I know this chapter is right on the heels of the last one, but I couldn't help myself. The ideas just flowed from me, and I needed to get it out before I lost everything. So, here is Chapter 9, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as you did the last chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot and OC's.

And remember to review after the story is all read and done!

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 9

Rays of sunlight shoot through the blinds of the dingy apartment, finding their mark on the scruffy face of a certain slumbering hunter. His eyes scrunch, trying to counter-act the waking effects of the morning. One emerald eye pops open, and the other follows suit as his mouth turns into a disgruntled frown. His mouth is cottony and tastes like a weird film. He runs his tongue over his teeth, and starts to get up.

'What happened last night?'

His hand lands on an exposed member of another person, and Dean realizes he is not alone on the bed. In fact, there are several someone's on the bed. That is when he notices the dried cum on his stomach, and the ache that's developing in his ass, matching the one in his head. His hands go to massage his temple, and he makes the quick decision to get out while he can. He stumbles from the pile of limp bodies, and makes his way around the room, picking up stray articles of clothes along the way. He's got his jacket, pants, and shirt on before a discordant snore shoots through the air. Dean whips his head in the direction of the sound, and notices the tell-tale signs of someone getting up. With no more time, Dean rushes through the front door, forgetting his shoes, his socks, and especially his underwear.

He makes it down the steps of the building, and out into the harsh world. The harsh, bright, loud world. Dean almost forgot about his hangover.

Two pills fixes that quickly.

He makes his way down the street, bare feet hitting the pavement with small smacks, his head whipping around trying to find a clue as to where he was. A little ways down the road he finally finds a sign, and thinks back to where he left his brother and angel. He can't remember the name at the moment, but he knows it was something racist.

'The Tidy Tomohawk…'

That wasn't right.

'Pocahontas Palace…'

No. Still not getting it.

'…The Lone Feather?'

Bingo! Dean snaps his fingers as he places the name, then looks for the closest thing that could give him directions. He turns the corner and keeps moving forward, but stops when he's about to pass a phone booth. In the dingy, little, poor excuse for a telephone, he spots a worn out copy of a phone booth. He stares into that little enclave for around two minutes, squinting eyes, mouth turned down, putting pieces together. Soon, it hits him that phone books contain phone numbers, that he can use the phone booth to call the place and ask for directions!

'But,' he thinks, 'I don't have any money…'

Dean is so strung out, he doesn't even realize he has both a wallet, and a cellphone in his pocket. But to him, they are non-existant. He wouldn't know what they are even if they were in front of him, and such a shame too. Since his phone has at least twenty different messages from Castiel, asking the same question:

'Where are you?'

Dean is trying to solve his dilemma when a dirty hand taps him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me sir," says a man with an unkempt beard, ripped clothing, and a gap-toothed smile, "can I please use the bathroom?"

Dean smiles, "Go right ahead!"

The man nods obligingly, and then proceeds to do his business in the place where Dean was standing not three seconds ago. A lone woman passes by, obviously on her way to work, and she catches sight of the two men. She stops.

"Oh you poor men," she says, "here, take this." She thrusts two dollar bills out, hoping the men would get the hint and take the proffered money so she can feel better about herself and carry on with her life. The man with no sense of social laws, whips himself back in and takes the dollar before strolling along, going to spend his money on whatever catches his eye first. Dean looks at the dollar confusedly. The woman shakes it again.

"Can I use it in the phone booth?" he asks, tilting his head in a manner similar to that of his friend.

This stuns the woman, not expecting the bum to have the audacity to even speak to her. She starts to regret ever even trying to do some good.

"No… you need change for that thing," she states slowly, "would you like some?"

Dean looks everything like the little puppy he is and shakes his head rapidly, his body moving with the force of the shaking. The dollar bill is exchanged for four quarters, and the woman's high heels resume their clickity-clack on the pavement. Dean turns back towards booth, and steps into it.

Even though it was used as a bathroom only a minute ago.

