Hello my darlings! I am sorry for not writing for so long, I was busy with school stuff and theater stuff that I had to put everything on a back burner. But I needed to relax and this is how I do it so I made sure to finish this chapter. I know I started another story, and I promise I will update that soon, so don't worry! Just read this chapter and enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot I come up with, and if anyone would like to buy that (SPN writers) I am willing to negotiate.

On with the story!

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 8

Police tape was stretched across the hall, from one locker to the next, as curiously horrified students looked at the bloody mess left by their classmates' bodies. The pool of blood had dried under the hanging ginger male, while the shredded remains of an orange-skinned blonde covered the linoleum. The police tried to keep the kids from looking, but nothing can stop the power of a teen's desire to know what they should not.

The school was in chaos as one by one, students were being interviewed about their dead classmates: who they were, what they were doing, and so on and so on.

This was perfect for the three men who entered the scene, two in wool overcoats and the other in a nice trench coat. They approached the officer in charge, a middle-aged woman with green eyes and a touch of gray in her auburn hair.

"Excuse me, ma'am," said the tallest of the men, eyes scanning as he reached for his badge, as did his friend in the trench coat, "I am Agent Banner, and these are my associates Agents Rogers and… Stark." The last name was said with a quick nudge at the sandy blonde man with a heavy nine o'clock shadow who could not pay attention to anything for more than two minutes. He turned his head towards the conversation, and quickly pulled out his badge as well.

It was upside down.

The blue eyed man quickly fixed the error.

"We are here to investigate the two murders. Can you please give us information on the victims Miss…?"

"Sheriff Madison," the older woman informed them, exhaustion showing on her face, "and sure. We can give you the details."

The group of four walked over to the bloody bodies, Agent Rogers having to drag Stark by the arm inconspicuously, as Sheriff Madison told them what they wanted.

"The boy is a Kevin Graham, while the girl is Katie Lange. They were both seniors at Guantaja High. Apparently they were here after hours doing… inappropriate activities when a student found them like this."

"Who is the student? If, that is alright," Agent Rogers asked.

"Another senior named Allison Terranova. We already interviewed her, so you can do your once-over now. She's over there." Madison pointed towards an average sized girl with long brown hair as she talked with two other students. She wore a black band shirt and ripped jeans with black laced boots. The trio quickly made their way over to the other trio.

"Excuse me, Miss…Terranova?" Banner asked, touching the girl on the shoulder. She turned around, and by the sparkle that gleamed in her eye, he knew he just shanghaied someone into his ever-growing fan-club. At this rate, he was going to have a list of followers longer than his hair.

"Yes," she says, moving away from her friends and towards the tall, moose-like man.

"Can we ask you some questions?"

"You can do whatever you like…"

Rogers decided he should intervene, and grabbed Allison by the shoulder, guiding her towards a secluded area, "Thank you for your cooperation. Please, follow me."

Banner breathed a sigh of relief as the high school senior followed his angelic friend.

'God, I hope she's not like another Becky,' Banner shudders to himself. He's lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the boy next to him.

"Yeah, you have to forgive her. We don't get attractive men in our town that often."

Banner side-eyes the kid, whose black hair was styled messily and his horn-rimmed glasses hid hazel eyes as his gaze followed the two in the corner. Feeling eyes on him, he turns to the giant.

"God no, you're not my type. You're a little too moose-y for me. But Captain Sexy over there…"

Stark, who hasn't been paying attention to the conversation, whipped his head around at the mention of his blue-eyed buddy. With a loud huff, he lazily walked over to the pair in the corner. By this time, the other friend, a petite brunette with brown eyes and a cream-crop top paired with skinny jeans slaps the other boy on the arm.

"Thanks, a lot," she said, "you scared off 'Tall, Dark-Blonde, and Brooding' over there. I was getting ready to make my move!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Dee! I didn't think he was sporting a boner for that angel in a trench coat over there!"

Noticing that the conversation was reaching a territory uncomfortable even to Banner, he followed suit and went to join the others and leave the dehydrated friends to their bickering. He caught the dregs of the conversation as he strode over there with his long legs.

