A/N: Music inspiration is kind of my thing (if you haven't noticed by now). ;D

"The brightness of the sun, will give me just enough,
To bury my love, in the Moon dust,
I long to hear your voice, but still I make the choice,
To bury my love, in the moon dust…"

Jaymes Young— "Moondust"

Dean made a rash decision, and he knew he did, but he did it anyway: he took the Impala. He took her and gunned it, not particularly giving a damn when the tires squealed and tore against the pavement.

He had to move, fast.

Meaning, Dean took nothing but himself and whatever the Impala had in her trunk. Unfortunately that also meant that he brought all the 'demon proof' weapons, and a hell lot of holy, freaking, water as well...But that could be dealt with later.

The only thing Dean needed to do now was to get away—get as far away from Sam and Castiel as he could. Because…Because what he was going to do was something that would destroy both of them, and he knew that. But it had to be done.

Dean was going to let go. Totally and completely let himself go full on demon—Knight of Hell. Then he was going to find the Blade—something Castiel had hidden God knows where—and put an end to this, even if it meant taking his own life…

Dean was not going to be a monster anymore.

He would either find a cure—any cure—or end it.

He was going to die as Dean Winchester—human—even if it meant going against God's will.

Not that it mattered anymore. As far as Dean was concerned, God had forsaken his family from the very beginning. Now, Dean was even more cursed—damned for all eternity.

Dean killed Cain.

He murdered the Father of Murder. There was no way in Hell that didn't mean something, and Dean was right. He was cursed, he found, as he thumbed through the Bible—"Genesis" to be exact:

"…So the LORD said to him, "Therefore whoever kills Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold." And the LORD appointed a sign for Cain, so that no one finding him would slay him (16)."

After reading that, Dean had felt nothing anymore—nothing but the burn of alcohol as he guzzled it down, the man not caring if he ever woke up again. Then, and only then, after drinking himself into a stupor, Dean had finally fallen asleep only to be tortured in his mind as well. Nightmares clung to his bones like a sickness—gnawing at them.

Vivid visions of blood—that Dean suspected the Devil had bestowed upon him—plagued his thoughts, and they chewed, and chewed, away at his sanity until there was nothing left but vulnerability and desperation.

The last nightmare completely ripped him apart, molecule-by-molecule, leaving only the evil inside his soul. Real or not, Dean murdered the two people he could not, and it was so vivid—so tangible…

This time, Dean couldn't stop it—didn't want to—and he fled, leaving a beast in his wake—a familiar monster who tossed Sam and Castiel as if they were nothings to him.

To be fair, the demon hadn't hit Castiel, or Sam, nearly as hard as he wanted to. Dean held back—held onto that one slim piece of humanity that was barely hanging on to anything anymore—by the skin of his teeth.

Dean had held back because they were his 'mission,' the mission 'Dean Winchester' had left him before fleeing into whatever numbness he had left in his mind.

Dean Winchester was protecting himself from the inside…

Dean took hold of the creaking rear-view mirror with his right hand, his black eyes blinking once before returning to their innocent green. He was in the clear. There was no sign of Sam—or Castiel rather—and the demon pursed his lips, looking back at the road again, a mixture of worry and disappointment on his face.

Perhaps he hit them harder than he thought.

Castiel had passed out, the angel not knowing how long—but it was long enough, and Sam and he needed to stop Dean.

Castiel pushed his body up, a pained look on his face. With his borrowed grace, the angel felt weaker—sick, and it frustrated him to no end. He coughed—wheezed really—into his right hand. He pulled it back to stare at blood, small droplets running down his tanned flesh.

His grace was going to run out.

The angel cursed aloud, the divine being slamming his fist down in frustration. Cas then looked at Sam, his blood running cold when he noticed that the hunter wasn't moving.

"Sam," Castiel croaked and half limped over to Sam's side. Sam didn't answer. "Sam!" He tried again, shaking him. Sam still didn't answer, the hunter out cold, so Cas laid a gentle hand upon the younger Winchester, his grace flowing into Sam freely—draining him only further.

Sam woke with a sharp gasp, his eyes wide and body stiff.

Sam looked at Castiel for a split second, the hunter suddenly looking five years old and very afraid. Castiel held his stare, his blue eyes solemn and meek. Confusion and terror alike were being passed between the two—they needing the other to confirm what had just happened, and, unfortunately, their minds both hit a solid wall of denial:

Dean was a demon…again?

Sam made a garbled sound in the back of his throat, the sound full of pain and worry, and immediately tore his way out the room, an equally disgruntled—pained—angel at his heels.

They didn't know where to go but, then again, they didn't really care. All that mattered was getting to Dean. All that mattered was Dean.

Blackness surrounded them—almost suffocating them—the two friends looking about with wide eyes at the destruction Dean had caused. Sparks sang above their heads, the lights hanging by a single fuse, or nothing at all, glass shards crunching under their feet.

It was complete madness.

However, luckily for them, Dean's devastation was leading them straight to him (or so they thought)—the two chasing after his shadow.

Sam hurriedly grabbed at his watch, pressing a button on the side to light it up. The hunter cursed, his teeth gnashing together.

One hour. They had been out for one hour! Dean could be anywhere by now!

"Hurry!" Sam growled uselessly, his feet just not fast enough for him—for either of them, really. Castiel grunted and suddenly gripped onto Sam's shoulder, the angel zapping them from corridor to corridor, each time a great disappointment.

