Hi guys. I actually wrote this fic before the season 9 finale in May as a sort of prediction for what would happen, and as you will see I was quite off about a lot of things. xD Regardless, I really hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

TWs For This Chapter: Gore. It's not really the most graphic gore out there (and if you've been watching Supernatural you know it can get gory), but here's the warning anyway~


Gadreel was dead.

Deader than a doornail.

In fact, his innards were mince meat now.

Dean Winchester's hand was plunged into his stomach.

All Sam could think was, 'Oh god.'

The look his brother's eyes were captivated by was absolutely, undeniably psychotic. Sam watched for a moment in silence as Dean satiated himself by tearing Gadreel's corpse apart. He had seen how he tore into Abaddon shortly after putting her down, but this time— Sam himself had been possessed and manipulated by Gadreel and he didn't harbor nearly as much rage toward the angel as Dean's glare alone did. Sam had seen more than his share of bloodshed in his lifetime, and if there was anything that he could say, it was that his brother didn't look good in red.

Castiel watched this from where he was down on the ground. His breathing shouldered a subtle wheeze. He grit his jaw as he took in the bloody scene before him. He himself hadn't been all that fond of Gadreel (How could he be? It was his fault that Lucifer corrupted Eve.), but right now, he truly felt sick to his stomach. Gadreel had been lost. He had allowed himself to be deceived by Metatron, and he had hurt his friends in the process, but he had finally come around and allied himself with them. There had been hope for Gadreel yet. But the angel being ripped up just feet away– Castiel felt an uneasy kinship to his brother in that moment. That angel could have very well been him.

"Dean, stop," Sam said. Dean didn't stop. He was sawing his way up Gadreel's torso with the First Blade, with a vengeance that wouldn't simply be talked down. "Dean!" Sam called louder, "He's dead! You can stop!"

Dean was still going. Up and up through wreaths of bone. Castiel recalled his oath to Crowley, a sure promise to carve out his heart upon his betrayal.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted angrily, "STOP! NOW!"

Dean stopped.

The older brother gazed down at the mess beneath him blankly. The Blade was lodged in Gadreel's chest cavity, with his red-dyed fingers curled around the blackened hilt. He blinked through the splotching of blood on his skin. There was a thrum of energy pinwheeling at the juncture of his elbow. It made his heart jump, and a small noise escaped through barely parted lips. A small voice whispered to him from the back of his mind.

Kill.

Dean's jaw tightened and his focused hollowed itself out. His arm thrust forward.

"DEAN!" Sam's voice echoed through the whispers that held Dean's focus. His arm yanked back.

Kill.

Sam was stepping forward, still calling out to him. The whispers tumbled and cascaded over one another like a rapid river of conscious thought. He couldn't hear Sam's voice anymore.

Kill.

Sam's foot tapped beside him. Silence fell, slaughtering the turbulence of noise all at once. Dean was visibly shaking. Energy crawled through his arm, seeping down to the tips of fingers, and up to his shoulder. His veins glowed the colors of a dying demon, climbing up and up his neck. The Mark was still calling. Dean answered.

His foot scraped.

In a flash, Sam's brother sprang at him with the Blade sweeping a broad, clean arc.