Dean looks through the phone book, trying to find the name of the motel where the trio rested. He finds it, puts the change in, and starts to dial. While the dial tone starts to ring, he gets the strange sensation that he's standing on something wet. He'd think on it more, but a bored voice is reverberating from the plastic piece of public property.

"Hello, welcome to the Lone Feather, my name is She Who Hears Rings, how may I help you?"

"Uh-hello?" Dean awkwardly stammers, "I'm-uh-looking for directions to the Lone Feather-"

"Where are you presently?"

"Whe-What?"

"What is your location?"

Dean steps out of the booth and looks to the green signs that stem from the metal pole. "Uhhh…. 3rd and Main?"

"Well, we are close by," the shrill yet bored voice responds, "just keep walking until you reach 5th and take a right, walk down two more blocks, hang a left, and you'll find the teepee sign. You got that?"

Dean tried his hardest to focus on the directions, and he got most of it. Now the only problem would be to see if he actually remembers what he heard. "I think so?"

"Thank you for your questions, may the spirit of the land support your path." And with that last sentence, filled to the brim with disgust, is uttered, the line goes dead. Dean looks at the useless piece of technology, and then drops it. He starts to follow the directions, repeating them over and over in his head.

Too bad he takes a left instead of a right on 5th.

"What do you have for me today?"

Abbadon is looking at the ebony skinned beauty before her, who holds herself well before the demon queen. Ever since her last assistant was… fired… she's continued her search for her personal lackey.

And for Plan B.

"Well, your highness," she starts, her accent rich and deep, her vessel coming straight from Africa, "since the terrible miscalculations made on my predecessor, I have formulated something even better."

A week ago, Abbadon tried to get the former King of Hell, and a former lover, on her side against the smug bastard known as Crowley to his enemies, and nothing else, since he has no friends. She tried every trick in the book, seduction, bargaining, the works! Yet he didn't want to share power, oh no, he wanted it all.

She couldn't have another rival in her quest for power.

So off to the Earth he goes, and never to return!

"What is it?"

"What we need is someone who knows the Winchesters to take them down. Someone who hates them enough to join us in your quest for power!"

Abbadon gives this some thought, and finds she likes the idea very much.

"But who do we find, the list of people who hate the Winchesters starts with the two brothers themselves!" Abbadon snarkily remarks.

The dark woman smiles evilly, the pearly whites contrasting greatly with her skin.

"Oh I have a good idea of who…"

"Cas!"

The tired angel man jumps from his slumped position in the chair. He blinks his eyes, adjusting the bloodshot blues to the aggravating light. His vision, blurry at first, finally focuses on the man in front of him. He squints at the hazel, and a question form on his lips:

"How long have I been unconscious?"

A sad smile plays on Sam's face, "About five minutes. How long have you been up?"

"I did not sleep last night," Castiel yawned, "I waited all night for Dean."

"And…" Sam left off, hoping Castiel would continue.

"And nothing, Sam," Castiel sighed, "your stubborn brother has not returned."

Sam turns away, eyes downcast, head lowered, and he moves away from the place the angel has taken up vigilance, and returns to the bed. He places his head in his hands, his long hair cascades the front of his face. The stress of Dean is not helping with his recovery in the slightest. He's getting more tired by the day, having to deal with all the shit Dean keeps piling on his shoulders. Now, Sam is a patient guy, but if you push him far enough he will snap. He's done so before, back at the bunker. He almost lost it again at the graveyard.

But that is not what Dean needs. Something is happening to his brother, and he's only just realizing that he needs to be a shoulder to lean on, and not some added pressure to the already fucked up problem Dean has weighing on his back.

While Sam digs himself deeper into worry on one side of the room, Castiel is already buried, six feet under, on the other side by the window. His eyes blankly stare out the window, like the worrying wife of a soldier out at battle, waiting for his man to return safe and sound. Throughout the night he's had false alarms. He almost woke Sam up for one of them. But each time it wasn't Dean, a pain akin to a knife through the heart shot through Castiel's entire body.

