Archive of Our Own ^beta

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the rage. the anger, the absolute blood boiling madness of it all. hatred surging and coursing through his veins and going straight to his head. he couldn't think, couldn't see straight, only red. only anger.

...

dean knew he wouldn't have lasted as long as he did without sammy and bobby, his brother, his ever the optimist baby brother, who always brought the best of dean out, and bobby, a man who was someone so close to dean that he considered him a father, they were his anchors, his people, family.

then there was cas, an angel - literally, an angel who had saved dean more times than he could count or even remember - someone he could rely on when he couldn't talk to sam or bobby, cas didn't even have to physically be there for dean to feel his presence, for dean to know cas cared.

none of that mattered anymore. dean had become everything he used to fight against, now just an evil creature of the mark, beyond saving, no matter how much his family were trying. his only hope of true clarity now was the first blade, and the blood it spilled.

...

dean greedily threw shot after shot of whiskey back, numb to the heat it caused as it travelled down his throat. he sighed against the weak feeling of the buzz.

it wasn't easy to get drunk now that dean was a demon, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to drink himself through the bar's complete inventory.

this was as close as he could get to human, get to who he was before the mark, before every evil thing that he'd met.

dean didn't need to sleep, didn't even need to eat or drink, but he did, because what the hell? he could do whatever he wanted to now, be as greedy, as gluttonous and sloth-like as he desired to be.

after having his fill of whiskey and beer, and belting out enough bad karaoke to piss off the other patrions of the roadhouse; dean stumbled into a booth, falling onto the old worn pleather seat almost instantly retreating into a sleep like state.

pitch blackness swirled and twisted around in his head, eventually dean allowed himself to dream, relive memories from what seemed like a millennia ago.

...

"'ey, squirrel- dean, wake up!" dean doesn't register the words and he doesn't care until a hand shoves his leg roughly, dean, who was now fully awake and annoyed, raises said leg and kicks hard into the thigh of whoever stupidly decided to wake him, digging the heel of his boot in slightly as he did so, earning a hiss of pain in response, followed along by several whispered "bollocks." and "fuck yous".

"it's crowley you idiot!" the voice growls at him, "and? you know better than to wake me up crowley." reluctantly he releases the pressure off of his boots sole. dean groans, lazily sitting himself up from his place at the booth, and grabbing the half empty bottle of beer left on the booths table, thirstily swigging it down in a second. "ugh, get up you big plaid nightmare! it's important." crowley mutters frustratedly to him.

"yeah, well it better be." dean grumbles out as he gets up off the not so comfortable makeshift bed, and stretches his arms and legs, picking up his coat from beside him, and snaking his thick muscular arms back through the sleeves, he'd just "woken up" but he could already feel the heat of the the mark, blood lust rearing its head.

"it's your 'boyfriend' castiel. i've got intel from lesser demons telling me he's on his way here." crowley teases, and then coughs nervously, glancing down at his phone, dean can sense the tension rising in the air.

"huh? that prick? let him come i say, i've been itching for a kill." dean spits out, perverted amusement clear on his face.

"dean! we have work to do, i don't have time for this nonsense." crowley seethes, dragging the palm of one of hands down his face.

"no one's asking you to stick around, i don't really give a fuck crowley, it's your choice to go, and this is mine, i'm staying and i'm killing that winged bastard, i'll call you." dean growls out as calmly as an anger fuelled knight of hell can, staring daggers into crowley.

...

any demon with a will to live, has fled by now, gone. the only remaining souls were human, and the demons who were basically crowley's bitches. the lesser demons knew that if they stayed at the roadhouse, they'd all fall victim to dean winchester's wrath.

dean could only go through so many innocent humans and contracted kills until there were none left, and he'd already killed more than a couple of demons to switch it up a bit.

dean wasn't exactly going to kill crowley either, but after everything that happened with sam trying and failing to cure him - even though it was in fact crowley who'd given him up, they'd still formed some sort of twisted bond, and crowley thought it better to watch dean than not know what he was doing - although, dean would gut crowley if he really had an itch, if he really wanted to kill, and crowley was the only option, he wouldn't even blink.

all that mattered was feeding the marks hunger for death, feeding his own lust for the feeling of driving the first blade through victim after victim, hearing the wet noises of flesh being mutilated and torn apart.

...

castiel hoped this wasn't pointless, hoped he could get through to dean, hoped he could remind the knight of hell of who he was, who he had helped cas to become, before he traded his emerald green eyes for pools of black ink.

losing dean to what he'd become was something that had left a permanent feeling of sickness, cas missed dean with every atom of himself, yearned for dean back every moment of every day.

cas knew he was doomed from the moment he dragged dean winchester out of hell, knew something had changed inside of himself. castiel loved dean, loved him so fully, it didn't matter how much he told himself dean would never feel that way towards an angel, but to cas, them being friends was enough, but now he couldn't even have that.

