Dean had had a lot of distraction, mostly being stuck in his own head and a endless need for something to do… but noticed Cas, and Sam were gone for weeks at a time now on cases, insisting dean rest.
Dean figured he would benefit from sinking his knife arm deep in something to keep himself 'fed' but couldn't bring himself to suggest they use him as the thing to kill all their hunts.
Dean wondered for a minute if since the man before him who owned the mark could flit from one place to another even in full control of himself could he now? Maybe he should pop in on his brother.
Dean considered a conversation with Cas about the shortest way between two points was a straight line, if he knew where Cas was once he could fly again and put angel sigils on a billboard in Cas's direct path would the angel crash into it like a bird to a window? Dean shook his head to clear the thought. He had been having violent thoughts more frequently.
Both Sam and Cas were hiding something Sam was comical on the phone in his desperation to get off it. And Cas had taken to just not answering. Dean suspected they were up to something about his mark, their stories conflicted slightly, but could not help but be annoyed. What else would they conspire on?
With distance now that the angel was weak their connection was weak, no dreamscape brushes of conseousness, no vague awareness if concentrated on of which direction in the bunker Cas was, dean would not admit to himself he missed the shared energy, but surfing the internet and news for cases gave him more familiar and comforting distraction at the moment. Beside Cas had started to get annoying with re-organizing the men of letters library which was out of order, cleaning everything to a inch of its life. A bored angel was a annoying angel dean had surmised.
The place could only get into so much order and dean had taken to leaving his trash around just for the beast to have something to do. Dean wondered if his boredom and nervous constant need to distract himself had rubbed off on the angel.
Deans nightmares had gotten more vivid, but he was both surprised and relived he was waking rested anyway half the time. Like he was getting used to them. Dean had taken up time calling other hunters and friends to catch up, but dean figured that he had taken up quota on all of his contacts, he did not want to be outright needy. Dean considered blowing his head off again but was almost sure the mark had the power to heal that even, maybe if he hopped into a industrial meat grinder in a burning building?
Occasionally someone would call him for helpful info. Dean considered calling Crowley again, and had realized he still had Benny's number and called it in half hope of hearing the message there but as he thought the number by now belonged to someone else, and dean had just hung up on the overly cheery voice on the other end. Maybe he could Ouija board the guy?
Dean had even called the most obscure numbers on all his phones and had even snatched up Sam's at some point and done the same out of boredom already.
Dean flipped through a vintage dirty mag he had found in one of the rooms and thought out of nowhere Maybe he could summon death and they could go out for a day on the town just bingeing on fast food and reminiscing about the universe, deans head was certainly full of it ala Cas. Maybe he would have some pointers on what to do.
Dean wondered how well he could hold up his end of the conversation. Flirting with death, dean smirked to himself, the guy wasn't his type, not even in another body. Too reserved, too creepy, too scary. No death was a one night stand type from deans summation and even then dean would be too intimidated to try. If he called death he would probably be killed before he could do the incantation then have to explain to the entity after physical death that he just wanted to hang because he was bored and depressed, which was not a good idea anyway. Actually if death was a buddy of his maybe he could feed the mark on people destined to die anyway, dean filled that thought away on the extremely desperate side of options. Maybe death himself could bring dean a permanent end and give Cas his souls relative coordinates. Dean filled that thought away as well.
Dean was alone truly nothing but his own echoing in his mind, and decided to let himself go a bit. Looking around to confirm he was indeed alone he flipped through his phone and looked up the pictures he had taken when he had destroyed the body Crowley had been occupying, other pictures of his deamonly deeds flashed past. Dean did not even remember some of them, and felt a pang of shame looking at one picture of a obviously terrified young girl that was strapped to a bungee cord. Dean and Crowley had kidnapped her from a church and took her to a bridge and just threw her off the side on a bungee cord to enjoy the terrified screams and hilarity. She had pissed herself. It was fun at the time.
Dean took his laptop down to the basement of the men of letters, the devils trap and chair there and a knife. Dean just knew this was the place he would end up, or die. Dean cut his hand and re applied the markings to the floor, he found it comforting to do this till he got dizzy and sick from blood loss, reapplying and strengthening the various sigils in the bunker. Particularly this one.
