Sorry it took me so long to finish this chapter! I formed the idea for the chapter, and when I sat down to type it… my fingers were hovering over the keyboard while my mind was frozen.
Don't you just HATE Writer's Block?
Anywho, I am glad people enjoyed the last chapter. I hope I was true to the characters, and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as well (longest to date and counting)!
Disclaimer: (German accent) I own nothing. Nothing!
If you guys get the reference good for you!
The Mark of Cain: Chapter 4
'I don't like this. Not one bit.'
That is all Dean can think as he lays on his bed at around 3 in the morning. He's changed for bed, flannel pants and a long sleeve shirt instead of his normal short sleeve (to cover the Mark). Yet he's far from sleep. His foot taps a silent rhythm into the air, beating along to the drum of his thoughts. This isn't the first time he's dealt with a sleepless night, but he can't go for the bottle otherwise Sammy would know something was wrong.
'Sammy…'
He just got his brother back, and now they are throwing him back into the lion's den. Back into Gadreel, the only difference being that Sam knows what is going on.
Dean still doesn't like it.
Even after the long talk they had, and all the assurances from both Sam and Cas.
He just can't risk Sam's life again. He just can't. Sam deserves some time to heal and get back on his feet. He needs to cool off before he throws himself back into the fire.
A pain starts to thrum into his head… joining the dull ache in his arm.
He moves his hand from the back of his head to his forearm, rubbing it slowly, kneading out the pain that built there.
Dean just hasn't been the same since the Mark was placed on his arm. He's sore all over, he's been more irritable, and he's been freer with his words.
There were too many close calls earlier in the day with Cas. Thank God he can still sleep.
'Did you maybe think there was a reason for you to say your mind?'
Dean shoots up in bed.
"Cain! Wha- ow…"
He should be angry, but there is so much tension in his body he just makes his headache even stronger. He cradles his head in his hands and tries to work up his annoyance.
'The one and only. Now, how have they reacted to the news?'
"You should know, since you can look into my mind and all that other crap."
Cain sighs through their psychic link, and, really, how can someone sigh in his mind, Dean thinks.
'I can, now shut up and listen.'
Dean starts to get up, and pads his way to his door.
"No. I can block out my usual thoughts, and you should be just as easy."
'I won't be shut out that easily Dean.'
As Cain starts to berate Dean for his choice of not telling his brother and best friend, Dean distracts himself with nonsensical thoughts.
'Why does this always happen to me?'
'If only Sammy didn't toss out all the booze.'
'I should have worn socks… or at least put down some carpet. These stone floors are cold!'
It takes some time before he realizes he shuffled his way down towards the kitchen. Lying on the counter is a half-finished pb&j, and Dean can only smile at the adorable face his angel made when he tried the snack again, hoping he could just taste the flavor and not the particles.
'-with all my experience you should really- Dean? Are you listening to me? He's not even in the room and you can't even stop thinking about him. That's another thing you should let go. All these secrets are not healthy for the soul.'
The scowl returns to Dean's face.
"And what should you know about having a soul. If I'm not mistaken, didn't you sell yours to a demon?"
'I could ask you the same thing.'
"Touche…"
He's making his way to the garbage can with the discarded treat when he stops due to Cain asking:
'Can you really, truly live when you have to hide yourself from those who care about you?'
Dean freezes, sandwich and plate still in hand, as his mind mulls over the words Cain has just imparted on him. He's been on this idea for a while now, but every time he even thinks of saying one word about any of the stuff he's locked inside, his mouth goes dry, his vision blurry, and his body numb.
It's like a self-defense mechanism: his body shuts down to protect him from the unknown. From the slightest chance that Dean is wrong, and they don't accept him.
Because he'd rather live with the pain then die from abandonment.
He knows it's not healthy… but he's in too deep to care. His family is all he has left. It's what he identifies with the most, and if that's gone…
Then what would be left of him?
"I get what you're saying. I really do… but I can't even take that risk."
His mark starts to burn. That dull ache that was pushed to the back of his mind being brought back to the forefront.
It's worse than the fires of Hell, then some of the torture he's experience. Some of the torture he's given.
He drops the sandwich onto the floor, the bread falling apart and the peanut butter getting onto the floor while the jelly gets smeared on his foot. His left hand goes straight for the mark on his arm, pressing down on the scar to stop the searing pain. Dean hunches in on himself, trying not to alert others to his intense pain.
Too late.
"Dean? Dean!? Are you okay?"
In an instant Sam is rushing over to Dean, and he only has enough time to roll down his sleeves before his moose of a brother is checking him for the damage. Dean quickly brushes him off and steps to the side (and unfortunately on the peanut butter).
