Chapter Two

Dean leant against the metal circular railing framing the entrance to the bunker, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Cas' gold heap of junk roll up in front of him. He honestly didn't know why Cas was even using the shit heap. They had managed to restore the angel's own grace to him fully over a month ago; he could now easily zap himself all over creation in the blink of an eye whenever the mood took him. However, much to Dean's loathing, the angel seemed to have become attached to his 'pimpmobile'.

"Thanks for coming, Cas," Dean said, pushing away from the railing and taking several steps forwards when Cas climbed out of the car. "Seriously, man, you have got to upgrade the wheels."

Cas rolled his eyes heavenward as he crossed around the front of the car to join Dean. "As you've pointed that out every time you see it, I'm more than familiar with your aversion to my car, Dean. However, it has given me great aid whilst I had limited grace. You should be grateful to it."

"Grateful?" Dean scoffed. "I'll be grateful the day I never have to see it again, man." Shaking his head, Dean decided it was better they get back on topic as he could easily complain about Cas shit heap for hours. "So, this spell. Sammy has all his hopes on it being able to work. I need you to take a look, and maybe break the kid's heart gently."

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm afraid that if there was a spell to remove the Mark, Cain would have long ago found it, Dean."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's basically what I told Sammy. Just… take a look, yeah? For the kid's sake."

"Of course. And I will be gentle in breaking the bad news to your brother."

Dean nodded at the honesty behind that statement as they made their way into the bunker. Despite the tumulus past between Cas and his little brother, Cas did care for the kid in his own way.

"Would Sam not be more comfortable in a bed?" Cas asked as they reached the library and spotted the sprawled figure of Dean's little brother who was still out for the count on the floor.

Dean looked over at his brother as he grabbed up the book Sam had found the spell in. "You'd think so, wouldn't ya," he stated, sarcasm lacing every word as he handed the open book to Cas.

Snatching up a half-full bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a glass and settled back into his seat at the table to wait. He momentarily contemplated waking Sam, but just as quickly thought better of it. He didn't feel like shattering the kid's hopes any earlier than necessary. He wasn't delusional enough to think that Cas would find the spell any more useful than everything else they'd checked out and discarded.

Chugging back a mouthful of whiskey, Dean's gaze tracked from Cas back to his little brother. It still amazed him sometimes how much younger Sammy always looked when he was sleeping – or at least he did when he was allowed a peaceful sleep without being barraged by nightmares. Stripped back to the innocence he only displayed nowadays in waking when he was using those patented Sammy Winchester super-powered puppy-dog eyes. And it was in those moments that Dean was bombarded by the reminder of just how much younger than him Sammy really was. They were only four years apart in chronological age but sometimes Dean felt there was a much larger gulf in that bracket. He had always figured it came from not just having the responsibilities of a big brother and practically having been a single parent from the age of six, but also because of that innocence Sammy still retained, despite all he'd seen and been through in his life, especially over the last decade. Dean never wanted to see that innocence snuffed out, but he also knew that if they didn't find a solution to the Mark soon, it was going to break his little brother to the point of no return.

Dean snapped out of his thoughts as his name was called and he turned his gaze to Cas. The angel's earlier frown was back, or hadn't extinguished since entering the bunker. Whatever. Brushing a hand over his hair, he smiled grimly. "So, from a scale of one to ten, one being completely useless and ten just being useless, where do we stand with this spell?" he questioned, sighing wearily as he chugged back a mouthful of whiskey.

"Sam may be on to something."

Dean spat out his mouthful of whiskey. "Wh-what?" he stammered, scrubbing the back of his hand across his whiskey-coated chin. "What did you say?" Cas opened his mouth but Dean waved him off. "I heard what you said."

"Then why did you …?"

"I meant," Dean stressed, "what are you talking about? You said yourself a spell had to be useless."

"Dean, this spell… I'm not sure why but the simplistic nature of it may just be what's needed to counteract the Mark's continuing effect on your soul, even if the Mark cannot be removed from you in its entirety."

"So… what are you saying? That the spell could sever the connection between the Mark and my soul?" Dean frowned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Like putting a bind or lock on it?"

"Possibly, but… to be cast, you would have to be at the height of the Mark's power," Cas told him and Dean could swear there was an apologetic tone in there.

"What would I have to do?" Dean queried, something like a dead weight settling in the pit of his stomach.

"You'd have to become a demon again," Sam's quiet voice interjected as he pushed himself up from the floor and into a standing position, shoulders hunched and lank hair falling around his face. He had clearly been awake and listening to the last few minutes of conversation between Dean and Cas.

"No," Dean stated firmly, looking from his brother to Cas and back. "No way in hell. I'm not putting any of us through that again."

