* I'm really excited for the next three episodes to see how the MOC thing develops but until then, here's chapter 12. Read and review.
Sam stormed out into the kitchen, trying to stop the tears in his eyes from falling because the last thing he needed was to break down. In front of Crowley no less.
"Sam-"
"This isn't getting any better, Crowley!" Sam shouted, turning on Crowley.
"What do you want from me?!" Crowley said, "If you could detox from demon blood I assumed the same principals would apply! No one ever wrote a manual for this! There's no demonically addicted, codependent, jawlines with daddy issues tablet, I'm just testing out a theory."
Sam exhaled heavily through his nose, turning away in an attempt to mask the fear and the hurt he felt inside watching his brother become what he was becoming. And feel that hatred that was either being forced into Dean or worse, forced out.
"Why're you trying to help anyway?" Sam demanded, turning around, "What'll you get out of this if Dean's okay?"
Crowley rolled his eyes, "Being besties isn't enough for you?"
Sam said nothing, just stared daggers into Crowley, waiting for an answer.
"Alright, fine. Your brother gets this under control, he can control his monster and when he kills again the power of that relapse will destroy Abaddon without so much as a scuffle. And once she's dead, Dean can give me the Mark, and the two of you can jump back in the Winchester mobile and bicker and hunt monsters and everything will be like it used to be."
Sam almost laughed at that.
"You think we'd let you have the Mark? There's no way we'd let you just walk away with that kind of power!"
"Calm down, moose, it'll be a fair trade. Transferring the Mark is the only way to get rid of it. And after being reinstated as the king of Hell, I might need an edge in order to keep our worlds relatively apart. No more wars, no more apocalypse, just demons making deals and humans living out their sad existences like it was before the winged bastards got involved."
Slipping into an uneasy kind of half sleep, Dean's dreams were interlacing with memories and snippets of Pink Floyd.
"Ever since you killed Magnus you've been acting... Kind of... Obsessed."
Hello, is there anybody in there...?
"Well, maybe because I want an end to all this. Maybe because if we find Abaddon, then Crowley ponies up the First Blade, and we kill her and him both. So, what you call 'obsessed', I call doing my job."
Just nod if you can hear me...
"Okay... I get it, Dean, I'm just checking in."
Is there anyone home?
"I'm fine."
Dean felt his skin crawling, feeling every drop of sweat bead up in his pores and form a thin film over his whole body.
Come on, now, I hear you're feeling down...
He needed the blade. Desperately. The Mark was eating him alive in its desperation for its companion and Dean was helpless to fight it.
Every time a wave of homicidal rage came over him, that part of himself he'd always tried to bury, the 'worthy' part of himself that just barely skimmed the surface when hunting, would enjoy it.
Part of him loved the graphic, vivid homicidal ideation and the Mark only made it worse. But it had always existed.
I can ease your pain...
The Mark burned on his forearm. And part of him wanted to embrace it. Just break out somehow and slaughter anyone an everyone in his path until he bloodlust was satisfied. But the other part of him wanted to hack the thing off his arm. Unfortunately Sam had come by, not saying a word, and collected up all the broken glass and left with it, so there was nothing to scrape it off with.
Get you on your feet again.
Dean scratched at the mark. Images of murder and torture flicked through his head and he only scratched harder. Nails grinding against skin he was beginning to make minor abrasions in his own skin but he didn't stop.
What if I kill some innocent person? I almost did with that Shifter. I would've if Sam hadn't stopped me.
Blood gushed from the scratches and they were only getting deeper.
What if this detox kills me... Never mind. I hope it does.
Breaking through muscle now. Still the mark burned. His nails were stuffed with skin and blood.
What if I kill Sam?
Scratching. Digging.
"Abel wasn't taking to God, he was talking Lucifer. Lucifer was gonna make my brother into his pet. I couldn't bear to watch him be corrupted so I offered a deal."
He might've hit bone.
"Abel's soul in Heaven for my soul in Hell."
Dean looked down. He arm was gaping open, flesh as muscle peeled apart, blood everywhere and remnants of all of it under his nails.
"Lucifer agreed. As long as I was the one who sent Abel to Heaven."
But even amongst the muscle and bone, the Mark was burned hard and black against it.
"So I killed him."
Dean jolted awake, his heart was racing and he was having difficulty breathing. He sat up on the cot, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead, and looked down at his arm. It was still whole, no visible scratches. Just the mark.
Imprinted to his very bones.