Chapter Three: The Fear of Abel

It was 3:27 in the morning and Sam believed that he finished throwing up whatever food and drink lingered in his stomach from the previous day. Standing up from the toilet, he looked in the mirror and stared at his reflection. He got used to seeing himself sick when he was completing the trials to shut the doors of Hell, but that didn't mean he was unfazed by his appearance. His hair was both ruffled and wet with sweat, his eyes bloodshot and his skin ghostly white. He had this twitching under his left eye that wouldn't stop and it annoyed the crap out of him. Of course, he knew that twitching was nothing compared to the scolding he was going to get from Dean.

Dean was already all over his case, not being extremely merciful even with Sam running back and forth from the dining room to the bathroom four times. Even with his tired mind, Sam knew that Dean was being abrasive because he was worried for him. Sam had to admit (to himself) that he was worried too. Something triggered this sickness, and it was strong enough to penetrate the walls of the bunker. He must have been cursed, somewhere, somehow.

Sam rinsed out his mouth and combed his hair back, composing himself the best he could before he headed back out to the dining room where Dean and Cas were pouring over books. Castiel stopped completely when Sam returned, but Dean only spoke with his book in his face.

"You composed enough to tell us what happened, or are you gonna have to make another run?"

Sam collapsed onto the couch, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back. "There's not much to tell," he mumbled.

"Louder, Sammy."

"There's not much to tell," he repeated. He opened his eyes and saw now that he had Dean's full and undivided attention. "I started feeling sick again a few minutes before I called you about the case. And then mid-conversation with you, I realized I wasn't alright and I dropped the phone."

"Alright, and then what?" Dean prodded.

Sam glanced over to the side in embarrassment. "Then I ran to the kitchen, grabbed the strongest whiskey I could, and downed it in record time."

"Why?" Castiel inquired.

"It's strange…" Sam said, looking at Castiel, whose gaze was less intimidating than Dean's. "I just felt this…sheer terror. I never felt anything like it before, not even…in Hell." He didn't like mentioning the place, but he thankfully didn't have to linger on the topic long. "And I just thought to myself: there's only one way to dull these emotions, and that was to get drunk."

When Sam did look over at Dean, he instantly regretted it. It was obvious that Dean was trying to keep calm and think objectively, but with this hitting so close to home, it was tough. And once more, neither of them had a clue what was going on.

"It sounds like something we did in a case a while back…" Sam continued. "…But I can't think clearly. I'm still pretty buzzed."

"I think I know what you're referring to." Dean stood up, pacing a few steps just to get his thoughts out. "Do you remember that case where I was terrified and the terror kept getting worse by the minute? That…ghost sickness."

"That's it." Sam snapped his fingers, feeling relieved for the first time in das that they actually had a handle on something. "I thought of it because the only way you could cope with it was if you were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk!" Dean protested, appalled. "I was just slightly buzzed…"

"Yeah, okay, and that's why you told the deputy that he was awesome on the way out of the station…"

"Well he was a pretty decent guy…"

"Are you certain that it's ghost sickness?" Castiel said. Both Sam and Dean looked over at him, having briefly lost him in the midst of their brotherly banter. The moment Cas brought up doubts, Sam felt his stomach drop again. "What, you don't think so?"

"Actually…" Dean began. "He's got a point. When I was infected, I didn't have gaps of non-terror. It was just sheer panic all the time. Hallucinations, too. You have any of those?"

"No…" Well, there goes ghost sickness, then. Sam fought the urge to sigh in frustration. Whatever this was, it was severely unpleasant. Whenever it struck him, it felt like his life was in extreme danger, but he couldn't see any danger nearby.

"I'm sure it's something we've seen before, somewhere," Dean was saying in the midst of Sam's despair. "We've dealt with a bunch of different things. Curses, for one. I'm wondering about that wedding case, and if there really was a witch involved. It's possible she put a curse on you."

Sam suddenly had a flash of inspiration for this thread of logic. "Why is it a 'she'?"

"Because the majority of witches we've dealt with are girls? I dunno, force of habit, Sam. And not really the thing to be concerned with right now."

"Yes it is." Sam stood up, slowly dragging his feet to the table. He sat down and opened up his laptop, beginning to run a search. "That groom who killed the bride's family could have been a witch. It's possible that he didn't use hitmen to kill the targets; he used spells."