Sam brushed his hair out of his face, raising himself a little more, though it seemed as if it was too great an effort. He just sighed and slumped back to lean against the book shelf behind him. "None of us want that, Dean," Sam told him wearily. "I definitely don't want you to become a demon again. But if this worked …"

"And what if it didn't?" Dean barked at him, chair toppling backwards and loudly thumping against the floor as he shot to his feet. "I'd once again be a demon and I doubt the same tricks would work to get me to sit back for the blood cure to take effect, Sam!"

Sam flinched minutely reminding Dean that the cure hadn't been as straight forward as he'd just made it sound; he had tried to cave his little brother's head in with a hammer during the process.

"If we locked you down before …" Sam blanched and Dean knew what he had just finally realised; that if they were to do this, if Dean were to become a demon once again, someone would have to kill him and place the First Blade in his hold for the Mark to take full control of his soul again.

Sammy wouldn't be able to do it. And there was no way in hell Dean would let the kid do it in the first place. Dean wasn't sure even Cas could kill him if it came to it. That was if they were even contemplating this ridiculous idea; which they weren't!

"Dean, this may be the only way …" Cas started.

"No, Cas," Dean cut him off, looking back and forth between the two. "Just… no," he repeated before walking away.

#SPN#

In the shadows of the kitchen hallway, Sam watched his brother through the archway leading into the crow's nest. Dean was currently using the light table to sand down the thick slab of wood he was intending to use as the top for the kitchen's new breakfast bar; a matching slab of wood to the new island installed last week after Dean had thrown out that old metal one. And by thrown out Sam actually means it ended up a twisted heap of metal once Dean had finished working out his aggression on the thing. Not that Dean had told Sam that, he didn't have to. The specks of blood on the twisted metal, and the gashes on Dean's knuckles were evidence enough. And as much as Sam wanted to know what had caused Dean's descent into such extreme anger that day, he just as much didn't want to know.

"You gonna hover over there all evening, Sam?" Dean questioned easily, but Sam could see the tension running across his big brothers shoulders as he continued to work on the sanding.

Sam stepped out from his not-so-hidden hiding place and into the crow's nest, moving to stand to the left of his brother at the light table. Dean paused in his sanding, shifting the power tool to his right side and glanced over his left shoulder at Sam, giving him a quiet look, but one Sam knew all too well. "Oh c'mon, Dean," Sam grumbled. "It's just a sander." When his brother just continued to stare at him, though adding in the raised eyebrow, Sam rolled his eyes and took three long steps away from the table. "This far enough away for ya?" He questioned lightly as he rested his butt against the side of the old equipment against the wall, amusement coating his tone.

"Yeah," Dean responded plainly and went back to his sanding.

Sam shook his head; always the overprotective big brother.

The noise coming from the sander was the only sound in the bunker for the next several minutes, until Sam figured he should spit out the reason he was standing here watching his brother sand a piece of wood rather than furthering his research. He opened his mouth to speak …

"No."

Sam let out a heavy sigh. It was the same response he'd been receiving for the past three weeks ever since he'd found the spell, even if he'd yet to open his mouth. Just a look in Dean's direction on several occasions had garnered him a straightforward no. He pushed off from the thing he was leaning against, taking a step closer to his brother. "Dean, I really think this spell could work. If we …"

"Sam, I said no," Dean responded sharply, slamming the sander down against the piece of wood. The tool made a spluttering noise before it shut off entirely leaving the crow's nest filled with an unpleasant silence. "Great," Dean snapped, spinning on his heels to eyeball Sam, who couldn't stop the cringe from slicing through him at the anger he saw in his big brother's eyes. "Go do something else, Sam. Now."

"Dean …"

"NOW, SAM!" Dean barked, his voice echoing of the tiled walls and making the sound more like a roar.

Sam swallowed, swiftly taking note of the taut shoulders, the hands clenched into fists, the fire in those eyes. The Mark was flaring. Sam now had enough experience with the outbursts of anger tied into the Mark that he knew on what days and in what situations he should stick around and help Dean through it. Or when to get the hell out of his brother's sight, as Sam seemed to have the unhappy misfortune of triggering most of that explosive anger. And the littlest of things could set Dean off, more so with each passing day.

Swiftly leaving the crow's nest the way he had come, he made it to his bedroom in record time. Closing his door, he slid the bolt across the top of the door, quickly leaning down to do the same with the one on the bottom, and then turned the key in the deadbolt. It wouldn't hold if Dean really wanted in, but it would hold just long enough for Sam to get help if he needed to.