Castiel soon gave up, the angel leaning heavily against a wall, sweat soaking his hair.

Dean had created a trap. He had purposefully created a Rubik's Cube of destruction—throwing them off his trail.

"WHERE IS HE?" Sam cried and raked his fingers through his hair nervously, tears stinging his eyes.

"I-I don't know for certain," Castiel told Sam honestly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He gulped thickly, like a fish out of water, his breath not reaching his lungs. Sam looked at him worriedly then, the hunter noticing the fine sheen of sweat upon his brow.

"Hey, are you all right?" Sam asked and laid a hand on Cas' shoulder, the angel batting his hand away and pushing his body off the wall.

"M-my grace tells me that he's here, but something is wrong…" Castiel mumbled uselessly, walking past Sam, his eyes looking down a far corridor. He looked at Sam, his eyes confused and worried. "It's telling me he's everywhere."

"We have to find him, Cas!" Sam said nervously, his face worn. He looked down the same hall, sparks bursting with life there.

"Sam," Castiel said softly, his voice gruffer than usual, "I don't think he's here anymore. This seems like a tra—"

"I know what it looks like," Sam hissed, the large man looking more pissed by the second. Castiel shut his mouth and nodded, the angel closing his eyes. Sam turned his back to Cas, one of his hands pressed to his lips, his eyes flickering back in forth in thought.

The younger Winchester looked at all the chaos his brother—a demon—had created, and felt utterly sick.

Why in the world would Dean do this? Why would he do this to him and Cas? Why now? What changed in the matter of five days?

Then realization struck him, and Sam looked sicker.

Cain.

"The garage," Sam told Castiel, gripping onto his shoulder, shaking the angel from whatever daze he was in. Cas looked up at him, confused. "We have to get to the garage!" The angel's eyes widened and, in an instant, he grabbed Sam and zapped them both to the garage.

As soon as Cas got them there, Sam was on the move. He ran past car after car, motorcycle after motorcycle—ran towards the one place that Dean had put her.

Empty. The Impala was gone.

"No, no, no, no, no…" Sam mumbled and scrubbed his face with his fingers, his hands sliding into his hair and staying there. Castiel walked up to him, eyes narrowed, confusion yet to recede.

"Sam, what is it?" The angel asked and wobbled closer to the empty lot, his blue eyes strained there.

"He took the Impala," Sam told him simply, his hands upon his hips, eyes red. "He freaking took her, Cas!"

"I-I don't understand…The car?"

"Yes, the bloody car, man!" Sam said and was already rushing towards another car, the hunter tearing open its door. He ripped the plastic mat up and grabbed the keys underneath, Castiel watching him curiously.

"Well?" Sam asked, already sitting in the car, eyebrows high. "Are you coming or what?" Cas looked appalled but nodded his head, the sour look upon his face yet to recede. The angel got in the passenger's seat and Sam took off, the garage door barely making it up all the way. Castiel looked decidedly sick.

Despite it all, Sam's eyes were starting to show hope as he sped down the road. Dean had taken the Impala—home. That had to mean something, and Sam was going to hold onto that thought—hold onto it with all his heart.

Sam looked at the setting sun with worry in his brown eyes, his lips thinned out.

Dean was still Dean, somewhere, he was sure. He had to be.

It was dark—the moon high in the sky, but Dean hadn't stopped driving yet. He had thought about stopping at a few motels a while back but quickly thought better of it. Sam was smart. He would look there first, Dean was sure, so he pushed on—only stopping once for gas.

Music brought him no comfort, so he rode without it. Only the familiar, old, whistling sounds the Impala made soothed him and Dean felt safe. She really was his home after all.

Only, without Sam there, by his side, her sounds were becoming more sorrowful and bittersweet. It was as if the Impala mourned for him and Dean couldn't take it anymore. He soon pulled off on a sketchy dirt road, the dim lights of his car keeping him from complete darkness.

Dean smiled at the irony and thumbed the light off anyway, the demon practically purring in the ebony. He got out his car, the door creaking along the way. He crawled upon her hood, leaning nonchalantly upon it, one hand tucked behind his head and one foot over her edge.

The light of the moon shone brightly upon him, his black eyes mixing with Heaven's starlight, and he looked like a small child then. Dean blinked away Hell and settled for his innocent green, wide and teary.

His heart hurt—God, it did, and a part of him yearned to go back—to fight with all his heart, but he couldn't—he wouldn't.

He would not do that to Sam, or Castiel.

Dean was a time-bomb, soon to go off, and he would take everything with him when he did. He would kill them, like in his nightmare, and he would rather be alone—cursed by God—than do that to either of them.

No, it was better being alone—alone under the moon herself, in the dark.

It really was ironic. Painfully so.

Dean let out a loud howl then, just for the hell of it—as if urging on God's wrath. A small, wicked, smile grew upon his full lips when a lone wolf answered his call. His teeth danced in the light of the moon as his whole body shook with laughter, his head thrown back against the glass.

"I'm a cast away, and men reap what they sow,
And I say what I know, to be true,
Yeah I'm living far away, on the face of the moon,
I've buried my love to give the world to you…"

Jaymes Young— "Moondust"

A/N: Poor Dean...*dies a little on the inside* If you see any errors, please let me know. I have no beta. Cheers!

Also, thank you very much for your comments! They make me very happy! :)

Best wishes as always,

Lthien