"Alright, let's say that is the case. How'd he get his sights set on you?"

"I don't know, but right now, that's the best lead we have."

"I'm not so certain," Castiel said. As usual, Cas was impossible to read. Doing a double-take to Dean, Sam knew that he wasn't the only one who was having a hard time trying to figure out what he was referring to.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Dean urged, sitting down at a seat at the table as he turned the chair to face the angel.

"What were you doing when it all happened?"

"I told you, Cas," Sam started. "I was researching-"

"No, Sam," Cas disagreed. "Not you. Dean, what were you doing?"

"Me?" Dean blinked. Again, the two brothers shared a confused look. "I was just driving to our next case. A demonic college girl. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Hopefully nothing. Can I ask you another question?"

You just did… Sam thought in Dean's stead. He and Cas went through that kind of game before, but now wasn't the time for sentimentality or joking. Man, his head was killing him from that hangover…If Cas was trying to build a case, it really wasn't obvious what he was going for.

"Go ahead," Dean encouraged.

"What were you thinking about? What were you feeling?"

At first, Sam thought that Dean wasn't responding because he didn't remember. After all, there was always plenty for them to think about and dwell on. It could have been the case he was going to work on, his worry for Sam's state, Charlie off doing research connecting to Oz, or…

Sam suddenly realized that he wasn't breathing. Not the way that he should have been. It felt like somebody just put a pile of bricks on his chest and thrust him into a blazing hot sauna. His eyes began to bulge as he lifted a hand to his chest, as if grasping at his heart would somehow take away the pain he was feeling and slow it down to a reasonable pace. If that worked, he couldn't tell; his whole world began to blur and dull.

He wanted a whiskey so bad.

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean's voice shouted through the haze. Sam gasped out a breath, suddenly having another realization: he was no longer on the couch. He was curled up on the floor, almost entirely balled up and looking at the knees of his older brother. Dean knelt in front of him, with his hand on Sam's shoulder and the other on the floor as he leaned over him for balance.

"Cas? Can you…" Dean began to plead.

"I cannot cure this," Castiel said. "I know what it is…"

"What?" he asked in fear.

"I'll explain once Sam is well. He appears to be recovering."

That was true, but recovering didn't mean that he was much better. But Sam saw how scared Dean was and how sad Castiel looked, and that was motivation enough to try and come out of whatever this was. He was so scared two minutes ago, but now he felt like his life was safe once more. He set a hand on the ground and slowly began to prop himself up, only making it because Dean helped move the weight.

"Sam?" Dean checked, resting both his hands on Sam's shoulders as he ducked his head to look into Sam's eyes.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I think I'm okay." He could hardly catch his breath, he was freezing cold and drenched with sweat, even though he had only been in that state for a minute, tops. Or so he thought. "Sorry, lost it for a minute."

Dean arched a brow, grasping Sam's shoulders more tightly. "Try ten."

Sam lifted his head, meeting and matching Dean's wide eyes. He was seriously curled up on the ground in this state for ten minutes? If he was more with it, he probably would have felt terribly embarrassed. At the same time, he didn't have any control over this, so what could he have to feel responsible for?

"Cas." Sam wiped some wet hair out of his face. "Did I hear you say you know what this is?"

"Yes…"

When Castiel hesitated, Dean turned his body around to look at their friend. He even moved himself to sit right beside Sam, leaning his back against the couch as he looked up. Sam was just as impatient as Dean, but judging by Cas's stalling, his diagnosis wasn't going to be good.

"It's called the 'Fear of Abel,'" he said. "And whenever you long for the blade, Dean, it throws Sam into a state of panic."

"I don't understand…" Sam said slowly. "The Fear of Abel? How haven't we heard of it before with all the research we've done?"

"Accounts are hardly concerned with what Abel experienced. His story was short lived and ended, while Cain's continued. And thus Cain was the article of speculation. But I was there. I know there was more to the situation than your lore and the Bible tells."

Castiel proceeded to tell the story of Cain and Abel. How Cain tried to confront Abel about his conversations with Lucifer several times and how he constantly pleaded with him to stop being so foolish. Abel always ignored him, and thus Cain was forced to make a deal with Lucifer to save his brother's soul.

