* I hope this chapter is acceptable, I kinda just keep adding on here as I hope it's not too atrociously unplanned. Read and review.
They didn't see Crowley again for two weeks. Despite the not-so-secret desperate voicemails Dean left him claiming he had Abaddon, Crowley didn't respond.
Between moments of somewhat forced, normal Dean, the Cain side would creep to the surface. His obsession with tracking down the ginger demon only got worse between cases. Most nights he didn't sleep. And even when he'd disappear into his bedroom for three hours, Sam wasn't convinced he was sleeping then either. Not to mention Sam was sure Gadreel had said something when Dean was torturing him the other day that had gotten to him. But Dean just denied it and avoided the topic.
Since nearly killing Gadreel, Dean had apparently become aware and put in more of an effort to conceal everything from Sam. Tried to make the mask of sanity sit right on his face again.
But it didn't fit. Sam could see right through it: the dead, shadowed eyes, the restless extremities, and the obvious moments where he'd check out for a bit only to come back either more anxious or more manic than ever.
When Sam woke up, all was silent but for a constant, rhythmic thumping. No shower running, no coffee maker grinding, no keyboard tapping, just steady thumping.
Sam felt the cold fear grip his throat, he tried to prepare himself for whatever state Dean may be in, and then tried to convince himself he was being paranoid.
He stepped closer and closer to the sound, and found an empty whiskey bottle lying on the floor.
Great. Just the icing on the cake.
He rounded the corner and stopped.
Four more empty liquor bottles cluttered the desk, lying in a heap of research, more than likely on Abaddon.
Worse than the obscene amount of alcohol Dean seemed to have ingested was Dean himself. He was sitting, half collapsed in the corner and the sound of the thumping was Dean's head hitting the wall.
Repetitive. Steady. Banging. His head. Against. The wall.
"Dean!"
If Dean had heard Sam, he didn't acknowledge it.
Sam rushed across the room, dropping to his knees beside him he grabbed Dean's shoulders and surveyed him carefully.
There was a superficial but fresh break in some skin on Dean's temple that leaked small traces of blood. His eyes looked dead, like they hadn't seen anything in a long time.
"Dean?" Sam repeated, worry making his heart pound each second of Dean's silence.
Dean blinked, looked up but he just looked lost for a minute as he regained his bearings.
"Dean, you with me?" Sam asked, not letting go of Dean's shoulders.
"It's not working. Nothing's working." Dean said, his voice was low, monotonous. Dead.
"What's not working?"
Dean gestured vaguely towards the desk, "I don't feel it. I don't feel anything."
Sam looked over at the empty liquor bottles and turned back to Dean, who continued,
"I can't sleep, and I can't get a buzz, I'm just sober and conscious and..." He trailed off, rubbing the Mark absently.
Sam wanted to offer some level of help, but what could he say? Nothing he said seemed to matter at this point, Dean was disappearing.
He turned suddenly, that cold stare flickering back Ito his eyes, "And you." He pushed Sam's arms off him, retreating into himself, "Pretend like you care. Pretend like we're fine. Pretend like I'm anything but the weak, pathetic, lonely brother you think I am."
Gadreel's words burned coming out but it hurt worse trapped inside. He knew why Gadreel had said what he did but that didn't make it less true.
"What're you talking about, Dean, I do care, just tell me what-"
"Always better than me. And still always screwing up. I mean, I do too but demon blood? Really?"
Sam wanted to punch him. He was judging him for drinking demon blood four years ago and he'd accepted the Mark of Cain, the mark of the beast. The worst biblical mark you could brand yourself with.
But he knew fighting back would do no good to either of them.
"Always God's favorite. Even when I got dragged to Hell to save you, still, Abel gets the VIP treatment in Heaven."
Dean was delusional or at least Sam told himself that.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his knife, pointing it at Sam.
"You won't be able to get hurt anymore. You'll be safe. No demon blood in Heaven. No Lucifer in Heaven. Not now, anyway."
Sam backed off slowly but as the trembling from Dean's hand spread through his body and the Mark burned white hot, he'd be damn near unstoppable.
"Dean!"
Dean punched him. Dragged him to his knees and held him by the collar of his jacket and then raised his arm, knife twitching violently in his hand.
Fear flooded Sam's mind when he closed his eyes, and worse than that his mind flooded with 'Dean, don't kill me' when he opened them.
He was about to be killed by his brother, and while he might go to Heaven, Dean would have a one way ticket to Hell. But before death, the corrupted, broken, deranged man he'd become would kill the innocent and the guilty alike and Sam would be gone, unable to stop him.
"Hello, boys."
For once in his life, the voice was a relief.
Crowley grabbed Dean's arm at the Mark, held it steady as the killer inside him took the knife and stabbed the demon.
It was a normal knife, and Crowley just allowed Dean to stab him, over and over.
"Dean." Crowley said firmly, "You don't wanna kill your brother."
Dean said nothing, no trace of emotional understanding in his eyes.
"Get out of my way."
"Dean, please-"
"Shut up, Sam."
He was shaking so badly it was a wonder how he continued to grip the knife. He started closing the gap between himself and Sam but Crowley continued to separate them.
"I swear, Crowley, if you don't-"
Crowley wrapped his fingers around Dean's forearm, the Mark burning him viciously, but he ignored that.
He began to recite what sounded like a spell in Latin. Dean closed his eyes as whatever it was took effect but it wasn't enough, the power coursing through him fought against the attack like white blood cells attacking a virus.
Sam watched the visible shift in Dean's now open eyes. They stare daggers into him and then soften. Dean struggled against Crowley's strength and he was sapped of the Mark's power. At least for now.
"Sammy?" Sam's brother said.
"Stop it." Cain's descendant said.
"Oh god." Sam's brother said.
"Let me have him!" Cain's descendant said.
"Dean!" Sam said, reaching out towards him though Crowley used his free arm to hold him back, "I know you're in there, I can see it, you can fight this."
Cain's descendant laughed a manic laugh of hysteria and Sam's brother bit it back with a pained kind of gasp.
"I'm a fucking monster." Dean said, and Sam couldn't be sure which side of him had said it.
Crowley continued the incantation and Dean fell, power drained from him. He struggled to be upright and managed to rasp out before succumbing to the dark that tempted him,
"You were right," he looked at Sam, Crowley standing off to the side, "Something is broken here. Me."
And then he let the darkness take him and sank into unconsciousness, leaving Sam to wonder what he'd really meant when he said something was broken between them. Surely he hadn't meant Dean. Surely there was blame on both sides. Surely he hadn't told his best friend and older brother that the reason they couldn't be brothers was because the older was so damaged that relationships just weren't possible with him. With someone who tortured and killed and lied and did whatever he thought in the moment was right which could range from anything from saving your hide or taking a life. Or both.
Surely he hadn't meant that Dean was so afraid of being alone because he was alone.