"…And that is when I found them. I came in early to get started on my free throws, and when I saw the bodies I just started throwing up." She notices Agent Banner has joined the group, and quickly adds: "But my breath is all better now!" Allison leans up to show Banner, but he pushes her back down.

"Thanks, but I'll take your word for it."

"You know we know someone who died," Stark says out of the blue. Blue and hazel eyes latch onto green, demanding an explanation. Stark smiles back and says off-handedly: "His name was Kevin too!"

Agent Banner sighs angrily, while Rogers has to take Stark by the shoulder and lead him away.

"We'll be in the car."

Banner drags his hand across his face, and turns to face the starry-eyed girl in front of him. "Thank you for your time, but we must get going."

"Please, it was my pleasure," she steps closer to him, "and if you have any questions at all, call me." She slips a tiny piece of paper into his jacket pocket, and rejoins her friends, still arguing over the other two men.

"Yeah, maybe when I decide to become a pedophile," Banner whispered under his breath, moving towards the exit; not before throwing the number into the trash, however.

"I think that went well!" "Stark" says while in the backseat of a certain 1967 Chevy Impala. Black.

"Banner" turns on the engine. "Cut the crap Dean. You were barely focusing out there. And what was with bringing up Kevin?!"

Dean shrugs his shoulders. "I just thought it was funny and all."

"Dean-" "Rogers" starts before a huge yawn erupted from the backseat.

"I don't know about you too, but all this lying makes a man tired. I'm hitting the hay. Night Sammy! Night Cas!"

"Dean! No!" Sam turns to stop his brother, but finds he is too late as his brother has already slipped into unconsciousness. "Dammit."

Sam starts from the parking lot, and drives in the direction of the current motel they are staying at: this one had a Native American theme. Thank the Lord they were able to get a room even with no reservations. It's a quiet drive, and about halfway there, Castiel breaks the tension.

"At least he wasn't as bad as on the way here."

Castiel is bringing up the terrible time it took for Sam and him to even get Dean into the car. He just wanted to sleep, didn't want to leave the bunker, and could barely look Sam in the eye. Dean had been doing that since the slap last night. Only after gentle prodding and promise of pie did Castiel get Dean out of bed.

Sam just started the car and drove to San Jucinta, New Mexico.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "I'll take a sleeping Dean over Dean Winchester the rock star…"

During the drive to the new hunt, Dean reached to the radio and turned it on, finding the 80's rock station even in his haze. It was just Sam's luck that the first song to come out of the speakers was a well-known "Asia" song.

Let's just say he felt cold in that moment.

A sharp snore broke through the good time the two were trying to make in the cramped space. This was followed by a loud rumble:

"Mmmm….no, Cain."

Castiel turns his head towards the sleeping hunter, discomfort etched on his sleeping face, wishing nothing more than to be able to go into his dreams and ease him of his pain.

"Let's hurry Sam, Dean should be in a bed, not this car."

He eased up on the pedal.

"Next!"

In the dark dungeon that was Abbadon's throne room, a pile of bodies had grown exponentially in the corner.

Good assistants are so hard to find, nowadays.

In strolls a man, with brown hair and tan skin, black eyes gleaming like an abyss and wearing a tie-dye shirt, jeans, and sandals.

"Well aren't you a blast from the past," she remarked, "what did he sell his soul for?"

"Pot brownies," the man replied, scratching at the long hair, "you got to love the dumb and ignorant."

"Words to live by," she agreed, "but do you think you could, I don't know, change. That shirt is too bright for the dark void of hopelessness that I'm going for in here."

With a snap of his fingers, the body was covered by thick, black smoke, and when it vanished stood a clean man, short hair and a nice charcoal grey suit and red tie. "Better?"

"Much," Abbadon proceeded from her throne and up to the demon. "I'd ask for your name, but given the current track record," both eyes turn towards the strewn carcasses, "I'll wait until after the trial run."

"I wouldn't expect less from the soulless queen of souls," he agreed.