He turns to look at the younger Winchester, noticing the hunched posture and the shaking features, and can tell that he is on the verge of a panic attack. Not knowing what to do, he quickly vacates his spot and heads to the bed, spot dipping under his added weight. The other man has not noticed his presence. And then Castiel does what he thinks would help.

He hugs Sam, with all the strength he can muster. Castiel tries to convey his hope and his belief to Sam through the pressure of the hug, trying to break him from his self-afflicted state.

Sam stops shaking, and soon, he grips Castiel's forearms like a man holding onto rope for his life, and relaxes into the hug. He starts to feel better.

"There, there, Sam," Castiel mutters through Sam's hair, his head ending up tucked under Castiel's chin, "Dean will be safe. It is Dean. When has he ever-" Castiel stops when he starts to lose credibility. "I am sure that wherever he is, Dean will-Dean!"

The angel releases Sam and heads towards the window, his eyes catching a staggering figure in the distance, a familiar figure. Sam follows.

"Cas," Sam grumbles, "that can't be Dean. It's- Dean!" Taking a closer look, Sam starts to notice the resemblance. Both men fly from their rooms, and out into the streets where they try to reach Dean before he passes the motel.

"Dean!" Sam calls. Dean stumbles, slowing down, head spinning around, trying to find the source of the sound. His head swivels to find two running figures, and his finger points up at himself as if to ask: 'Me?'

Castiel reaches Dean first, because even though Sam has longer legs the power of love propels you to great feats. He jumps onto Dean, and the unexpected wanderer falls to the ground, landing roughly on his back. Castiel hugs Dean with more strength than when he hugged Sam, conveying a different message to this brother than the other.

Sam stops just shy of the sprawled couple on the ground, chuckling at the tight grip of the angel and the slack arms of the hunter.

"Um, Cas?" Sam starts, "maybe Dean wants to get up off the ground?"

Castiel's eyes widen in shock, and he quickly jumps off his hunter, extending his hand to help him off the ground. Once Dean is again vertical, Castiel notices his footwear. Or, lack thereof.

"Dean," Castiel slowly starts, "where are your shoes?"

Sam and Dean both look down, and are confused. Dean notices his bare feet for the first time, wiggling his toes against the gravel.

"Huh," Dean drawls, "S'wondering why my feet were cold?" Then he starts to chuckle.

Castiel grips his hand. "Come on in, Dean, we'll get you cleaned up." Dean blindly follows Castiel, eyes spinning in his head, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to even notice his surroundings. Sam is still standing where he once was. Something wasn't right. Where was Dean last night? Why was Dean acting so strange? Why did he look so lost when he saw the pair? Sam turns his gaze at the place the other two were before, and notices a strange item that wasn't there before.

He makes his way over to the offending evidence, picks it up, and all sympathy that had been building throughout the night is shattered in the instant he reads the label.

Castiel, on the other hand, has taken Dean into the bathroom, ran a washcloth under some water, and knelt before the prone figure on the toilet, and starts to wash the muck and grime and… stale pee? While the mind of the hunter is a calming static, Castiel's is a whirlwind. What could have happened to his hunter that would leave him wandering the streets? Was he like this all night? Why is he looking the way he is now? Blue eyes look up, to gaze into the emerald eyes that usually convey so much emotion, only to find that they were closed off and dull. Lifeless, even. Castiel's near human state over-flowed with emotions, and he couldn't help but cry for his hunter. He cried for the suffering that he has no power over. Some of the tears fall from his cheeks and onto Dean's feet, while Castiel methodically cleans them.

The slamming of the front door brings both men from their fantasy lands, and crashing back to the real world.

"Dean!"

Castiel can detect anger in the brother's voice, and makes his way with the person in question to the main room, finding the imposing man standing, and in his hands a small orange capsule, half-filled with little tablets. While Dean smiles brightly, contrasting with the patented bitch-face #45, Castiel tilts his head in the way only he knows how.

"I thought I didn't pack your pain medication Dean?"

