How Dean Discovered He Was No Longer Marked by Cain
I had never known any life besides the one of being a hunter. For most of my life, it was all I wanted. One of the few times I considered living any other way was the year I spent with Lisa and Ben. They were my family and I loved them. A big regret was that I never told how much they meant to me. Still, I knew they loved me and they accepted me despite how messed up I was.
I loved them enough to stow away the Impala with most of the arsenal that would kill the things that go bump in the night. The only weapons in the house were one gun, one bottle of holy water and plenty of salt. Under the rug in the foyer was a devil's trap – just in case.
An even bigger regret is that they were not enough to make me happy. I was overwhelmed with grief for how I lost my brother. I was consumed with guilt for not being able to save him from hell. I was still bitter because I had to choose between saving him and saving the world. I was always worried – always anxious. I couldn't protect Sam. What if I couldn't protect this family?
In the past few months, I again considered that perhaps this life as a hunter was a worthless sacrifice from the beginning. It cost me nearly every one I cared about except for Sam, and I had come close to losing him time after time. I stepped over the line several times to save him, and I would do it all again. Damn the consequences.
I have done some terrible things for what seemed to be a greater good. I have begun to wonder if I have done more harm in the long run. The Mark on my arm, I fear, has changed me into something evil. I am more afraid that there was enough evil already inside of me that it took very little for me to succumb to it.
As I open my eyes, I remember some truly terrifying nightmares – or perhaps they were memories. I'm not sure. These memories or dreams – or whatever they were – leave me with piercing headache. As I blink at the light that seems far too bright, my head feels like it could explode in pain. I hear a familiar, gravelly voice speaking my name. Looking toward the sound, I can only see the vague outline of a trench coat.
I try to speak but my mouth is too dry and my throat hurts as if I have been yelling. I am both relieved to know Cas is there and afraid because Sam is not. Though I can't remember where I am or what happened, I know that it was something terrible.
"Take it easy," Cas says gently me as he lifts my head to give me water. I drink it because I need to ask him one thing.
"Sam ...," is all I can say – and I can barely say that. Cas doesn't respond and that scares me. Because I can't see his face, I don't know whether he even heard me. I blink until the room finally comes into a clearer view. The face I see watching me is bloody and bruised. A memory surges through my head – a memory of me attacking Cas and raising the angel blade to kill him.
"No," I moan as I squeeze my eyes closed again. This can't be real. He can't be here if I killed him. As I open my eyes again, I expect him to be gone. Instead he is still here, but unhurt, sitting on the bed to comfort me.
"I killed you," I mutter.
"No," he assures me. "You did not."
"But I hurt you," I press.
"I heal fast." He tries to sound indifferent as if me beating him was no big deal. But it was a big deal because I remember wanting to hurt him – even wanting to kill him.
"I'm sorry," I say, but I still can't quite remember what happened. And I don't know what else to say.
"I'm stronger than I look," he jokes again, making light of what I had done to him. I try to acknowledge that he has already forgiven me, but my head hurts and I can't acclimate myself to what's around me. Another vision pops into my head and I panic, grabbing the lapel on his coat. "Sam!" My effort to shout for him is little more than a husky whisper. But I need to know. "Did I kill my brother?"
"No." Cas' voice is firm but I don't believe him.
"I remember …." I couldn't make myself say the words, but I saw myself standing over Sam with a curved blade some sort.
"Sam's alive," Cas says again. He's calm and convincing, but it isn't enough. My hands are still attached to his coat, so I use him as leverage to sit up. I need to find Sam. If he were alive, he would be here, wouldn't he?
Cas complies with my need to get up. He helps me sit on the edge of the bed while I look around. I am in my room in the bunker but I have no idea how I got here. "Where's Sam?"