Dean sat on the chair and played hozier- arsonists lullaby and flipped through the gory pictures, caught somewhere between aroused and deeply sad. He reached his cut hand down under his jeans and took himself in his hand, his every stroke tearing at his cut, it would heal.
Dean rolled his cut over the head of his dick and let the blood cover it. Deans eyes dilated and he let himself fade into nothing, resting his mind to all but a faded glow dean let himself play as he wanted, no one was here to see anyway. Dean tainted by his time in hell knew not as well the line between pain and pleasure. He still liked plain joy but he wanted to hurt just now, sparking through his disassociation spikes of pain and pleasure broke through.
Deans leg twitched on its own accord and his dead eyes took it in, a small smile at the absurdity of it. Dean found his favorite picture and something of himself broke through if Sam ever saw these pictures… Dean frowned. And shut his phone and tossed it aside.
Dean looked up at the ceiling and took in the tilting room, blood loss making him feel light and sick and his dick twitched at his distraction, deans other hand free he grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled a sharp gasp escaped and he blushed at himself, or he would have if he had the blood to
. Dean found in another wave of dizzy spinning himself half hard and unable to get it up again dean stroked in vain the deflated flesh oversensitive. Dean sighed through another dizzy spin allowing himself comfort in that he didn't cum, probably from blood loss, and just looked up at the ceiling for a while, after the song stopped.
His swirling in his ears a sound like the ocean beset by a swarm of insects and his unattended hand hung lose and dripping beside the chair. Dean wished he could cry or scream but the silence was defining here. Maybe he would go out to a bar or something, maybe if he delved into pair of d cups he would not feel this silence. Was he hungry maybe he should eat? He certainly wanted out of here. "whoo commence the pity party" dean said to the ceiling.
He was getting tired of this routine, but the more he wanted today involved slaughter, which was a change in flavor at least. Dean sniffed the air under his arm, he needed a shower. Deans eyebrow twitched as a idea passed and he licked his lips standing up quickly his blood loss swirled his vision down to a spin of sudden loss of pressure to his brain it was white light and black splotches dean let himself sway on the edge of conseousness and he inhaled through his nose the smell of lingering blood in the air and though the struggle for conseousness was fading in and out his mind clung to the enticing scent memories of hells small joys and recent enough debaucheries.
Dean had raped the last vampire he killed… Sam off somewhere else, dean had sunk a knife into her side to feel her insides twitch against his dick. it was somehow precious in that no one knew. Letting go in the marks violence. the implication of potential enticed deans swirling bloodlust and images flashed bodily through his mind, a aftertaste of sulfur in there somewhere clung to the room and dean smiled in the nauseous dizzy spin of a world tilting in blood and joy in his fading mind.
Dean lost the ability to stand and found himself back in the chair dean moaned in queasy and sublime spin punctuated by a gag and a slide of sick down his chin. Dean attempted to scream dragging himself back to full conseousness with the willful act against the encroaching dark. The scream itself it started as a sob a squeek, in his first breath he gasped his lungs of air then crawled up to a sorrowful note and ended in a enraged snarl and then he was conseous enough to roar, it echoed in the hallways. He had defeated this one small darkness in that he did not pass out but it had won in its own way.
After Rowena and the guess jean add guys had been annoying for a moment he found himself looking at Crowley. Dean could tell that his will to fight with himself was weak, and wondered if that was inherent to his marks power or had he gotten so close to the demon that he could read his deeper intent? Dean was surprised to find himself mixing the beast a fruity drink and taking himself a bottle out of the back of the unattended bar, Crowley himself keeping the still living nearby unconseous to keep their conversation quiet, relaxed. Dean sat by the demon the sent of sulfur clung to the tasteful suite and dean found it added a dimension to his drink he found refreshing. Would a bottle of whisky be more enjoyable on the edge of a volcano taking in the sulfur from natures source, brushed in the pain and comfort of the heat that would kill if you got too close? If dean jumped into a volcano would that end him?
