facial expression *the picture I used as the cover* is seared into my brain. :( Idk what they're going to do, and I'm horribly worried. *cries and bites nails nervously waiting for the next ep*

"Where you been, Cain? Where you been?

Where's your brother?

Abel in the dark, Abel in the night,

Heard his brother calling,

Watch your sin, Cain. Watch your sin,

I'm your brother…"

Cousin Marnie— "Cain"

Dean blinked down at the hot Blade in his hand, and his heart plummeted down to his very toes—into the earth below him.

The hellish blade was smothered with blood—warm, fresh, from tip to hilt.

That wasn't all. No, Dean was kneeling in it, his pants soaked with crimson—with sin.

There is no resisting the Mark…or the Blade. There is only remission, and relapse!

Dean dropped the blade, his hand shaking, his green eyes full of lost innocence and honest, bone-chilling, fear. He looked around, the hunter horrified to find complete chaos.

Blood was everywhere…God, there was so much blood.

Then, that's when Dean saw him, an immobile figure in a bloody trench coat.

…Then you kill the angel Castiel.

"C-Cas…?" Dean breathed, begged, his voice broken and as lifeless as the angel before his very eyes.

Now that one—that, I suspect, would hurt something awful.

Castiel's hollow eyes stared back at Dean, almost accursedly, the angel lying in a pool of his own blood. He lay upon his back, one limp hand pressed against his torn chest, his once crisp white shirt now in ribbons and bright red. Tears lay frozen upon his ashen face and the dark, heart-wrenching, sear of his own wings lay spread wide underneath him, still smoking.

Castiel was sliced to ribbons. Deep, ghastly, damning marks lay all over his vessel's body. Though, it was obvious Cas' neck had been cut—his grace gone.

Cas was gone, and Dean's hands felt heavy with blood, with sin.

That's when Dean kicked the Blade as far as he could from him, the broken man letting out a sound inhuman and completely mad. Dean was sick, absolutely stricken, and he threw up everything he had in his stomach, the hunter upon his hands and knees—staring into more blood, and onto a pale hand, long fingers scarlet.

…And then, it would come to the murder you will never survive.

"No," Dean begged to God, begged to the Devil himself as his eyes trailed up a limp arm, shoulder, and to the very face of his nightmares.

The one that will finally turn you into as much as a savage as it did to me…

Dean couldn't breathe, and only stared into the lifeless brown eyes that were once so full of life, so bright.

…Your brother, Sam.

Dean screamed. He screamed so loudly, so brokenly, that the world grew bleak with his pain—with his sorrow.

Dean woke with a shout, the man clawing wildly at his throat—at his face. He threw up harshly, the man's sick coating his floor. He was shaking, trembling, and sobbing so harshly he could barely breathe.

Dean sank to his knees by his bed, in his sick, and pressed his palms against his forehead, praying aloud—more or less screaming:

"P-please, please…!" He cried, begged, his teary green eyes staring at the ceiling. The broken man's hot tears streamed relentlessly down his face, drowning out his pupils, and he raised his arms high.

"God, please…" Dean sobbed into himself, his left hand coming down to dig his tainted fingers mercilessly into the cursed flesh of his forearm. Blood began to flow down his arm but Dean didn't stop, he only continued to plead to the Heaven's above—to God.

"A-anything but that…please! D-don't make me do this—don't let this happen! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…!" He was rambling on, hoping, praying, and pleading that God would answer him.

But, like always, He did not answer, and Dean was left alone. Alone, broken, and on his knees—in his sorrow and sickness—his mind left to wander aimlessly, torturously.

Dean would not let that happen. It would not happen. He would not let it happen!

Darkness shrouded Dean's eyes then, a darkness the Mark gave to him—one of Hell. His pupils seemed to dilate unnaturally, the green almost overcome with ebony—like a demon's.

"…Fine," Dean hissed to God—to anyone, or anything, listening.

