He pulls up in front of a lonely house on a farm as the sun is starting to bleed across the sky. It's a very similar location to the last one, but he notes a definite lack of bees outside.
He can feel the presence within that house. Last time he felt nothing, but now, there is something… heavy. Calling to something within him that wasn't there before.
He tries the front door to find it locked. Two solid kicks splinter it satisfyingly beneath his feet, and for a moment he simply stands in the doorway, wondering if he'll even be able to get in.
Remembering that any warding that may keep him out would also keep Cain out, he feels a grin curving his lips, and steps easily inside.
The place looks like a storm ripped through it. Furniture lies on its side, windows are shattered, glass litters the floor. Really, it's a miracle the door was still functional. Dean steps gingerly through the mess, keeping his eyes peeled for blood, but there is none. It looks like the mother of all fights went down here, except there is no blood at all.
"Cain?" he calls softly, figuring that he's wanting to make his presence known anyway, and if there's anyone or anything else here, it's not like they could do anything to him.
Total silence in response. Something in his gut tugs him in the direction of a banged-up door to his right, and he pulls it open to find a staircase leading down.
He descends the steps, whistling casually, and the lower he gets the more destruction he sees. Gaping holes spot the walls to the point where he has to question the structural integrity of the building. He can't even identify what any of this debris used to be, but it covers the floor almost entirely. He can't take a step without crunching atop it.
He turns the corner, and there, sitting in the middle of the floor underneath a devil's trap drawn in red on the ceiling, surrounded by a hurricane of wood and glass, right wrist encased in a solid metal bracelet attached to a chain tethering him to the wall a few feet behind him, is the Father of Murder. He looks terrible, but it worsens considerably after he spends a couple seconds blinking at his visitor, and his expression gains a sudden clarity. "No," he breathes, closing his eyes and letting his head hang back, a look of utter exhaustion overtaking his features. "Not you."
Not a great start, but the amusement curves Dean's stolen mouth despite himself. "Nice to see you too, sunshine."
Cain shakes his head adamantly, eyes still shut. "You can't be here."
"Funny—think I am."
Eyes finally opening, Cain drops his head back down and for the first time takes a good look at Dean. It's a strange feeling, being scrutinized so thoroughly and not knowing himself exactly what the scrutinizer is seeing. This body is very new to him. He knows the gist and he could pick him out of a lineup, but the length of his fingernails, his exact height, all the lines on his face… He can't really paint a clear picture.
Thankfully, Cain doesn't let the silence last too long, obviously knowing that the physical characteristics of his host matter a whole lot less than most other aspects of the situation. "How did you find me?" he finally asks, sounding bone-weary and somehow a little confrontational at the same time.
"Same way as last time. If it ain't broke…"
"Leave. That's your only warning."
Crap. So this is what it looks like. Cain is really trying to clean up his act. Everything inside him shudders in revulsion at the idea of being so weak. "Or what, Cain? Or what? You gonna run me through with that First Blade you don't have?"
"I can do so much worse than kill you, Dean."
For some reason the use of the name makes him wince, but he shrugs it off. "I'll use that as an excellent transition, because that 'so much worse' is exactly what I'm here to talk to you about." Pause. Cain's staring at him again, looking him up and down, a knot between his brows. Likely remembering what he used to look like and doing a side-by-side comparison in his mind. This time, Dean returns the favor. Cain's obviously been wasting away down here for a very long time, but exactly how long? Surely not ever since he killed those demons right after beaming Dean and King Bitch outside his house, that was months ago. Almost a year? He can't have been down here the whole time. His hair's a couple inches longer and to say it's unkempt would be a vast understatement, which, together with his rumpled clothes and the fine layer of dust and dirt covering his skin, is… well, not a good look.
"What the hell, Cain?" he asks, still staring incredulously. "What are you doing shackled up down here?"
Cain responds surprisingly readily: "I could ask you the same. What are you doing in that body?"
He shrugs, not sure what Cain actually wants to know. "Joyride?"
"You died. You turned."
"Aw shucks, thanks for noticing."
"I remember," says Cain, his eyes far away, "when I died. I remember waking up and wanting nothing more than carnage."
Something annoying scratches at the sides of Dean's mind, like a buzzing insect. He swats it away.
"Just like you. Just like you likely will be, for years, decades. And then something will happen. You'll meet someone, see something, that will change you. Make you feel… human. It'll hurt, and you'll hate it, but sooner or later you'll find the strength to get past that hurt. To discover something that makes the righteous path worth walking, despite everything. You'll come down and you'll shake and you'll scream but you will tell yourself you have to get through this. And when you've gone long enough without killing to realize that you can go on without it, you might even find the ability to feel something like happiness again."
Dean holds back an eye roll. "Beautiful. I teared up a little."
"I'm holding on by the skin of my teeth trying to be strong here," Cain says earnestly. "You are the last thing I need."
"I'll try not to be offended."
"Whatever you want from me, I can't help you."