"Stay," Cas commands and disappears. I blink and remember what it's like to have an angel for a friend – always vanishing without explanation. It occurs to me that his wings are broken and he shouldn't be able to do that. But apparently, he can because he's back within seconds with two pills and some more water. I shake my head wondering if his broken wings were just another bad dream.
"Take these while I call Sam."
He doesn't explain where Sam is, but its comfort enough to know that Cas can contact him. Though he's whispering into the phone, I still hear his side of the conversation. "He's awake …. Just now …. He's confused and he appears to be in some pain …. No, of course I won't leave him alone."
Cas looks back at me as if to make sure I'm still here. Frankly, I don't have much of a choice. I don't think I have the strength to stand, much less to leave. I look at him expectantly.
"He's about half an hour out. He'll be here soon." Cas smiles for the first time since I woke up. "It's good to see you, Dean."
While we're waiting for Sam, I pepper Cas with questions. He patiently answers everything I ask, but I have a feeling he's only telling me part of the story. He tells me that I was out for almost two months and he explains where Sam went and why he isn't there. He decided to bring the Impala home from Nebraska.
Cas places two fingers on my forehead to heal me, I suppose, because I feel a little better – sort of. At least I don't feel like I've been hit by a truck and my throat doesn't hurt.
"I can't fix the headache," he apologizes. "Or the memory loss. Or the visions that you'll have."
I wonder how he knows about those, but he's angel so I don't question it. He helps me stand and leads me toward the kitchen because he thinks I need some food. I'm not hungry, but I follow because I want answers.
"What happened to me?" I ask. I don't even remember being in Nebraska. We make it to the map room and I head for the liquor instead of the kitchen.
Cas sighs but allows me a bourbon as he answers. "The Mark. Look at your arm."
I squint at Cas because I've seen the Mark on my arm too damn much. But he waits without further comment. I gasp and rub the spot where the Mark used to be. Something knocks at my memory. There was a price to have it removed. I remember that, but I don't remember what that price was.
Looking back at Cas, I wait for him to explain and I am frustrated when he doesn't.
"How?" I manage to ask.
"It is a very long story, Dean. I will explain it to you, but you must eat first." He urges me to follow him to the kitchen. "You need your strength."
Another stab of pain cuts through my head as I see another vision – a memory. The images are vague but the meaning is clear. Sam was the price. Cas immediately appears by my side. I realize the pain is so intense that I drop to the floor. He has come to my aid.
He lifts me to my feet, but I raise a hand to push him away. "I need to know, Cas," I say with as much force as my weakened voice will allow. "Did I try to kill Sam?"
Cas sighs and apparently decides that the truth is best. He leads me to a chair and nudges me to sit. "It was your intention, but you couldn't go through with it."
My heart sinks. It crushes me that I considered killing my little brother. It meant very little that I couldn't go through with it because, regardless, I had betrayed him. "I don't know if I can face him," I say, mostly to myself but loudly enough that Cas hears.
"You will face him," Cas replies with an unexpected insistence in voice. "Sam has spent the last two months agonizing over your condition. Most of it, he spent by your side. He needs to see that you are alive and coherent." With a shrug, he adds, "Somewhat coherent."
Obviously he and Sam believed that I would die. I wish I had. It would be easier than living with all the terrible things I had done. It would be easier than knowing that I betrayed my brother. There's something more. I know there is, but I can't remember.
His voice softens as my head drops because I'm too ashamed to look at Cas much less face Sam. "Dean, I know this is difficult. And as you remember more, it may get more difficult."
My head snaps up at that comment. What could possibly be worse than trying to kill Sam – or trying to kill Cas, for that matter? "Thanks for the encouragement," I mutter. I expect him to miss the sarcasm but he surprises me again by his next comment.
"Sam needs to take care of you. He needs to know that you'll be okay."
Maybe it was because my brain was scrambled, but what he was saying didn't make sense to me. I am confused as I search his face for more answers. Then it occurs to me that Sam had been determined to free me of the Mark. Cas wasn't saying how it was removed. I had to know what Sam had done. I start to ask when I hear my name from the entrance of the bunker. Sam has returned.