Contrary to popular belief, Abel knew that Cain was going to kill him. Abel had one final conversation with Lucifer, where Lucifer revealed the scheming he had done with Cain and how Cain was going to slaughter him to send his soul to heaven. Abel sobbed and pleaded with Lucifer to save him from his brother, but Lucifer wouldn't. He forced Cain into his service with a contract, while Abel was bound only by love. Love, which flickered and faded over time. No, Lucifer wanted a more objective slave.

And so Abel ran. He ran all across his little world and tried to hide, but Cain always found him before long. He constantly came close to killing him, but Abel continued running, and every time he did, his terror for his life and terror of his brother increased. One day, when he couldn't take the fear any longer, Abel stood and let Cain cut him down.

Dean was extremely shaken by the story, to say the least. Cain warned him that he was living his life in reverse, and that he would someday kill Sam. And now Sam was showing signs of falling into that destiny. But he hadn't said anything to either Sam or Cas about Cain's words or his destiny. Cas figured it out all on his own, and now, Sam would too.

"Dean?" Sam checked in concern.

Of course Sam was concerned about him when he should have worried about himself. "I ain't killing you," Dean proclaimed without looking over at his younger brother.

"No, yeah, of course not," Sam agreed. "I'm not worried about that."

"Cas, how do we get rid of this 'Fear of Abel' crap?" Dean asked.

Castiel frowned grimly. "There's only one way out."

Neither Sam nor Dean had to ask what that one way was. It fit right into the story. Abel was only to escape his fear when he accepted death. And like Dean said, that certainly wasn't happening.

"Alright then." Dean ran a hand over his face. "I just won't think about it anymore. Can't be that hard."

Once more, Castiel's silence was a testimonial to his thoughts. He clearly didn't believe that it was possible for Dean to stop thinking about the first blade or to desire it.

"I feel I should make you aware of another detail," Cas said after a few moments. "Should Dean kill you, Sam, not only are you relieved of the fear, but the Mark of Cain will also be removed."

Sam sat up straighter. "Are you serious?"

"What's that matter?!" Dean snapped, staring at his brother in horror and appall. "You ain't dyin', are we clear?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it," Sam said in an uncommitted way.

"And there's something else," Dean thought aloud. He looked up at Castiel once more, rising to his feet so he'd be on level with his friend. "I'm assuming that in order for that whole plan to go down, I'd need the first blade. So all you need to do is keep it away from me and everything'll be just fine."

"About that…"

Dean paled as soon as Cas started that sentence. If he would have had less on his mind, he would have found it funny how Cas was picking up more human lingo and phrases. Now certainly wan't the time to acknowledge any of that. "What?"

Castiel took a deep breath. "Whenever you start to think too deeply about the blade, the blade senses you calling out to it. And thus it continues drawing nearer and nearer to you until it's in your grasp."

Dean didn't look at Sam, though he felt Sam's concerned gaze resting on him. Whatever Sam was thinking, he was keeping it to himself. Dean, on the other hand, was thinking of every possible loophole in the argument, as if that would destroy the truth of what Cas was telling them. "I still don't get it," he said for about the tenth time since the start of the conversation. "Cain put as much distance between himself and the blade as he could, and the blade never came to him. Why was that?"

"Because the blade's work was already done," Castiel answered easily. "He received it for the purpose of killing his brother. Once he did that, he was able to resist it more. You, Dean, are feeling and thinking so much about the blade because your task is not yet completed. Until you do kill Sam-"

"I'm not killing Sam!"

"—Until that point," Cas continued, "You will be unable to completely stop thinking about the blade. One day, it will appear in your hand, and you'll be forced to fulfill the blade's purpose."

"Cas," Sam interrupted in a quiet voice. It was a tone that said "Enough—you've made your point."

Upon seeing Dean's distraught face, Castiel began to backtrack. "I apologize for being so grave," he said. "Dean, you've done remarkable things. You and Sam have both defeated Lucifer and stood against God. But there are some things that cannot be overcome. Delay, yes, but there truly is only one way for this story to end."

In those horrifying moments, Castiel's words aligned with Cain's.

"My story began when I killed my brother and that's where your story will inevitably end."

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Author: Reviews are appreciated, as always. They motivate me to write, so if you want chapters to come more quickly, giving reviews is one way to accomplish that. ;)