Meanwhile, Dean had slammed his door to his bedroom and started pacing back and forth. He had too many feelings and emotions overwhelming his brain and didn't know which ones were actually his or which ones were the monster's. His entire body just felt different. He didn't feel normal human emotions such as exhaustion or hunger, and when Dean felt hurt or guilty or sad it seemed as if they were just forced out of his mind as if they didn't matter. What Dean did feel, however, was hatred and anger and revenge. He felt as if he had adrenaline running through his bloodstream permanently. Dean's entire body was shaking and for a brief moment he felt scared. However, that feeling was pushed out of his mind by the monster within and Dean went to sit on his bed, propping his head up in his hands. He ran his hands over his face as he tried to sort this all out for himself. Dean remembered fighting Metatron, remembered the searing, hot pain of his defeat as the blade slid through his chest in an effortless motion. His memories were fuzzy after that and only briefly remembered Sam struggling to carry him out the door to get help. And then Dean woke up. Crowley was standing at the foot of his bed but Dean hadn't been paying attention to him. When he opened his eyes, the world seemed to look different, as if he was seeing everything in a filter. It was as if everything in the world seemed negative to him, and Dean was becoming overwhelmed with feelings of anger, revenge, and the urge to kill. Crowley had thought that through, apparently, and when he snapped his fingers, demon-proofed handcuffs bound Dean. Crowley then had told him of what he had become. A gift in Crowley's eyes, but a monster in Dean's. Apparently if your last name is Winchester, you can never die when you actually want to. Dean had told Sam that he accepted his death because the mark was turning him into something that he didn't want to be. And look how well that turned out for Dean.
Dean shook his head of those thoughts and tried to focus on solutions instead. The most obvious and permanent solution was already denied by Sam, and Dean knew better than to ask again. When Bobby was possessed by a demon, he fought against it and was able to take back control. However, Dean wasn't just possessed by a demon, he had become one, and therefore could not as easily push out the demon. If he was exercised, Dean as his demon self would still be alive, wandering until he found another meat suit, but his body would collapse. The monster, as terrible as it was, was the only thing keeping his body alive, and Dean wanted to keep his body. On the meantime, while Dean and Sam tried to find a cure, Dean decided he would just have to pretend as if he was human. He would have to fight back in his own way, would have to try to evoke human emotions and to try to retain a grasp on them instead of letting the demon in him push them away. Dean knew Sam wasn't yet comfortable with this whole demon-eye thing, so Dean would just have to try his best to control it. Maybe if I just act like I'm human, I'll still be seen as one.
Dean looked up only when he heard a knock on his door.
"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded tentative, still afraid of the demon now occupying his brother's room. "I'm hitting the sack." Sam paused, unsure of what else to say. He didn't even really know why he even stopped by his brother's room. Neither brother would usually tell the other when they were going to sleep. Maybe Sam was just subconsciously checking to make sure that Dean was still somewhat Dean.
"Uh, yea. Okay. Night I guess," Dean replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He heard Sam's footsteps as he walked away and looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was almost two in the morning. "Right. Demon's don't sleep," Dean muttered to himself, as he answered his question as to why he himself didn't feel tired. At least Sam had stopped by Dean's room. Dean hoped that it meant that Sam had gotten over Dean's abrupt exit hours before. Although, knowing Sam, Dean knew that Sam just wanted to check on him, make sure he didn't leave. Dean also knew that they would have to rebuild their trust for one another, as Dean's change had broken down any trust or security that Sam had towards him, which was not a lot to begin with ever since Dean had gotten the Mark.
Dean got up off his bed and started to pace. He never slept well to begin with, but not sleeping at all just seemed weird to him. He wondered if this was how Sam felt when he was soulless, not being able to sleep or eat despite knowing that it was what he should be doing. Dean, for the first time, didn't know what to do with himself. He should be sleeping, and, on a normal day, if he couldn't sleep, he would get coffee or a drink. Both of those options were now out, and Dean added to his frustration when he realized that he wouldn't be having pie or copious amounts of alcohol in a while. Dean kicked the edge of his bed in lieu of his frustration, and tore his sheets and pillows off his bed, not having a need for them anymore. He stood there amongst the torn sheets and feathers frozen, staring at his complete loss of control scattered around him. Just as Dean started to move, he felt a kind of pull against his body. The feeling became more and more intense until Dean cried out in pain and fell to the ground. He felt as if his body was being pulled in every direction by hooks. Dean closed his eyes and pressed his hands against the hardwood floor, waiting for the pain to pass, until suddenly the floor became soft, and soon Dean was feeling wet grass beneath his hands and the pain had subsided. He raised his head slightly and saw that he was now in an old, wooden shed where the floor had almost completely deteriorated. Dean stood up and tried to move towards the door, only to hit an invisible barrier. Dean clenched his teeth together and looked at the ceiling where a bright red devil's trap was painted, preventing Dean from leaving. Someone had summoned him.