Dean fought the urge to clink his glass against Crowley's, who he had made just as frilly as possible. How refreshing to be able to deal with a ground zero and not have to flee it, no one was awake around to call the cops, and Crowley could probably magically make these men forget. Maybe dean could even come back to this bar again, he had gotten on first name basis with some of the people here. Dean twirled a finger in his drink out of nervousness, during his discussion with Crowley he had remembered what family meant to him, as if by calling it out by name and idea it had brought it up into a summon in his mind and it had pushed out his depression a bit. When had Crowley become a comfort? Dean stole a look out of the corner of his eye at the demon who was also blank-eyed contemplation of the wall in front of him while twiddling his drink, were they actually sharing a comfortable silence? Dean said wow to himself silently and took his shot.
Dean had actually gave the demon a pat on the shoulder before he popped out of dimension. Dean had added a quick "hey if you need someone killed call me" implying both kinship and his current desperation for blood. Dean considered taking up smoking as one of the knocked out men had left a pack on the floor and dean was awash in confusion and still had to drive home, wasn't going to drink anymore. But felt he needed to top off this level of odd with something more. Dean shrugged and headed to his car, maybe he could call Crowley back to transport him to the bunker after a more intense drinking escapade? Demon taxi service? Nah….maybe.
Dean flipped his phone open, he wanted to ask Crowley if he could feel the demon rising in him again. Dean shoved it back in his pocket, he did not want to know but suspected the answer would be "dean it never left". which honestly was not the thing dean needed confirmation on right now.
Sitting in his car dean decided he did not want to go home and stopped by a gas station and cleaned out his car, cleaned the windows. Checked the oil on it and generally fussed over it, another happy distraction. this car wanted nothing deeper from him, like himself it would run till it gave out. Dean lay a cheek against the hood "rock it till the wheels fall off right baby", gave the hood a pat and sat in the drivers seat. Maybe he had too much to drive after all, eh baby would get him home, she was good like that.
Later the next day nothing hunter worthy was in the new or the internet again so Dean had taken it on himself to try to find the remaining bones of the men of letters and burn them as something to do but between Cas's previous fluxes of boredom and his all he found was a foot bone in a shoe.
Rifling through old closets and trying on outfits that were still in good shape he enriched his closet, Cas's and Sam's and drove the extra stuff to a local donation. Dean had been sure to leave a healthy amount of pubes in Sam's razor by way of brotherly mischief and had traded his toothpaste for some outdated approximation from the demise of the men of letters.
It still smelled vaguely minty. Dean had a box of pins and rocks with runes and other random stuff to sort and put where it belonged as well as a stack of books to put in the library, the men of letters appeared like any human to have sticky fingers a bit and when they had died their stashes had remained where they were.
dean fiddles with a set of knuckle bones but could not bring himself to ask anything more relevant of its divination than outfit options for the day, dean did not want any hard truths or likelihoods. Dean considered a stogie box with Cubans in it. How long before a cigar was bad? Dean lit one and took a drag and promptly was reduced to dry heaves. Apparently several decades was quite long enough.
Dean found himself running out of things to do, poking tentatively at a glowing bottle with a pencil among the spell ingredients he fought the urge to open it. He had gnawed on the wing bone of a manticore while staring off into space drawing up some protective spells and making potions to put in his bag in the car pouring through a book before he noticed what he was doing and spat it out, its tag indicating what it was now damp deans tongue felt tingly.
Dean decided to go for a drive. He had tuned his Car to a inch of its life and had even changed its oil unnecessarily. But first dean took the remaining Cubans and crunched them into a bowl in which he poured alchihol. It was a old African rite to gather the souls of the dead. Not knowing where the men had died dean carried the bowl and used a spray bottle to spray the mix as he went "all aboard" dean announced to the silence boomingly. Dean had already burnt sage and spread salt in the past but his continued and diverse cleansing of their now home gave him some comfort. Once outside he set the soaked tobacco in its bowl just outside the doorway. With a slight salute to it he headed to his car.
Only a few days later Charlie in the bunker had been a amazing distraction, with dizzy endless things to just do all the sudden. To bring joy to her face let dean laugh for the first time in a while completely careless. Dean did notice Cas being a bit standoffish, but found himself practically frolicking by his standards. Deep into revelry dean found himself dancing with Charlie and both of them trying to get Cas to dance at all when Sam passed by the main room… lurking really. That dean really started to suspect something was up. But he let it pass in the glow of better distraction. Sam wasn't looking him in the eye and Cas though his powers were back and they both had taken to being closer had been…scarce. Something was definitely up. But maybe he was developing paranoia along with everything else.