Sam stepped back slowly, eyes fixed firmly on the door. He jumped lightly as the backs of his knees came in contact with his bed. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he sank down onto his mattress. He was being an idiot. This was his brother for crying out loud, he shouldn't have to lock himself away from Dean. But Dean had been the one who installed the locks shortly after his fight with Cain and had ordered Sam to lock himself inside if Dean's anger ever flared too out of control, like life-threatening out of control, and especially if that anger was centred on Sam.

Sam didn't need to be a genius to know why.

Looking around his room, he cursed silently. He wasn't sure how long he was going to be stuck in here for; just long enough for Dean to get his head back on straight and calm the hell down, but Sam wished he'd at least moved some of his more prominent research notes in here as he'd kept meaning to do. At least then he'd be doing something more productive than just sitting on his butt playing the waiting game.

Digging his phone out of his jeans pocket, Sam swiped his thumb across the screen and found the contact he wanted before setting the device to his ear. The call was picked up after a few rings.

"Cas, he's getting worse."

#SPN#

Switching the shower onto a setting that would ensure it was hot enough to sting but not scald, Dean hurriedly stripped his body of its soiled clothing, throwing it into the garbage disposal bag he'd had the forethought to bring with him. He wasn't getting those stains out of any of it.

Stepping into the shower, he pulled the curtain closed and stepped under the spray, feverishly scrubbing his hands and scratching his fingers over his skin, trying to get the majority of the blood off, before he grabbed his soap and started scrubbing his body with it. He wasn't an idiot no matter how much he'd painted himself as one over the years. He was the one who taught his baby brother to read and write; taught him his maths and geography, especially of the back roads of America. He'd been the one who had done the majority of the research for his dad's hunts and taught Sammy how to research, to pick up information and follow the clues where they took you, whilst discarding anything that wasn't needed.

He wasn't an idiot. Which meant he knew he was getting worse, that much was evidenced alone in the past twenty-four hours. He hadn't meant to explode at the kid, but the Mark doesn't really give him much of a say in the matter. The slightest spark of anger inside him and the Mark latches hold of it; like turning the breaking of a sander - a stupid and irrelevant power tool - into something much more sinister and twisted than it actually was.

And scaring the shit outta his baby brother in the process.

"Dean?"

Dean froze. His brother finding him was the last thing he'd been expecting, but at the same time he should have figured that would be exactly what Sam would do. Sam wasn't one to wait around; as soon as he'd figured out Dean had left the bunker Sam would have unlocked the bolts from his door and left the safety of his room. The kid had probably been out there trying to find him, or at least been out there trying to find another way to help.

Feeling under control, Dean pulled back the curtain enough to see his baby brother nervously worrying his bottom lip. He offered a half smile. It was about all he could dredge up even when he had a little brother in need of reassurance. "I'm okay, Sammy," he said, trying for confidence, but failing miserably. "I'm okay," he repeated, unsure who he was reassuring that time. He watched Sam's adam's apple slide up and down as the kid swallowed.

Sam nodded once before he glanced around. "Um… you mind if I …?" the kid trailed off, boot covered foot scuffing the ground.

Dean nodded, understanding his brother needed to be close. "Its fine, Sammy."

"Okay," Sam said, looking at him earnestly as he dropped down to sit on one of the two wooden benches situated in the centre of the bunkers large bathroom. "We're okay, Dean."

Well, fuck. There goes Sammy's forgiving nature butting its ugly nose in. Dean wasn't sure he was ready to be forgiven for yelling at the kid just yet. And he definitely wasn't ready to be forgiven for what he'd done to satiate the Mark the past twenty-four hours, but he would slaughter as many animals and supernatural creatures as necessary if it stopped him from slaughtering his baby brother.

Dean swallowed at the thought, trying to get a hold on the nausea. The last thing he needed was Sam having to worry about him getting sick. Opening his mouth, he leant his hands on the wall in front of him, head bowed and eyes closed as he took several deep breaths. Something nudged his right foot and he snapped his eyes open, watching as a white plastic bowl slid between his feet. Risking moving his head, he managed to shift so he was glancing under his right arm, and watched Sam's bare lower leg and foot disappear back behind the curtain.

Dean shook his head, wanting to laugh - or maybe cry - at the odd situation, but he instead dropped down into a crouch and threw up the very little he'd eaten in the last twenty four hours. When his body stopped revolting against him, he stood on shaky legs and continued to scrub away the evidence of his earlier anger. A moment later, over the soft noise of the running water, he heard Sammy not quite managing to properly hum AC/DC's Back in Black, but the kid definitely got points for effort.

This time Dean did smile. Though it was fleeting. Because this situation was growing more fucked up by the day and Dean really didn't think the answer lay in this spell of Sammy's.

Spells came with consequences – there was always a price.