A/N: This is just a little plot-light snippet that came to me. It would not leave me alone so I decided that I had to write it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural. Just having a bit of fun.

UNDER THE INFLUENCE

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Hurt. Maim. Kill. Hurt. Maim. Kill. Hurt. Maim. Kill. HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill HurtMaimKill. hUrTmAIMkiLL hUrTmAIMkiLL hUrTmAIMkiLL hUrTmAIMkiLL hUrTmAIMkiLL hUrTmAIMkiLL. HuRtMaIMKILLHuRtMaIMKILLHuRtMaIMKILLHuRtMaIMKILL HuRtMaIMKILLHuRtMaIMKILL. Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill Kill

Kill

KIll

KILl

KILLKILLKILLKILLKILL

KI…

Dean can't sleep. Anguish, regret, longing, and yes, even desire, curdle and churn in his stomach as the Mark of Cain tingles and burns on his arm. The constant internal whisper of HurtMaimKill thrums tiresomely against his eardrums.

Sitting up, Dean covers the Mark with his free hand and presses hard, digging his nails into his skin. Drawing blood. He resists the urge to rock back and forth counterpoint to the dark urging. Shoving to his feet, he stalks across the room, braces himself against a wooden dresser and locks his gaze on the hazy mirror hanging on the wall. Searching. Searching. Searching for traces of oily black. That had become routine as of late as the Mark re-exerted its malevolent influence.

Dean dropped his head and sucked in a deep breath. Since Sam had completed the cure, his hatred of the Mark and everything it stood for had so far outweighed its foreordained pull. But how long would it last? Just how long could Dean fight this curse before he gave in completely? Became a demon once again?

He didn't know. The very thought haunted him every moment he was awake and followed him into his nightmares. He couldn't let it happen again. Never again.

Dean pushed away from the dresser and slipped out of his room, padding barefoot through the bunker toward the kitchen. An intermittent ambient glow provided just enough light to navigate. Once in the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the cupboard. The clink of glass against glass sounded like an explosion in the silence. He raised the glass to his lips but didn't drink. The fumes from the bitter liquid drifted upward and stung his eyes. The resultant wetness was suddenly not all due to the liquor's caustic vapors. For the first time in a very long time, Dean wished he could just find a place to run and hide. A dark corner in which to crawl.

He threw back the shot and shivered as it went down. His tongue darted out and caught a stray drop of the amber liquid on his bottom lip. HURTMAIMKILL HURTMAIMKILL Dean slammed the glass down on the table.

"Dean?"

Dean jumped at the sound of his brother's voice behind him. He straightened, palming his wet eyes and slowly turned around. He cleared his throat. "Yeah?"

"You okay?" Sam's voice was thick with worry.

"Uh…y-yeah…" Dean's gaze shifted from side to side, focusing everywhere but on Sam's face. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I…I just couldn't sleep…"

Sam watched his brother's restless twitching, his heart heavy at the shame-faced look that dominated Dean's expression along with the fact that Dean wouldn't meet his gaze. "There's gotta be a way, Dean."

Dean huffed out a tight laugh. "Right."

"We're not going to give up. We'll keep looking."

Dean offered a one-shoulder shrug. "I know. But…" Dean hesitated, tapping his finger against his glass on the table. He cleared his throat again and finally met Sam's steady gaze.

"But?" urged Sam.

"I don't know if you'll…if we'll…have enough time."

Sam swallowed his own fear and stepped in front of his brother. He placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "We're going to figure this out. One way or another…"

FIN