"You didn't," Sam addresses Castiel, then whirls on Dean, "Dean? Where'd you get this?"

Dean had moved towards the bed, laying spread eagle on the furniture, and looks with half-lidded eyes at his brother. "I got some from the local… place that sells them!" Another giggle. A little stretch.

"And how many have you had?"

Now this takes Dean more than a minute to think about. He starts to count on his hands, then his toes, until he gives up around sixteen. "I don't know! I lost track!"

Unable to hold back his anger, Sam lugs the bottle at Dean, barely missing his head, the plastic smashing against the wall, and Dean's relaxed frame becoming nervous. He starts to pick up the fallen tablets, trying to save the precious little pills he so desperately needs. Sam can only stare at his brother, his once mighty protector reduced to a common drug-addict. The anger is mixed with contempt, and Sam can barely look at him when he addresses him.

"Dean," he starts, but loses ground. "Dean, I don't know what is wrong with you that you would turn to this, but… but it can't be as bad as you think. You should know that we are here for you, we can help you. Why must you be so…so damn stubborn, and force yourself to go through everything by yourself! I'm not a little kid anymore, I'm not Sammy! I am a grown ass man, and I can take care of myself. But obviously, you can't. So tell us what is wrong so we know where to start helping you!"

Dean pauses in his picking to stare up at Sam, sober for the smallest of moments as he whispers, "You can't help, Sam." Then he slips back into the haze he has grown accustomed to, and finishes his task.

Sam is about to lecture Dean again, but decides against it, steeling his expressions and turning back towards the door.

"We leave in ten minutes. I'm driving. If you aren't there, I'm leaving without you."

Sam then exits the room to wait silently in the Impala, and Castiel just stands there, looking between the door and the man on the floor, dumbstruck by the tension. He snaps himself out of it, and focuses on his hunter. He heads towards him and bends down. Dean is lost counting the pills, trying to reassure himself that they are all there, and when Castiel covers Dean's hands with his own, glassy green eyes stare into compassionate blue.

"Let's get you ready, Dean."

And like a doting parent to their child, Castiel helps Dean pack.

A woman with flowing brown hair and tan skin, wearing a leather jacket, tank top, dark skinny jeans, and motorcycle boots, stands before the mistress of mean and her side-kick of the minute.

"So," Abbadon states, "do you think you would be up for the task?"

The woman replies in a snarky British accent, "I am ready. The Winchesters won't know what hits them."

"Good," the red-head queen states, turning with her lackey, "then go at it!"

As they leave the woman, Abbadon turns to her new companion, "Since you'll be sticking with me for a while, honey, what is your name?"

The ebony demon smirks. "The name is Urbuna."

Back with the British woman, she goes the opposite direction, a smile fixed upon her face.

"Get ready boys," she laughs, "Bela is back in the game."

A knock resounds in an apartment room filled with a group of friends, all lying across one another. They were relaxing in the afterglow of their wonderful night together, even if they were a man short. And boy was he a fire-cracker last night. They were going to offer him a permanent fixture in their group, but he left before they could even find out his name. The girl who approached Dean the night before answers the door, and finds a short, smarmy man in a black suit on the other side.

"I'm sorry, we don't want to know about the path to salvation," she says while starting to close the door. The man chuckles with a thick accent.

"That's a good one lass," he says, strolling into the room like he owned the place, "but actually I'm wondering if you have seen a man, about yea high, green eyes, blonde hair, tan skin, freckles, a bit of a martyr complex…"

One of the men in the back speaks up. "Oh yeah, we've seen him, if you know what I mean." He wiggles his eyebrows and the group starts to laugh. The small man looks around at the people, and really starts to look at them, and the surrounding area. Then he smiles to himself.

"Oh, Squirrel, what have you gotten into?" he mutters to himself, glad to have some new knowledge over the tall hunter.

"Why are you looking for him?" a buxom blonde asks, who's seat of choice is the lap of a burly black man.

