Chapter Text
Dean laid on his bed, headphones on, music loud, trying to block out the memories of the Mark of Cain. He needed sleep, he knew that, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Cas, bloody and broken, all because of him. Sam, and Cas too, probably would say it was because of the Mark, but Dean knew the truth. When Charlie had died something had snapped within him, and he had accepted the Mark as part of himself. From that point on there was no more distinction between the Mark and him. His soul was dark and twisted around the pulsing power of the Mark.
Dean sighed and sat up, rubbed his hands over his face and ditched the headphones. It had been months since the people he loved had removed the mark, months since Amara had left with Chuck, and Dean’s guilt was only getting worse. He thought he was hiding it pretty well from Sam, but he had caught some looks from Cas that made him think he wasn’t keeping anything hidden from the angel. He needed a distraction, so he found his laptop and left his room for the kitchen.
The bunker was quiet, Sam was asleep and Cas was nowhere to be seen. Instead of making coffee, Dean poured himself a glass of whiskey, hoping that the alcohol would help numb his mind. The kitchen was cold and the seats were hard. Dean was glad of the mild discomfort, he almost felt like he didn’t deserve to be comfortable with all that he had done. He opened his laptop and nearly threw it to the floor when the reflection that appeared on the black screen was not his, but Cas’, bloody and broken.
He took a long drink, wishing the whiskey burned more, and then filled his glass up again. He managed to turn his computer on without punching the screen before he scrolled through the weirder news stories, so he could find a case.
He lost track of time, eyes refusing to leave the safety of the news for fear of seeing Cas’ reflection again, until he realized that Sam was standing next to him, asking a question, and apparently it was not the first time he had asked, ‘cause he was looking annoyed.
“Dean, how long have you been up?”
“What? I don’t know. What time is it?”
“6:30. In the morning.”
Dean shook his head and said nothing. He returned his attention back to the screen in front of him and kept scrolling through the stories. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam pick up the now empty bottle of whiskey, glance at him, and then throw it in the trash. Dean refused to look at Sam, knowing he would only see concern in his brother’s eyes. Sam said nothing either, for which Dean was grateful, he just rummaged around the kitchen and made coffee and something “healthy” for breakfast.
Sam placed a mug off coffee in front of Dean, and he grabbed at it, letting the hot liquid burn his throat the way the whiskey had not been able to.
“Dean, do you want to talk? I mean, you are obviousl-”
“I found a case.”
Dean refused to have this conversation, because Sam would only forgive him, and he didn’t deserve that. Sam just sighed and looked concerned, but he nodded his head and didn’t press the issue. Dean let out a shaky breath and turned the laptop towards Sam.
“It looks like vamps, maybe a nest. There’s a bunch of kids turning up dead with bites on their necks and severe blood loss.”
“Ok, Dean,” Sam was looking over the articles, in full business mode. “Ok, I’ll get packed, you get Cas.”
Dean swallowed his flash of guilt and just nodded and walked out of the room. He didn’t want to take Cas, because seeing him nearly dead everywhere was hard enough. But he needed Cas there as well, because Cas had promised him that he would not let Dean go dark again, which he was terrified was still a possibility.
He walked through the bunker, thinking of one of the last things Chuck had told him before leaving.
“You already bore the Mark, Dean, you’ve been tainted.”
Dean could feel in his bones how tainted he was. The Mark may be gone, but sometimes he could still feel its influence, its tendrils snaking through his veins and whispering to him. His hand shook as he raised it to knock on Cas’ door. He kept his voice brusque and friendly, refusing to let whatever the fuck was going on with him bleed over to the rest of the world.
“C’mon Cas, we’ve got a case. Sam says to get going, are you coming?”
Cas opened the door, his trench coat on and his tie crooked, and he looked at Dean with his calm stare that Dean just knew saw his blackened soul.
“Of course, Dean.”
Cas grasped his arm, his hand in the same place his handprint used to scar Dean, before Cas had healed it away. Dean never said, but he missed that scar; it was a reminder that at one point in his life he had been worth saving, unlike now. His heart grew heavy at that thought and he turned away from the angel, letting the hand that had once gripped him tight fall away.
Dean had gone into the garage after he had packed, and he was making sure they had all the weapons they would need for this job when Sam and Cas walked in with their bags. They didn’t talk until they were finished stowing everything in the trunk, then Sam turned to him with a stubborn set to his face.
“Dean, give me the keys, I’m driving.”
Dean could feel Cas staring at him from behind the car, and he wanted to argue with Sam, but he also could feel his hands trembling from exhaustion, and he knew the whiskey was probably affecting him as well. So and he just handed the keys over to Sam and got in the passenger seat. Maybe he could get an hour or so of sleep while Sam drove.
Dean watched the road go by in a blur, the echo of the Mark not letting him sleep. He could still feel Cas’ face crunch beneath his fist as he begged Dean to stop. He could feel the warm blood of all those he had killed drip down his skin. He could still taste the raw power he had had, and he felt even more guilty as a part of him whispered that he missed it. He turned his face towards the window, stuffed his hands under his arms to hide their shaking, and feigned sleep to keep Sam from talking to him
Cas leaned forward as he asked Sam something, but all Dean could focus on was the hand that was touching his shoulder surreptitiously, and the peaceful grace that was quietly coursing through his soul. Slowly he moved his hand up to his shoulder, keeping it hidden from Sam, until he was tightly gripping the hand of the angel, not wanting to let go for fear of breaking down. Cas kept up the flow of grace until his and Sam’s conversation was done, and he sat back in his seat. Dean didn’t know how much the angel was picking up on his thoughts and feelings, but he was thankful that Cas never drew Sam’s attention to the silent ministrations he was giving Dean, because he was just not ready to talk. He was so tired, and whatever Cas had done to him had silenced the whispers of guilt for the moment. He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
Dean was standing over someone on the rack, knife in hand, blood running down the blade. Alistair was whispering to him, showing him the best places to cause pain, the best tools to use for each question - if there even were questions. Dean had resisted at first, but there was something about the sense of power he got from torturing souls that called out to him; that made him want more. Suddenly the First Blade was in his hand and Alistair had morphed into Cain. They forged a bloody path across Hell, laughing as the blood sprayed all over them, and dancing to the music of the screams.
Dean woke up a start, sitting up straight and knocking his knees into the dash, causing Sam to look at him with concern. He deliberately relaxed back into his seat and said nothing. Neither did Sam. His arm hurt where the Mark had been. Dean didn’t know if it was residual pain, or phantom pain, or whatever, but he rubbed at it anyways, not stopping until he saw the worried looks Sam was shooting him.
The drive remained empty of conversation, the only sounds that stirred the air was the music on the radio until they arrived at the motel and Sam said he would go check in. Dean was left in the car with Cas, and he was paranoid that Cas would ask why he had needed the extra mojo. Cas remained quiet, however, and soon Dean was able to relax in the normalcy of the moment. Sam came back towards the car with the motel keys in his hand, so Dean and Cas got out of the car and grabbed their bags, following Sam into their room. There was nothing special about the room, just the normal two beds and a TV. Dean dropped his bag on a bed, and said he was going to get food. As he walked out the door he felt Cas watching him, and he tried his best to hide his soul from the eyes of the angel.