"Nothing, Sammy. I just banged into something… you know. Tired and all, my reflexes aren't as sharp as they should be."
It's a lie, but thankfully one Sam can believe.
"Alright," Sam drawls, "but would you like anything for the pain?"
Dean's quickly about to say no… but with the mark back to a slight ache, he succumbed to his brother's requests, and quickly downed a couple of pain killers.
They worked their magic, and soon Dean was feeling a bit better.
At least, enough so he can actually move without every nerve being on fire.
Sam and him start to clean up the mess he made of the sandwich, mopping up the floor and wiping his feet. Soon, they find themselves seated at the table, sleep long forgotten and both clearly awake.
"So…" Sam starts, "you want to tell me why you were up so late?"
"I couldn't sleep," Dean quickly replies, eyes straight ahead, "it's not the first time that's happened to me."
"Yeah, but why couldn't you sleep?"
Dean's about to answer because I'm lying to you again, but as always the words get caught in his throat. So instead, he grunts out:
"Just thinking, s'all…"
"Thinking?"
Sam's tone screams incredulousness, and he's already powered up to bitch face number 35, but Dean has his eyes glued to the table. Unwilling to reveal any more than he already has. A beat of silence and Sam huffs.
"You know, I was going to wait until you came to me about this, but you and I need to discuss something. Something that you have been hiding."
Dean's head snaps up so fast he could have gotten whiplash, his eyes widen, and the denial is already in his tongue.
The only words flying through his head are: 'Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.' All of this in a constant loop.
The brothers say their piece at the same time.
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You have it bad for Cas."
It takes a couple of minutes, but soon Dean begins to process what Sam said to him. He breathes a sigh of relief in his mind, his back slips out of its rigidness. But soon Dean is back on the defensive as his other secret has been revealed.
At least this one has fewer consequences.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Dean starts to get up, but Sam is in hot pursuit, not one for brushing things under the carpet and never speaking of them ever again. Ever.
"C'mon Dean. It's not like you're subtle about it either. I saw how you looked at him. I've seen how you've been looking at him for a while now."
Sam's just teasing Dean now. It makes him feel lighter, that even in all this chaos they can still do normal brotherly things. If only Dean felt the same way. As the weight poured off of Sam's chest it compressed right down on Dean's.
"If I ignore you long enough, maybe you'll get the hint that I don't want to talk. You know my rule on chick flick moments."
"Is it really a chick flick moment if we're talking about you wanting to get into a certain angel man's pants?"
The sarcastic response rolled off so naturally, that the glare he received would send even leviathans to quiver in soiled underwear.
Sam doesn't get the hint, and keeps on rolling.
"I mean, your little crush on Cas explains why you haven't shaved. Typical butch man trying to throw off suspicion by having a beard."
"If you two do get together, does this mean you'd have been… touched by an angel?"
"Be careful Dean, his Father might not approve…"
"ENOUGH!"
Dean has had enough and whirls on Sam. Since escape is no longer on the table, he does what any caged animal would do and attacks.
"Can you learn that I am dealing with a shit ton of stress right now! I don't need you acting like a little bitch at ass o'clock in the morning! What I think shouldn't even be on your radar right now! I'm entitled to my feelings and my privacy, so if I don't want to talk about it, then you better believe I won't be talking about my "so-called" crush on-"
"What is the matter, Dean?"
Both brothers turn to see a third guest to Dean's little tirade. Castiel, rubbing his eyes, slumps his way over to the two. The pajamas he wears hang off his frame (Dean's of course) since the clothes he had as a human are somewhere else.
Sam and Dean both gape like a fish, one wondering how to explain the situation while the other prays to every god in the book that Castiel did not hear the entire conversation.
However, before one of them could say something, Castiel looks towards the counter.
"What happened to my sandwich?"
Now Dean's cheeks tint red, as he cheekily confesses to dropping the stale snack. Yet he thanks his lucky stars that his angel is still as oblivious as ever.
'Your angel huh? Does he know he's your angel?'
The tiny smile that graced Dean's face quickly fell as he remembered the annoying little voice inside his head, pressing his buttons in all the right places. The ache starts again in his arm, and Dean starts to knead it up and down.
Sam then breaks the awkward silence with an important question.
"So, why are you up Cas?"
"Well, Sam, I was enjoying my sleep, dreaming about those guinea pigs we talked about before, when suddenly I awoke to a rumble. My sleep addled mind was startled at first, but then I remembered that stomachs tend to do that sometimes. So, I decided to try that PB&J one more time… at least I wanted to until it was unceremoniously dropped on the floor."
He shoots a look at Dean, and the guilty look on his face is enough to satisfy Castiel. However, the look is for Cain and not Cas, as Dean barely focuses on the angel's discourse, rather focusing on the argument swirling in his mind.