"You passed the suck-up portion of the event," she turned back to her throne, "now on to the main event: what can I do to hurt the Winchesters?"

The demon knew that this was a matter of life or death, for each side. He gnawed on this question for a short time, while Abbadon picked at her nails with her fingers.

"If this is your plan, then you might be just as dumb as your meatsack was…"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking…" the other demon rushed out, trying to tack down an idea. He was running out of time. He was trapped. Wait… trapped!

A slow grin crept on the man's tan face. "I think I have the perfect idea!"

Abbadon rises from her throne of bones and motions for him to continue.

'You know,' she thinks, 'he might just be a keeper…'

Back at the Lone Feather, the brothers and angel each do different tasks. Sam is on the computer, researching the school and any recent events that may have led to the students' mysterious deaths. Castiel was sitting in one of the beds, reading over different files, while his eyes fluttered over the other Winchester from time to time.

Dean was asleep on his bed, not even changed from his previous outfit. At least Castiel was able to remove his jacket and shoes before tucking him in, doting on him. Thank goodness Dean was not awake, as he would not have known what to done in that situation. No one ever doted on Dean Winchester.

"Any leads, Cas?"

The angel was startled from his musings, and resumed looking at the files, albeit quicker and with a slight blush.

"N-no, Sam," Castiel stuttered out, "but I'll keep searching…"

"Well the answer won't be on Dean's face."

Blue eyes stop scanning, and slowly lift from the page to the smirking hunter at the table.

"I don't know what you are talking about Sam," Castiel tried to save himself from being caught, but it was no use. But you can't fault someone for trying.

"It's okay Cas," Sam gets up, "I'm worried about him too. Ever since he came back from who knows where… he hasn't been himself. It's like he's been-"

"Possessed!?" Cas questions with alarm, blue eyes widening in fear at the thought that his hunter was not his hunter.

"No, no," Sam quickly calms the frantic man, a small smile playing at his lips, "he's not possessed. But, if you would feel more comfortable, we can sprinkle some Holy Water on him later, okay?"

A small nod is what he gets, but the blue eyes stay wide open.

"What I'm trying to say is that I think he's been traumatized. He's nervous, fidgety, and definitely not acting normal. Every time I tried bringing up where he went, he switches the conversation. And he looks like he's been hiding something. Big."

"Morning!"

Both men swing their heads to the man stretching in his bed, covers pooled around his waist, and dried drool cracking on the side of his face.

"Dean!" Castiel starts, moving towards him like a moth drawn to a flame, "are you well rested?"

"Yeah…" he replies, getting up from the bed and walking towards his duffle. The reason he woke up was because his arm was starting to ache again. And that means it would only be a matter of time before an unwanted guest joined him in his mind. Like he didn't have enough voices in his head telling him everything he was doing was wrong. So he searched for the bottle of pills he must have put in here.

Five minutes of searching, and he starts getting anxious.

"What are you searching for Dean?" Castiel asks, tilting his head and squinting his eyes in the fashion Castiel has perfected since his time on Earth. If Dean were not coming off from his high, he would have stopped and appreciated how cute Cas looked. But in a race against the clock, he had no time for such simple pleasures.

"Painkillers. I know I must have put some in here."

"Dean," Castiel puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks, "you did not pack your bag. I did. And I did not know you needed prescription medication…"

Before Castiel could berate himself, Dean quickly got up, realizing his effort will bear no fruit.

"It's fine Cas," he lies, "really." His Mark starts to sear again, and he can't help but start scratching at it.

"Hey guys, when you're done with your moment come over here," Sam calls them over, having gone back to his laptop after Dean woke up, "I think I might have found something."

In Hell, Abbadon and her lackey walk through a labyrinth of halls, searching for the right door that will lead them to their Plan A.

It was easy to get past Crowley's men, seeing as how she had her own army as well. Sure, a third of that army is gone, but… it was for the best. The weak have no place with her. And that is why she is going after the heavyweight.

