Author's Note – Italics are the flashback. This was written at an un-godly hour of the morning as I sat in a motel room on a weekend vacation from the world. Not sure where it came from, but I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think. Don't own the characters.

Only human

Dean walked into the apartment that he and his father had been sharing. He had just gotten back from a hunting trip. His father sat, reading through a newspaper and looked up when he walked in.

"So, how did it go? You were gone longer than I thought you would be. Everything go ok?"

Dean sat down in the chair across from him. He stared at his hands for a few minutes before answering. "Yeah, everything went fine. I'm gonna get some sleep, been a long day." He stood up and headed for his room. His father stopped him before he got very far.

"Dean, what's wrong? Are you sure everything's ok?" John stood up and walked toward his son. Dean nodded without turning around.

"Yeah dad, everything's fine. Just tired, like I said." And with that he disappeared down the hall and into his room. John shook his head and went back to his chair. He had a feeling that something was wrong, but if it was, Dean would tell him when he was ready.

Dean lay down in his bed without even changing. He lay there staring at his hands. He had been human, he thought. How could he tell his father that? He let his mind wander back to two nights before, to try to see if he should've done something different.

He was driving down the road, a random highway in some random state. He had finished the hunt and was headed back, right on schedule. As he was driving, he saw two cars off to the side of the road. There was a man and a woman standing between the two cars talking. He figured one had broken down, the other had stopped to help. As he got closer, he slowed down a little and moved over slightly into the other lane. He noticed that they actually seemed to be arguing. Well, the man seemed to be yelling while the woman cringed. Dean frowned a little and glanced back at the road. None of his business, he thought to himself. Then he glanced back and saw the man backhand the woman. Without thinking he stepped on the brakes and pulled his car over in front of the first car. He got out and started walking back. The man hadn't noticed him yet, as he continued to yell at her, but she looked his way and seemed to be pleading with him to help.

"Excuse me!" He said as he got closer. "You need any help?" The man turned to glare at him.

"No, we're fine, just having a little talk with my wife, now be on your way mister."

"That's funny, I didn't know talking involved hitting a helpless woman." Dean said as he continued to approach. He stopped when he was at the rear tire of the first car. The woman cringed when he said that and the man grew slightly red in the face.

"Mind your own business mister. This is between me and her, not you!" he growled.

"Well now, you see, you're wrong there. If you want someone to beat up on, why don't you give me a try? Or can you not handle a challenge? Have to beat up on someone weaker than you to get your kicks?" Now that he was closer, he could see other bruises on her face and arms, and she had one hell of a black eye. Dean couldn't stand men who felt the need to beat up on their women. He should mind his own business yes, but damnit, he couldn't let this one go. She looked so pathetic, and so pleading, just like some of the people he and his father help. The man turned to face him.

"Mister, you're picking the wrong person to mess with. Now get back in your car, and get the hell out of here, before you end up hurt." He pulled a knife out of his pocket and took a threatening step forward. Upon seeing the knife, the woman backed up and shrank against the back of the car. Dean shook his head.

"Can't do that. I can't leave knowing you're going to use her as a punching bag. You want to try me? Go ahead!" He moved closer, but not close enough to be within range of the knife. The man growled and lunged for him with the knife. Dean reacted without thinking as all of his training kicked in. Before he knew it, the knife was in his hands, and the man was still swinging at him. Dean was attempting to get a hold of one of the guy's arms so he could use it to twist him around, when the man made a grab for the knife. They struggled for a few moments, and then the man gasped and stepped back. Dean looked down to see the knife in the man's chest, angled up into his heart. The man fell backwards and stared up at Dean with a surprised look on his face, then his eyes glazed over, and he gasped one last time. Dean looked down at his hands, they were covered in blood. Red blood, human blood.

