Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters.
"You don't wanna do this."
He's not really sure whether he says this to them, or to himself. He hears the words come out of his mouth, and they form kind of a loop in his head. You don't wanna do this you don't wanna do this you don't wanna do this you don't wanna do this you-
Someone hits him in the face, his blood drips down to his lips, and the sour taste burns his mouth.
The next thing he knows is he's sinking to the ground with the blade in his hand and blood smeared dead bodies all around him. What happened in between is a blur. There's bodies with blade sinking into every inch of them and blood spilling out, there are horrified screams, there's him, but not really him, or maybe that's the real him, or maybe this is all just some kind of twisted dream and they're hunting a Jenie and this will all be over soon.
Nothing is ever really over.
Can you ever really fight who you are? And who is he really?
Dean Winchester, devoted son, the best monster hunter out there, designated vessel for Michael.
Demon.
That's the truth of it. It's in his blood, flowing through his veins, scratching away under his skin, constantly begging him to kill kill kill kill kill…
He has the mark of Cain. He wears the scar like a battle wound. But he knows it's anything but that. He knows it's what's going to be the end of him.
"Dean", he can vaguely hear Sam's voice, too numb to pay attention to anything around him anymore. "Tell me you had to do this." He can only hear his heart thumping wildly, pumping blood at a rapid speed into his veins. Sam hugs him tightly, "It's over."
Nothing is ever really over.
"Are you sure you want to live here, Sir?" Even the real estate broker is unsure of the place. It's secluded from locality and in desperate need of renovation, but his client seems to be unaffected by the fact.
"Yes, this is perfect", he says, staring at the vast expanse of empty space surrounding him through the windows.
The electricity goes a little hay-wire, with the bulb in the room flickering, and the broker hesitates again.
His client, a man in his mid-fifties, with a very distinct scar half visible under the sleeves of his shirt on his arm, simply smiles. "That happens sometimes. I'll take it."
Solitary confinement is the best solution, Cain has decided. He needs to be away from people, and learn to control his urge to kill before it kills everything he ever was. Nobody can find him here, he's safe.
A lone bee enters through the window. And he knows just how to pass his time.
This isn't supposed to happen. He is supposed to be cured. This isn't happening. Sam frantically hugs his brother.
"He's a knight of hell, Sam, and he has the mark of Cain", Castiel says, as if reading his mind, "Perhaps the usual procedure is only temporarily effective on him."
"We'll find a way", Sam assures his brother, and he knows they will, they always do. They have come back from the dead more times than they can count. They are Sam and Dean, the normal rules don't work for them.
All Dean can focus on is his blood, flowing through his veins, scratching away under his skin, constantly begging him to kill kill kill kill kill…
What we did is not who we are? But maybe this is him. Maybe he's a lost cause now. Maybe he is this darkness that he feels inside him every second of his existence. Maybe he's too lost to be saved, too far gone to come back, too twisted to be put back together again.
Nothing ever really ends.
A/N: Thank you for reading! :)