"If I'm correct," said the assistant-in-training, "it should be just around this corner…"

Both demons get to the door they were looking for, and guarding it is one of the toughest demons she knows; of course Crowley would pick her to guard the door. The host the demon picks is a small girl with a black bob, but the black eyes are cold and her stance is full of power. Abbadon smirks.

"Calista, I was wondering when you would make your appearance…"

"Well, Abbadon, I heard you were wreaking havoc on the lower levels, and, well, I haven't repaid you for the last time…"

The lackey senses the tension in the air, and steps to the side, letting the two females have their arena.

"I was in the right last time, seeing as how you tried to kill me."

"Well you had it coming when you killed Mephisto-"

"That bastard had it coming! He knew what would happen if he kept flirting with me. I made that clear when I took the bottle of wine he gave me and smashed it over his thick skull."

"Grah!" Calista lept at Abbadon, anger boiling over, and the two are at it. Their blows are lightning, and the only other in the room cannot keep up, his eyes moving back and forth. He'd have better luck keeping up with a Wimbledon match then with these two queens of mean.

Calista kicks Abbadon in the jaw.

Abbadon get a good blow in the gut.

The fighting has soon devolved into scratching and hair pulling.

"I'm going to make you regret the day you came out of that hell-fire, you bitch!"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you through the seven layers of denial you've buried yourself in, you poor excuse for a demon!"

Abbadon was on her back, with Calista's small figure towering over her, arms raised ready to plunge the knife straight through her heart.

"I know I promised Crowley he would get you alive, but I've waited too long for this…"

The man is about to intervene, but out of the corner of his eyes, he sees ruby lips form a tiny smirk.

"Well then I guess you'll have to wait longer, twist un bitcho."

And with that, she brings her leg up, and puts her heel right through the enraged demon's heart. Lightning flashes through her veins and her pupils flash white, and the cold vessel is left to collapse onto the ground, lifeless.

"That was…" is all the stunned man could say as he washes Abbadon dust herself off.

"Beautiful," she finishes, "I thought so too. Demon-knife boots: momma never leaves home without them." As she makes her way towards the doors, you can hear a faint melody hummed through the air. It was a classic Nancy Sinatra hint. This broke the spell the other was under, and he followed his boss through the doors, until they were face to face with what they came for.

In the room, which was hotter than a thousand suns, were two things. One was a boy, young and blonde, huddled in the corner, muttering to himself, and the other was a cloud of black, circling the roof of the cage both were trapped in. It stops, and turns towards the invited guests.

"Hello, old friend," Abbadon purrs as she moves forward, hand coming up to grip one of the bars, "I've got a deal to make…"

"Are you sure about this…" Dean says, eyes darting around every few seconds in the darkened environment, following both Castiel and Sam.

"Completely," Sam confirms, "it says the kid committed suicide around six months ago because he was being bullied, and the guy who was murdered was one of the bullies. A trial was brought forward, but no claims could be brought against the offenders. It has to be him."

The trio were making their way through the cemetery, trying to find the grave that belonged to a certain Jordan Tureskt. They were getting close.

Sam was focused, eyes scanning through the rows of headstones, looking for the right one.

Castiel, however, was having a hard time concentrating, as Dean's ray of light kept going all over the place, the flashlight in his hand shaking. He turns towards his hunter.

"Dean, are you fine?"

Dean, not looking where he was going, collided with Castiel, and let out a startled yelp. He was the worst time focusing, having trouble staying on a single thought that didn't lead back to the pain meds.

"I'm sorry, Cas, what did you say?"

"Dean, are you okay? You seem scared…"

Dean stretched his face into an obviously fake grin. "Me, scared? Pfft, Cas, do you know me?"

"Yes, Dean, I do. That is why your behavior is scaring me. You do know you can tell me anything."

Dean's face returns to the frown from before. He sighs. "Yea, Cas, I do. Look, it's just that-"

"Guys! I found it!"

Sam's discovery draws the attention of both men.

"I guess we better go help…"

"Dean-"

"C'mon Cas."

