It was like coming out of a dream. Dean remembered everything that had happened in vivid detail, but it seemed somewhat unreal. It didn't seem like his power that had twisted the third hunter's (he'd never heard this one's name) neck to such an unnatural angle, though he remembered the cracks and crunches as bone and tendons were stretched to a breaking point. He hardly recalled slamming the second hunter, Vic, into the wall hard enough to break his skull open like an egg, but there was the red stain dripping down the concrete and onto his limp figure. And it couldn't have been Dean that had run a pipe through Hank's middle then looked him in the eye with a malicious grin as he reached into the wound to grab hold of his frantically racing heart and slowly crush it. Yet here he sat, spattered with the man's blood, hands still dripping with the stuff as he surveyed the damage. He was pleased with his work, glad to be rid of this group of hunters, but some nagging voice told him that this was bad, this was very wrong. The human and demon portions of himself seemed to have switched places, the truly demonic part now dominant while his shred of humanity was reduced to an insignificant little voice in the back of his mind.

Dean was gradually coming down from the strong power high, forcing himself to think. He had come here for a reason, what was it...

His eyes crossed over Sam, who was still tied to the chair, unconscious. Right, he thought, Sam. The phrase 'keep Sammy safe' involuntarily ran through his head, prompted by that little voice of reason. This pulled Dean out of his reverie as he remembered exactly why he'd killed these men. He effortlessly cut the ropes off Sam, slung him over his shoulder, and teleported the two of them back to the motel, leaving the bodies for someone else to find. Dean carefully lowered his brother onto one of the beds, still unsure of his injuries, before going to clean off all evidence of the small massacre.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, he found that there was a good amount of blood splattered across his face and shirt, a large smear painting the front of the grey tee where he'd carelessly wiped his fingers. His hands and forearms were stained red with sticky, drying blood. Behind the gore, his midnight blue eyes were practically shimmering, the full rush of power evident in this one feature that was truly him. He slightly grinned at the whole sight, but the human bit in his mind protested enough that he finally showered and changed into new, non-bloodstained clothes.

Now entirely coming out of the dream-like state the massacre had put him in, Dean started to feel the repercussions of his actions. On a primal and sadistic level, he still enjoyed the memory of killing the hunters, but rationally, he felt something akin to guilt and regret (as close to guilt or regret as a demon can feel). Those hunters must have friends, each of whom will be looking high and low for their killer. Maybe even family; Dean could directly relate to how irrationally people can act when protecting or avenging a family member. It wasn't really that Dean regretted causing these people grief or sadness, though some part of him thought maybe he should. He regretted possibly putting Sam on their radar for 'helping' him. His guilt was for the fact that he hadn't even considered them while mercilessly killing those men. This truly was the seal of losing his humanity. As a human, all those years ago, Dean was sure that he could have never done anything like that. He wondered what he'd say when Sam woke up. He'd let himself down, been weak enough to give in to his demonic urges. He'd let his brother down, let go, lost control even though he'd promised never to do so. And just when he felt that he was starting to gain some trust back, too.

Dean sat on the coffee table, set his feet on a chair, and rest his head on clasped hands, allowing himself to think and breathe before Sam woke up.

The last thing Sam remembered was being in a warehouse. The hunters had tried to interrogate him, asking questions about Dean, but he didn't tell them anything aside from how bad their plan was. Dean would show up and he would be pissed. He'd warned them that he wouldn't let them catch him, that it was probably a bad idea to make Dean mad. In the end, he was knocked out again as they burned their hex bags.

Now, Sam woke up on a bed in the motel room. He propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head and ringing in his ears. As his eyes focused, he became aware of Dean sitting on the table, head down.

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Dean didn't react. Sensing that something was wrong, Sam sat up completely and moved to the edge of the bed. "Dean?" Silence. "Dean, what happened?" He asked with genuine concern.

Dean shook his head slightly. "I shouldn't have let you leave," he said quietly, "Our luck, I should have known something bad would happen." Sam noticed a strange undertone in his voice, dangerous. Dean lifted his head slightly to look at him. "I'm not okay, Sammy. I've been acting like everything's fine, like nothing's changed, but that's not true."

"What're you talking about?"

"I killed them. Those hunters that took you, I killed all of them." A small yet frightening grin stretched across Dean's face, "And I enjoyed it. A lot. I probably should feel bad, but I don't. They were going to kill you. I'd do it again in a second, because I know what I am now."

"Dean, stop. We can fix this."

"No!" He yelled suddenly, the small grin growing large and manic. "Don't you get it? There's nothing to fix. This isn't just some slip-up. This is what I am. I'm a demon, Sam. All this time I've been pretending like I'm not, but really it's all been leading up to this. I'm not a human, I'm not a hunter. I'm just another demon." Sam started to protest, but Dean held up a finger to silence him before continuing, "I'm not as innocent as you think. Everyone I come across, I just can't help it, I kill them in my head. Hundreds of different ways. I tried not to think like that at first, but you know, I'm almost starting to like it. Good entertainment. The thing is, I just don't care anymore. I don't care about anyone. You're no exception." He hopped down from the table and straddled the chair looking directly at Sam. "I mean, it's not like I want you dead, but the amount of times I've imagined it..." He trailed off, looking somewhat guilty. "But then there's still that little... Human... part of me that says you're still my brother and I should watch what I think, what I say, what I do. Because I don't want to hurt you. I really don't. So you have to kill me." He finished unemotionally, simply stating a fact.

Sam was shocked by Dean's whole confession, scared knowing about the thoughts he'd been having, and somewhat appalled by his 'solution'. "No," he said finally, "no there has to be some other way."

"There is no other way and you know it. I lost my temper and I lost control. You know that it's going to happen again and I might not come out of it, so I'm telling you now while I'm still thinking straight: I want you to kill me. Don't send me back downstairs, it'll only get worse. And don't lock me in that damned panic room, that won't to any good." His voice became quiet, eyes pleading, "please, for whatever's left of your brother. I don't want to be a monster. Bottom line: if you don't, I'll end up going out and wreaking havoc until some other hunter comes along and finishes it. I don't want to bring it to a threat but," his eyes flashed blue quickly, "there's not many things worse than a suicidal demon. So what do you say?"