Oh god, what have I done? He thought to himself. The woman ran over to him. He expected her to get hysterical, to scream because Dean had just killed her husband. Instead she looked at her husband cautiously and asked in a shaky voice, "Is he dead?" Dean nodded and she sighed. "Oh God, thank you! I was trying to run away. I got tired of him beating me and he chased me and he said he was going to kill me. How can I thank you, oh God are you going to get in trouble with the cops? It wasn't your fault, I'll tell them it wasn't! You should just leave now, I'll take care of this, don't get in trouble, please you've saved me and I wouldn't want you to get in trouble for it!" Dean stared down at his hands and at the blood on them. Then he went back to his car and got an old T-shirt. He wiped them off as best as he could, then went back and wiped his prints from the knife. The woman kept thanking him and urging him to leave. He knew he should. Cops were trouble, cops meant questions and with all the stuff in his trunk this would be very bad. He turned and walked back to his car and got in. He looked around and saw that there were no other cars in sight. He could leave now and no one would think to question him about this. She was right he couldn't be there when the cops got there. He started the car and pulled back onto the road. He looked back to see her take the knife from his chest and set it on the trunk of one of the cars. Then she pulled out a cell phone and started talking. She waved at Dean as he drove off.

He wasn't sure how long he drove, could've been an hour, maybe more, before he pulled over again. His hands were shaking and his stomach felt like it was in knots. He got out and walked to the other side of his car, leaning against it. The man had been human. It had been human blood on his hands. Not some creature of the night, but a human being. Flesh and blood and bones and alive and Dean had taken that life. He sank down to his knees and threw up. His rubbed his hands on his pants but the blood had been long gone. But it felt as though it was still there. He sat back against his car and stared down at his hands. The hands that had taken a human life. He had killed many things in his life, seen more than anyone his age should have. He had learned to fight for his life at an early age, and had gotten into his fair share of bar fights. But he had never killed a human being before. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, his car at his back, keeping him safe from harm. He finally pulled himself together as the sun started to set. He got back in and drove.

He had driven until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He made sure to put as many towns between the dead man and him as he could though. He stopped at a little motel on the side of the road and pulled in. He checked his hands, to make sure they were clean. They still were, so he went in and got a room for the night. He went into his room and washed his hands, twice. Then he decided that a shower was in order also. After he had scrubbed his hands a few more times in the shower, he got out and climbed into bed. He had nightmares all night long. In the morning he decided he needed to try to get more sleep, so he went and paid for 1 more night, then went to his car and pulled out one of his bags. He opened a bottle of Benadryl and popped 2 into his mouth then dropped the bottle back into the bag. He went back into his room and laid down, waiting for the sleep that he hoped would be peaceful. He finally fell into a deep, drug induced sleep, but it was sleep, none the less. He slept for the rest of the day and most of the night. When he woke, he checked out and drove back home.

Dean shifted on his bed and wondered if he should go talk to his dad. He would understand right? Dean had just wanted to help the woman who clearly needed it as much as any of the other people they helped. It hadn't really been his fault right? No, it was his fault. His father had trained him how to use what he knew to help people, but also had taught him self-control. He had ignored that part of his training in this fight. It was all his fault the man was now dead. He had lost control, angry that this man thought he had a right to beat a woman. He had wanted to teach him a lesson. Make him know what it felt like to get beat up. And instead, he had killed him. Dean curled up on his side and tried to sleep. He couldn't tell his father, then his father would be disappointed in him. He couldn't tell anyone, he had to keep it to himself. So he worked on pushing it to the small corner of his mind, where he hid how he felt, and other things from everyone. He fell asleep finally and when he woke up, he felt a little better. He would go on with his life, the woman would have a better life, and there was one less monster in this world.

Years went by and Dean never thought of that incident again. Then one day, as he was driving down a road with his brother, it all came back when Sam asked him a question.

"Why did your eyes bleed? When Bloody Mary attacked us, why did your eyes bleed? What is your secret?"

Dean stared at the road ahead of them. Because I killed a man, he thought to himself. I tried to bury it in my mind, but she brought it all back. I killed a human being with my own hands. He had dreamt about it that night then tried once again to bury it back in his mind. Sam stared at him expectantly.

"I guess she was just more powerful when she came out of her mirror. So she was able to affect anyone in the room. I don't know. Not like I have any secrets, unlike you." He looked at his brother, wondering if he would take a hint.

Sam did, and replied "I still won't tell you." Then went back to looking out the window. Dean sighed and looked back towards the road. He wondered what had happened to the woman he had saved. He didn't even know her name. He sighed, no need to dwell on it, time to put those thoughts back were they came from and throw away the key.

It was his only secret and as long as Sam never shared his, he would never tell.