"I agree. Not when you're like this. What are you holding on for? That chick? Uh, what was her name… Cosette?"
Cain's eyes are widening, and Dean thinks he sees a warning in them, which he's ready to completely ignore. "Colette," Cain says quietly.
"She's dead, in case you forgot."
"Shut your mouth," Cain snarls. "Dead or not, I made a promise to her."
"You broke it."
"I had to. But now… I need to get back to where I was. I was good. Stable, at least."
"Yeah…" Dean glances around the wreckage pointedly. "How's that endeavor going?"
"Get out, Dean."
He's clearly getting agitated. Dean's not sure whether this is a good thing but he decides to run with it. "What ever happened to the whole 'one warning' thing?" No response from Cain. He's just… glaring, but there's no energy behind it. "What are you gonna do, Cain?" he asks again, goading. "Huh? What are you gonna do?"
"Nothing," he hisses through his teeth. "I will sit here and I will do nothing. I told you I can't help you. I want nothing to do with you."
"Well ain't that a treat. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be this." Cain grits his teeth but Dean doesn't give him time to respond, not that he's sure he even would: "And don't get all defensive, I'm not accusing you. Hell, if anything, I gotta say thank you. From the bottom of my scorched, blackened heart."
"A day will come when you won't thank me anymore," Cain whispers.
He holds his hand up, lip curled in disgust. "Save it. I'm not gonna rage on you for making me into this. But I am not going to take it well if you refuse to finish what you started. I got the experience of some fresh-faced brand new piece of hell spawn but the juice of… well, of you, and I don't know what to do with it, but I can feel just how much that could be."
"I'm not teaching you anything." His voice doesn't waver. "I've handed you the most powerful weapon in the world and for that I am irredeemable, but I'll be damned if I teach you how to use it properly."
"You are damned," Dean comments offhandedly.
Cain carries on as if he didn't hear him: "It would be the opposite of good for the world, and it would be at least as bad for me. I can't be out there. I need to restabilize."
"Yeah, how long's that usually take?" Dean asks casually. "You've been around since the dawn of man. Who knows how many times you've gone through this. How long does it take?"
Cain is silent. His eyes slide shut, but he's clearly still awake and aware. Just… blocking Dean out.
Dean's not about to give up. "I bet you're nowhere close," he presses on. "You probably spent at least a few weeks, maybe months, just trying to hang on before you locked yourself down here, but it's been a long time and you obviously still have it bad. Why not liberate yourself? Your pathetic existence is not going to improve from doing this to yourself."
To Cain's credit, he doesn't respond with so much as a twitch of his cheek.
Dean would love to threaten him. And he could. He could paint a vivid picture of himself sending people down here, pulling and prodding at Cain till he couldn't control himself anymore and they all went down bloody and broken in the fire of his rage. But then Cain would be more likely to seek out the Blade himself to take Dean down, and… Dean really doesn't like his chances in a fight like that. Even if he didn't react so offensively, Dean does not want a teacher who will hate him.
"By the way," he adds, almost as an afterthought, "my brother knows where you are."
At this Cain's head snaps up, his eyes meeting Dean's in alarm.
"In fact, I only got the location spell from him," Dean goes on evenly. "I've got the ingredients for the spell in the back of my car. Maybe, if you have a look, you'll be able to figure out a way to block yourself from it."
For a few seconds Cain is clearly torn, till he closes his eyes again and Dean can't tell what he's thinking anymore.
"Really, nothing to that? You're going to be found, sooner or later. You know you are." Admittedly, he was banking on that being a little bit more effective, but Cain is not responding at all. Cursing mentally, he scours his mind for more arguments. Idea after idea he throws away, knowing it's not good enough, until he lands on what he immediately recognizes as his trump card. If this doesn't work, he doesn't know what will.
After several minutes of silence, he turns, takes two steps towards the exit, and pauses. "Oh, one other thing," he comments, and can feel Cain tensing up, as much as he tries to hide it. "I killed Sam."
Cain's eyes remain closed, but something in the air has just dropped. He doesn't move a muscle.
"The fact that he's almost definitely been brought back by now doesn't really make a difference," Dean goes on. "He was dead. Without a doubt. Betcha you remember what that's like. Betcha you'll never, ever forget."
And suddenly, the pressure—on his shoulders, his calves, his chest, the insides of his goddamn eyeballs, and it feels like he's being crushed from every direction. He's on the floor, arms wrapped around himself, gasping for air even though he doesn't have to breathe, and Cain is standing, standing over him. Something metal crashes to the floor in a crescendo of clanking and Dean can just barely see through his darkening vision the broken chains on the floor next to Cain's feet.
"I am you," he chokes out, unable to see the face of the man he's talking to, "and you are me. I am everything you were and will be, no matter how long you run from it, and you are everything I could be. Don't make me be you alone. Don't let me."
A moment of heavy silence like a looming storm cloud, and then his ribs are crushing his lungs and his brain is pounding against his skull and darkness overtakes him.