"Personal business," he responds while leaving, "but since he is no longer here, I will leave you to your wallowing you pigs." And, since he is the King of Hell, snaps his fingers, and one by one the patrons of the apartment turned into the very swine he called them. The man closes the door, and then heads out of the apartment complex.

"Well," he says, "onto the next stop."

The road home was a long one, filled with grumblings from Sam, random outbursts from Dean, and soothing words from Castiel. When they reached the Bunker, the only two aware members of the trio were glad to get out of the car. Sam slams the door, taking awful care of Baby, trying to snap Dean into some semblance of self-awareness, but the man was babbling to himself while Castiel carried him to his room, having taken more pills when their backs were turned.

Just as the men were making their way through the living room, they heard a faint sound.

Whistling.

Someone was in the bunker with them!

Castiel and Sam look at each other, silent commands being communicated between the two. Castiel places Dean down on the sofa, giving him a pillow to entertain himself with, and draws out his angel blade while Sam holds his pistol in his hand. They slowly creep throughout the house, moving closer and closer to where the sound was coming from.

The intruder was in the kitchen.

They make it to the door, and give each other a nod as Sam busts it open with his foot, and both make their way in, ready to attack. The sight they are greeted with is not what they were expecting.

In their kitchen is a man, with a full beard and graying hair, shucking corn. He glances from his work, then quickly looks back down.

"I see the welcome wagon has rolled in…"

"Hey, guys, what was that weird sou-" Dean stumbled his way to the kitchen, standing in the middle of the two men, and lost his voice at the sight of the familiar man. His usually tan skin goes pale, and you can make out each freckle on his face. His green eyes widen, and his hand instantly goes to where his Mark is. "No…"

"We meet again, Dean."

Accusatory eyes meet Dean from both Sam and Castiel, but he notices them not. Wrapped in his head, he starts to hyperventilate, the stress of the situation catching up to him. No amount of pills could stop him from this. So, he does what he could only do in the moment…

He faints.

Castiel drops his blade and goes to his fallen friend, trying to wake him back up, while Sam moves in front of the two, gun still up. "Who are you?" he demands, shaking the gun to emphasize who has the upper hand. Like that matters.

"Why," the country man responds, dropping his corn, "I'm Cain."

Cars chase after a cloud of black smoke, vials in hands, and men in suits uttering incantations trying to trap the spinning cloud from escaping. The essence weaved in and out, serpentine style, and was doing its best at losing the men in the car. It saw its chance when an alley appeared, and it turned into it. It was narrow enough, so the men in the car could not progress forward.

The cars stop, and the men get out. The leader of the search party turns to the others. "Communicate with home base," he orders, "tell them we lost him."

The black fog continues his journey through the cracks and crevices, putting as much distance between himself and his pursuers. When it thinks it is safe enough, it stops to take in its surroundings. That is when it hears a noise. He is on the alert, ready to flee at the chance, when he realizes it is the sound of sobbing. The smoke investigates.

Beside a dumpster, a boy is slumped in on himself. A teen no older than seventeen, with wild brown hair, and red-rimmed whiskey eyes, and pale skin dotted with moles over his lanky body.

The cloud cannot help but feel for the boy, but also notices his chance. He engulfs the boy, and the boy looks terrifyingly around him, lost in black.

'Hello, lost soul, do you need help?'

The boy, scared, but unknowingly trusting the strange voice, nods his head.

'Well, I can try my best… but you need to do something for me…'

"An-anything," the boy sniffles, running his fist across his nose, hope flashing in his amber eyes.

'Allow me to use your body as a vessel, and all you will need will come to you.'

This startles the boy… but then he thinks, anything would be better than the life he is living now. So, the boy agrees.

'Good.'

The black cloud accumulates, and then begins its journey down the boy's throat, taking over his host.

When the process is complete, Lucifer looks down at his new vessel, and cannot help but feel happy.

Hey guys! So yes, Bela is back and Lucifer gets a new vessel (I based it off Dylan O'Brien so… yeah). Remember to review!