Dean couldn't even look Castiel in the eye as he moved forward to where his brother started shoveling dirt. Sam was already starting to make good progress, and with the help of Castiel and the little Dean could give, the coffin was in their sights.

Sam and Castiel were in the trench, while Dean was outside twiddling his thumbs, giving up after the first hour, being too tired to even continue.

"Dean! Can you toss down the salt and lighter fluid?"

Dean looks up, "Sure, Sammy." He gets up from the ground and makes it to the duffle that was dropped beside the grave. He picks up both items, but as he gets ready to toss them inside, he gets tossed to the ground. He lets out a yelp.

"Dean!"

Standing over Dean, is the lifeless eyes of a teenager, with a tight noose around his neck. Now, Dean knows what to do in this situation. He would take the gun that is nearby and blast the sucker full of rock salt. Yet, Dean is paralyzed, the only thing he can feel is the fear from the situation and the pain from his Mark. His mind races, and dregs of Cain's voice start to come through their connection.

'Not now,' Dean thinks, closing his eyes, prepared to die.

His eyes are closed, and he is so prepared to join the dead, that he misses the screech and the tiny pellets of salt falling over his prone figure.

"Dean?"

Dean opens his eyes to the concerned blue staring back at him, meeting his best friend from his position over him.

When the two men in the grave heard Dean's yelp, they jumped out of the grave to see what the problem was. They saw Dean's prone figure, staring helplessly at the ghost. The gun was in reach, but he did not grab it. Castiel reacted on instinct to protect Dean, grabbing the other gun from the duffle and blasting the creature who even thought of hurting his Dean.

"Where'd he go?" Dean's eyes were big and confused, wondering why he was still alive.

"I shot him, Dean," Castiel squints his eyes, confusion evident in them too.

They both hear a terrible moaning, and the ghost is coming back for round two. Castiel picks up the gun, and Dean gets behind the trench coat. Before he could reach the two, Jordan lets out a strangled sound, and the ghost turns to dust before their eyes. They turn towards the grave, where Sam had found the salt and lighter fluid and finished the job.

"There," Sam says, "he should stop now…" With one weird mystery wrapped up, he then turns towards the next. "What the hell was that Dean?"

"What was what?"

"You froze. You never freeze. You were about to die, Dean? What's the matter with you?!"

Sam advanced on Dean, gripping his shoulders tight and shaking. Dean tries to tear himself free. "There's nothing wrong, Sammy." He keeps shaking, but Sam's hold gets tighter. "You're hurting me Sam, stop it!"

Sam finally takes a good look at Dean's face, and he can see the crest-fallen features clearly. His eyes are glassy, and his brows drawn. Sam looks down, swallows, and let's go.

"I-I gotta go," Dean mutters, and starts to stumble away.

"Dean!" Castiel reaches for his friend, voice thick with emotion. But before he can get far, Sam grabs his sleeve.

"Let him go, Cas," Sam drawls, "he needs some time…"

Dean wanders the streets at night, head fuzzy, throat dry, and Mark burning. He needs his pills, but… but he doesn't have them. With each step he gets clumsier and clumsier, almost falling at the last step. He leans against the cool brick, sliding down until his long bow legs are stretched across the concrete. He's sweating, he's tired, and he can't last any longer. Cain's voice is starting to get stronger. Telling him to go home. Telling him to do the right thing. He can't take it. He opens his eyes to stare out at the inky darkness of the night, but his gaze catches on a sign. A sign of his salvation.

Sam and Castiel are back at the motel. Sam is forlorn on his bed, staring at his hands, wondering how he could do that to his brother. He had let his rage get the better of him, and his brother suffered. He knows Dean is going through some things, but Sam has to be patient and help him however he can. God knows how many times Dean has done that for Sam. Castiel, on the other hand, can only stare out the window as he waits for his light to return. He feels empty, with Dean out there, where anything could happen to him. He feels his pain. Something isn't right, and he must figure out what it is.

