* I hope it's not too obvious that I'm not sure how to end this, I hope you enjoy it regardless though. Read and review.
Sam sat by Dean's bed, wrought with anxiety that he had rarely experienced before. While he still thought it was time for him to let it go, he was starting to see Dean's side to the demon blood. And Lucifer. And losing his soul. And even the end of the trials.
On the one hand, he knew Dean wasn't himself. He had done this to himself but he wasn't in control anymore. But it's hard to not be hurt when your older brother points out all your flaws and then tries to kill you.
But then on the other hand he was also fearing for Dean's life. He was proving to not only be dangerous to others but to himself. He was getting so desperate for a peace of mind, Sam feared what he might do to get it. While also fearing who he'd take down with him.
Crowley wandered into the room and Sam couldn't find it in himself to question the demon's motives anymore. Crowley checked the lock on Dean's handcuffs habitually and then returned to Sam.
"It's not really him. You know that, right?" Crowley said.
"Part of it is."
"The kill-crazy, codependent bastard you see? The one who'd sell his soul or let an angel in you before he let you die? That's your brother." Crowley's voice was direct and to the point but there was a softness to it, "The ruthless psycho that tried to kill you so he wouldn't have to keep saving you? That's Cain."
Sam looked passed Crowley at Dean.
"You think those cuffs are gonna hold him?"
"For now. However, as my last plan to just let him blow off homicidal steam until we can nab Abaddon proved horribly ineffective, I think we oughta detox Pat Bateman over there until such a time as we can get the demon whore."
Sam looked at Dean, remembered the hours he'd spent in the panic room. Remembered the agony he'd had to endure. The agony Dean had made him endure.
"Alright." Sam said, standing up, "What do we do?"
Sam had moved a cot down into one of the dungeons, and tried to ignore the 'precautionary' devil's trap Crowley insisted he paint on the floor. Sam felt a horrific feeling of betrayal in himself as he unlocked the cuffs and left the room to lock the heavy iron door.
Just as he closed it, Dean woke up.
"Sam?" He croaked.
Sam tried to pretend he hadn't heard it but then Dean tried to open the door.
"Sammy. I'm not gonna-"
"Dean-"
"You didn't let me finish my sentence..." Dean mumbled, "I said, I'm not gonna hurt you."
In a less emotionally stressful situation, Sam might've laughed at the obvious Shining reference. But given its actual context in the movie, it was more than a little disconcerting.
"I said, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just gonna bash your brains in. Bash them right the fuck in!"
But for whatever reason, maybe because he knew he'd done the same to Sam or because he'd realized he needed this, Dean just said,
"I'm sorry."
And then was quiet. For now.
But Sam knew that couldn't last.
I deserve this. I need this. I did the same to Sam when he needed it. I'm fine. I'm okay.
These thoughts played on repeat through Dean's head as he tried to drown out the painfully loud sound of his rapid heartbeat. And try to overpower the thoughts that we're clawing to the forefront of his mind no matter how he pushed them back.
He thought he was stronger than you. Smarter than you. Better than you. And for so long he'd been right but you have the upper hand now.
"Stop it. No."
I deserve this. I need this. I'm okay. I'm okay.
He climbed off the cot and started to pace, trying to keep his thoughts from the delusional direction they were taking to no avail.
A slightly more frightening version of himself manifested from his overheating mind stood before him. It's mark was glowing with black veins spreading like a jagged web up his arm, up his neck, just beginning to creep up to the side of his face.
"He always thought he was better than you, that he didn't need you."
"Piss off." Dean said, holding his head as pain pounded against his skull.
"You're weak. Pathetic." Hallucination Dean sneered, the veins circling his eye.
"Hey, you too then, buddy. Now get out of my head." Dean said, turning his back on the thing but it appeared before him again.
"Desperate. Dependent." It continued, ignoring him, "So worthless and self-loathing that your father and brother's condescending voices are all you ever hear telling you you aren't good enough-"
"Shut up-"
"Because your own embarrassingly low opinion of yourself is worth nothing to you next to your brother's and your dead father's. What'd you care what you think of yourself if they don't love you?"
"Sam-"
"You don't even deny your father didn't love you! You need me!" The veins spidered across his forehead, encompassing the other eye, "I make you strong, and their opinions don't matter any more. It's just you, me, and the Blade."
Dean turned away, gripping his sweat soaked hair, "Wake up... Wake up..."
The veined Dean closed his eyes, the veins suddenly glowed as bright as the mark and when he opened his eyes they shined black.
He smiled and then had Dean against the wall by his throat.
"You're awake, Dean! Alert! Embrace this! Embrace me! The killer the father of killing knew you could be."
Dean struggled, wondering if there was any possibility this hallucination was real or whether he was just having a hard time breathing.
"I'm nothing like Cain." Dean gasped.
Demon Dean dropped him, let him slide down to the floor.
Tortured and sick as the Mark sizzled on his arm, Dean was sweating badly and he could feel his own thready pulse coursing through him.
He couldn't sleep. He could never sleep. He laid down on the cool floor, his sweat soaked t-shirt retaining some of the cold. He stared up at the dim light that was still managing to stab through his brain.
He stood up, and climbed up on the cot, getting a little more height he pulled the panel off the light and through it on the floor. He grabbed the bright hot light bulb rod in his fist and ripped it out. It broke in his hand but he didn't really feel it.
He climbed down and sat on the floor. He looked at his bloody palm and smiled.
Sam walked back and forth from the table to the doorway in an agitated sort of way, glancing over at Crowley every other step who was just paging through the first edition of Busty Asian Beauties.
"How long is this gonna take?" Sam asked irritably.
"Who knows?" Crowley said, not looking up from the magazine, "I'd guess a day or two more at most based on my experience of about... Nothing."
Sam rolled his eyes but Crowley continued, "I've got no clue, Sam, I've never detoxed a kill-crazy, Mark of Cain muppet before."
Suddenly the sound of soft laughter carried up the corridor. Sam and Crowley both turned their heads toward the source, though they knew it was Dean.
The two returned to the hallway outside the dungeon where Sam peered in the door through the tiny grate just at eye level.
"Oh god." Sam mumbled, pushing the door open without hesitation.
The glass from the broken ceiling light was littered all over the floor. In the center of the mess was Dean, scribbling words on the floor and walls with his own blood.
Sam walked in slowly, not wanting to startle Dean and as he entered, he began to read some of the writing:
Kill Abaddon.
This was repeated several times. Then:
"You'll get used to the feelings. Even welcome them."
And then:
Bad blood
"I felt connected to you right from the beginning."
First Blade
And scrawled in huge script, the most blood used out of all other writing:
"No, Dean. I wouldn't."