Then, like a madman, Dean was upon his feet, the hunter tearing up the room and leaving nothing standing. He screamed, tore, and raged on, until the loud banging of fists upon his door drew him from his chaos.

"DEAN?!" Sam called, cried, and Dean winced and drew back in fear—eyes wide. With magic unknown his door locked itself, and Dean gasped aloud, grabbing his head in both his hands as a tremor of pain coursed through his skull.

"Dean?! Open the door, Dean!" Sam cried still, Dean's door knob twisting frantically to no avail. Dean stumbled to his cabinet and tore the doors open, staring into the mirror inside.

His eyes were black. Completely and utterly bleak, and Dean knew then he was gone.

"Get out of the way!" Another voice demanded and Dean looked at his door then, the tell-tale glow of angelic grace seeping through the crevices of his door. Dean hissed and a growl he didn't know he could make slipped out of his throat, the doorknob stopping its rattling altogether. Silence seemed to trail on and Dean's ragged breaths were the only thing heard.

That is until his door was suddenly torn apart, wood splinters flying dangerously about in the air. Dean let out a sharp cry and crowded against the back wall, shielding his face as debris flew at him. Soon Castiel and Sam fled into the room, breath caught in their throats as they didn't know what they would find.

Sam and Cas looked at the tore up room in horror, the two friends looking at each other for a split second before finding a trembling, crouched, balled-up, mess that was Dean Winchester pressed against the back wall.

"Dean…?" Sam called and Dean noticeably flinched, his trembling body only shuddering that much harder. Dean was shaking his head, his arms still shielding his face—his eyes—away from the world.

Sam surged forward but Castiel gripped his arm, the angel silencing his protests with one, solemn, cautious look.

"Dean," Castiel said softly and the angel was the first to kneel at Dean's side, Sam following closely behind—the younger Winchester heeding Castiel's pleading—warning—stare.

Dean didn't answer and only seemed to tremble more harshly, Sam and Cas wondering how he didn't fall apart with the velocity.

"Dea—"

"Don't touch me," Dean said softly, begged, but it was more sinister than it was pleading and Castiel's instincts were peaked. The angel stiffened, and so did Sam.

"…Please don't touch me," The hunter said again, this time more Dean-like and uncharacteristically meek. "I don't want to hurt you…I don't want to hurt you. Go away, please go away…"

"Dean, you won't hurt us," Sam said softly and Dean's trembling ceased then, a peculiar chill running down both angel and man's spines. Dean lifted his face then, face blank and eyes emotionless—his pupils gone and replaced with solid black, evil.

Before Castiel could react both he and Sam were thrown back with a force so dark, so vile, that it took their breath away. Sam hit the wall, hard, passing out. Castiel flew into an overturned dresser—the angel crushing it completely.

Dean stood slowly, the Mark glowed a bright red, the veins in his arm bright with hellish intent even without the Blade. Castiel wheezed and lifted his head wearily, his eyesight hazy, and looked into the eyes that once belonged to a dear friend—Dean Winchester.

The demon only spared the angel a passing glance as it walked out the eradicated room, fists clenched.

As Dean walked down the corridor, the lights above him blew out one-by-one, the demon leaving a trail of shadow behind him. Tears flowed down his stoic face, his bleak eyes glowing even in the darkness.

Dean had work to do—he had to stop something truly terrible from happening, and if it meant giving in…so be it.

They would not die by his hand. Dean would chop them off, and take his own life…That is the only way—the only way to end this.

I'm saving you, a harsh hand had promised, ancient fingers crushing Dean's air pipe.

Perhaps he was.

"The light goes down a mark from God,

You're shaking now, your brother's blood,

Left alone—what have you done?

Your father's boy, your mother's son…"

Cousin Marnie— "Cain"

A/N: Well? Hmm? Hmmmm? I had tears in my eyes writing this. I am such a baby. ; 0 ;

Best wishes as always,

Lthien