I look toward my brother, who is standing across the room from me, and I hardly recognize him. His hair is longer than usual and unkempt. His face is covered in a thick beard. He looks worn and somehow older than his 33 years. He seems relieved to see me. But it's the anguished look in his eyes that grab my attention. I can't place the moment, but I know I've seen him look at me that way before.
It takes his long legs only a few steps to cross the room to reach me as another vision rushes through my head – just a snippet of his tear-filled eyes staring at me and nodding. I can't remember why he looks so devastated or what he's telling me to do. The vision lasts only a moment.
Sam grabs me and pulls me into a hug so tight that it briefly knocks me off balance. I don't fall because he has such a grasp on me. I push away all of my confusion and I hug him back because, above all else, I'm glad to see him too.
Then the vision starts again and I'm pulled away from the moment as memories begin flooding back. I remember summoning Death asking him to kill me and learning that he can't kill me and he can't remove the Mark. If it was removed, a terrible evil would be released into the world. The Mark I bore was the lock and key. I remember his one condition for sending me so far away that I would never be able to hurt another person. I agree to that condition and call my brother into a trap.
I tried to explain to Sam that we are really evil and he needed to die so I can be isolated from everyone. He started a fight which I effortlessly won. I could have killed him then. I could have snapped his neck or simply beaten him to death. But I didn't want it to end like that. I wanted him to understand why this had to happen.
And finally he agrees that I need to be stopped – yet still insisting that it was the Mark that was evil, not me. "Do it," he consented, giving Death permission to kill him. I wondered if his consent was supposed to make this easier, because it didn't. When Death handed me the scythe, my heart skipped a few beats. But I was certain this was the only way. And hadn't Cain predicted this moment? I was convinced there was no other ending to this.
But I couldn't do it with his pain-filled eyes watching me. It was almost a plea when I told my little brother to close his eyes so I could kill him. Instead of closing them, he laid before me two pictures of our mother.
As I looked at the pictures, all I could think was that our mother risked everything to make sure her children had a normal life. Sam wanted to be normal, but I pulled him back into an existence that ultimately forced him to be killed by his own brother. And through it all, Sam believed that I was still good. My chest throbbed as I wondered how in the hell could I do this to the person that I had spent my life trying to protect. My job had always been to keep him safe. But Death was waiting behind me to do the deed if I couldn't.
I pulled my eyes from the pictures back to my little brother. "Forgive me," I pleaded, hoping he would understand the words I could not say. Forgive me for putting you in this position. For being angry at you for trying to save me. Forgive me for letting you down.
When I lifted the blade, I knew that I was about to do the most insane thing I had ever done in my life by swinging the scythe over my brother's head and aiming it toward Death.
As the vision ends, I find myself crumpled on the floor with Sam holding me. The pain in my head is so intense, I can hardly think.
"Dean," Sam cries out to me. I look up to him and again those anguished eyes are staring at me. I remember what I almost did to him, and it's more than I can stand. "I'm sorry, Sammy."
"It's okay," his trembling voice tries to assure me. "You're going to be okay."
I don't think he understands why I'm sorry. I've tried to take his life twice now. As he was saving me when I was a demon, I tried to kill him. He waved away my apology then. The things I did – the things I said – weren't really me, he told me then. We never spoke of them again.
This time, I wasn't a demon. Even though I was still infected by the Mark, I was human. And I traded his life to Death. I'll never be able to make up for that betrayal.
I pinch my eyes closed to counter the chilling moments of that memory. I wonder whether the darkness had been released. I wonder if Sam had found another host for the Mark. As my headache eases, I remember one last terrifying detail. I sit up, startling Sam with my sudden movement. My vision had ended a moment too soon.
It is with a sinking sense of dread that I ask my brother, "Did I kill Death?"