"As I made my way to the kitchen, I heard loud voices coming from the kitchen. I couldn't make out what you two were saying, so I decided to investigate. When I finally got to the kitchen, I stumbled upon you, Dean, yelling at you, Sam.
Sam then asks the question that was on Dean's mind the minute he saw Castiel in the threshold of the kitchen:
"So… you didn't hear anything we said?"
"No, Sam… Why? Is there something you aren't telling me?"
"No, no. It's just personal stuff. Right, Dean?"
Sam calling his name snaps Dean back into reality, and as he looks from hazel eyes to blue eyes, he finds himself nodding along to whatever his brother said.
'Someone needs to pay attention more…'
'Well, maybe if some old coot wasn't trying to chat me up in the middle of my beauty sleep none of this would have happened!'
So Dean resumes his internal battle of wills raging within his consciousness, as Sam and Castiel continue their conversation. Castiel looks towards Dean, and notices the faraway look in his eyes. He would say something, but knowing Dean he'd close up even more and run away like he always does. So, his gaze returns to the other brother as they continue to talk.
"And all you needed was a snack?"
"I did… but I might just wait until morning now…"
"No need," Sam grins, opportunity taken and an idea forming in his mind. "I'm sure Dean will be happy to help make you a sandwich."
Sam rises from the table now. "As for me, I have to go back to bed."
Castiel bids the departing brother a good night, while Dean is still trapped within his own mind. The angel looks upon him with soft eyes, his total attention fixed on his frame. The hunched over posture, the downcast eyes, the laced fingers…
All the signs of someone feeling guilty.
So he decides to try something that his little foray into humanity has taught him:
He puts his hand over Dean's hands…
And instantly Dean skyrockets into awareness, flinching away like he was burned, his cheeks tinged slightly red.
Castiel tries not to let disappointment show in his face, but instead laces his voice with concern.
"Dean, is there something troubling you?"
Yes. "No."
"Are you sure Dean, because if there is… you do know that I am here for you, right?"
"I know. And everything is totally fine." Except the fact that I am lying to you and Sammy, again.
'You wouldn't have to if you would have just followed my advice…'
Dean can no longer stand it. Before he does something that he regrets, he dashes away from his concerned friend and towards the exit.
"I am feeling tired though. Night Cas."
Castiel can barely utter the words before Dean is out of sight. He looks at the place Dean was standing only moments before, until he feels the tired feeling from before washing over him again. He takes a seat in a chair by the table, and can only question what the cause was for Dean's behavior.
'Was it… me?'
Dean makes it to his room, shuts the door, and leans against the cool wood.
'You know, maybe I made the wrong choice in apprentices.'
The mark is back to its searing pain that it was before. Dean's hand finds its place again over the red skin.
'Can you just LEAVE ME ALONE!'
'Not until you decide to stop making the same mistakes you always do Dean. Don't you realize that you act the same way, every time for the same situation, and it always leads to the same result. How do you think they will feel if they found out you were lying AGAIN! They would have a harder time accepting that than this-'
Dean can no longer listen to whatever Cain is saying, as most of his energy is being spent trying to stay upright. The pain he felt earlier is nowhere near as uncomfortable as it is now. But what can he do to make it stop? Actually listen to Cain's advice? Or…
The pill bottle.
Only now does Dean remember the capsule enclosed in his right hand. He unfurls his fist and stares at what could be his only salvation in the living hell he has chosen for himself once again. With every scrap of power he has left, he untwists the cap and downs at least three or four pills. He didn't count.
And just like that, the pain soothes. The voice in his head sounding farther and farther away. He can finally unlock his hand from the death-grip it has on his hand. The Mark still looks red, but he can't feel the pain anymore. He can't feel the pain!
And he can't hear the pain anymore, either.
He looks back down at the bottle once more and thinks:
'This might just work out fine after all…'
And if he decides to have another pill, no one is around to judge him…
Or maybe it was two…
'Dean…Dean!'
"Blast."
Cain sits in his chair, eyes open, as he has suddenly lost the signal to Dean's mind. It's like it's been snuffed out. Which is not good, because anything could happen and Dean wouldn't even be able to hear his advice.
Not like he would listen to it anyway…
There's only one solution to this problem. So, he grabs his jacket, picks up his car keys, and moves to leave his house.
'How far is Lebanon, anyhow?'
Howdy folks! Did you enjoy the story? I really hope you did, because I was trying my best! Unfortunately I was cursed with writer's block for most of the week, so that is why my story is coming to you so late. But do not fear, I am going to start working on the next chapter as soon as possible.
So… until then… live long and review!