A simple click. The backdoor slowly opens, and a lone figure makes its way through the darkened room. Hood up, obscured from any cameras around. He makes his way towards the back. He passes through an aisle, and knocks over one of the items. He picks up the cracked mirror, and the reflection looking back scares the robber, and he quickly places it back where it was. Dull green eyes, clammy skin covered in freckles, and messy scruff.

'Why must I fall for such stubborn people,' Castiel thinks as he looks through the window, eyes alert for any hint of Dean. The only thing to catch his eye is one of the street lamps, blinking and finally burning out.

The glass cabinets are broken, and the man unwraps his hands from the fabric he covered them in. He reaches in and collects around five bottles, all of the same prescription. Then he makes his way back from where he came, and into the inky darkness.

'Dean, wherever you are,' Sam thinks, 'please, don't do something stupd…'

In an alleyway, the hood comes down… the bottle comes towards his lips, and the little blue tablets make their way into the mouth. Three or four make it past the teeth before he closes his mouth, and lets out a relaxing sigh. Coming out of the alleyway, he starts to stagger about, onto his next destination.

Just as a strange fog starts to roll in.

Dean is now at a bar, his mind finally at ease, and a bottle of cool beer relaxing in his easy grip. His mind is a gentle static, and he is relaxing with hooded eyes and a lazy grin. Just as he brings the neck of the bottle towards his mouth, he feels a short tap on his shoulders. He turns to see a girl with black hair and blue eyes timidly looking up at him through her lashes, a friendly smile on her face.

"Excuse me," she starts, "I was wondering if you could help my friends and I out with this little dilemma we ran into." She gestures to a group of 3 guys and 4 girls, all with blue eyes and black hair.

'Odd,' Dean thinks. "What is it?" he asks happily.

"Well, we were waiting for another person to complete our… party… but he texted last minute and said he couldn't make it. We were wondering if you wouldn't mind, helping us with our problem. Don't worry, we've all been checked over and we're clean, and, if you want, you can say no. I mean, the only reason we are asking you is because you just look attractive and, really, look at everyone else in this bar and-"

Dean silences the girl with a raised hand. Normally, Dean would laugh his way out of the bar and then back to the motel. However…

"I'd be happy to help."

The girl's scared smile is replaced with an actual one as she races back to tell her friends the great news. The friends who, along with her, did not all have black hair… or blue eyes.

Before she comes back to bring Dean back to the place, he swallows two more pills, and downs the rest of his beer.

That night, wild hands roamed over pliant bodies… there was a lot of kissing, and Dean was in the middle of it. One moment he was caressing a girls breasts, and the next he was stroking another man's penis. He was not only lost in a mental sense, but now he was lost in a physical sense as well. He needed a release, and this tangle of bodies was just what he needed. The pleasurable groans were loud and erotic, and Dean was the loudest. This was the true sense of chaos, and Dean couldn't be happier. While he was penetrating one girl, a guy was right behind him doing the same to him. He was on the brink, about to be pushed right over the edge. And as he came only one thought was on his mind:

'Cas'

Dean slept peacefully that night, with his head on a woman's bust, one hand lazily circling some man's hole, while the other was tangled in long blonde locks.

"Bartholomew," an angel says, "you need to take a look at this…"

The angry blonde angel follows the scared voice of a man at the monitor.

"What is it, Ambriel?"

"The monitors, they… they can't be right," the young red-head mutters.

"What's on the monitors," Bartholomew asks, shaking the younger out of his strange stupor, "is it Metatron?"

The monitors in question were whizzing with strange sounds and different lights were shining across it.

"No, no, it's far worse…" Ambriel lets out.

"Worse?" Bartholomew's eyes widen.

Ambriel turns towards his leader and lets out the biggest fear they've had since the angels fell.

"Lucifer is loose."

And I leave you on that note my pretties! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and the many cliffhangers I leave you on! And forgive me if that little scene of orgy intimacy wasn't fantastic, as I have no experience as to what that might be like. But what I do know how to write is a good cliffhanger! And that is why I am evil! Please review, because it makes me happy and a happy writer is a writer who writes… stuff… Review!