...

cas trudged up the worn and weathered gravel path, taking note of the few scattered cars in the roadhouse's parking lot, including a heartbreakingly familiar '67 chevy impala that seemed to be in desperate need of a wash and polish.

taking a long, deep sigh castiel stood in front of the two chipped, beaten doors, reaching at what felt like a snails pace for the rusted muted gold handle, he twisted it and stepped inside.

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the room was black. black like the deepest corners of the galaxy. the smell of the room was full of whiskey, sulfur, and a sickening mix of human and demon blood.

curiously castiel could sense dean's corrupted soul, it's indescribable colours twisting and swirling in erratic motions around the room, even in it's current state, cas couldn't help but admire its beauty, it still had that golden dean winchester glow.

castiel fully stepped inside, shutting the door, angel blade held in hand, he steadied himself. "dean..?" it was almost a statement, but he phrased it as a question, he didn't know why, it just sounded better.

"well. looks like that self absorbed pathetic excuse for a king of hell was right, - you were coming after me? why don't you just give a girl a phone call..?" dean's voice came out low, almost sultry, castiel couldn't pinpoint exactly where in the room dean was because of how dark it was.

"you know honestly it's a bit stalkerish of you cas, i can feel your energy, you're nervous, but i'm starting to think i should be scared of you! i just can't get away from you." dean feigned concern as he began talking, but was basically growling by the end of rant.

"dean. you can come back, you can. you don't have to be alone. i know you." castiel kept his arms outstretched from his sides as he spoke, glancing cautiously through the shadows, trying to locate the demon.

"dean!! dean!! you can come back!!! blah blah blah. shut up. you don't know me, you never have. this is the real me, the me where i don't have to pretend anymore. i don't have to push all the bullshit down to make shit easier for sam, for you. so fuck you, i'd rather be myself and alone, then a liar surrounded by people who can't get over their own saviour complexes." dean's words dripped with venom, the feeling of the man he loved cruely mocking him was painful in a new sickening way, it hit him hard.

did dean really feel like that? cas' eyebrows furrowed as he thought to himself. 'no. and even if he does, i can help him. he's just trying to manipulate me.'

"you don't mea-" a fist connected hard to the side of his vessel's jaw, he felt the bones scream in pain as he almost doubled over from the force of the blow, castiel could tell that at least two teeth has dislodged from his gums.

warm metallic blood filled his mouth, and before he could reach his hand up to his face another punch hit him from behind, directly between his shoulder blades, cas let out a nearly strangled sounding gasp.

...

"come on pretty boy, fight back you pussy." dean snarled as he circled around the angel, glaring into the light that was castiel's true form.

reaching behind him he grabbed the first blade that he had tucked into his jeans, as his fist closed around the handle, the energy surged through him, and dean almost moaned at the feeling it gave him, the exhilaration and blood lust that was already there had skyrocketed even further.

"you don't need to do this dean. you don't want to." the angel's voice almost sounded pitiful, hot red anger flushed through him.

"you can't even imagine how much i've wanted this. for so long. and now i'm going to gut you with my blade and feel your blood spill onto my hands and watch it mix with the blood of the other pricks on the floor." dean chuckled to himself as he heard the faint squelch of coagulating blood under his boots.

earlier that afternoon dean had slaughtered every last demon, and human, left in the roadhouse out of pure anticipation of castiel's arrival - the only reason crowley wasn't dead was because of dean telling him to fuck off earlier.

he stepped closer to the light of the angel and raised the blade, but before he could strike castiel had kicked dean's feet out from under him, causing the demon to land hard on the blood splattered timber flooring.

letting out a loud groan, dean began to sit himself up, but before he could a strong kick landed down on his chest, crashing him back down again.

pressed down against the force of the boot against his chest dean struggled slightly, realising his blade had fallen from his grip and was just out of reach - 'how cliche' dean mentally scoffed to himself.

"shut up and listen dean." the angles voice was commanding and dominating. dean felt a shiver run through his body as he glanced up into the glowing blue eyes of his opponent. dean growled lowly in response, this was gonna be good.

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castiel sighed, he wanted to rub the side of his jaw, but he resisted, he felt the pain start to itch as his grace began to heal it. "you can get better. in fact, you will get better you don't have a choice. just because the purified blood ritual didn't work the first time doesn't mean it won't this time. we can fix you."

dean didn't move as cas glared down at him, the demons eye's had reverted back to the beautiful emerald they were always meant to be, untainted, and mesmerising.

"no. i won't, it'll always be something else. that dean- the dean i was before will always find something to fuck up, and how are you going to deal with me when the mark acts up again. do you know how much i hated myself? all day every day i'd hear my piece of shit father's voice in my head telling me how disgusting i was, how useless, how much he wished sammy hadn't left because then at least he wouldn't have to deal with me by himself. and you know, i was so fucked up that i stayed with my dad? i thought it was my fault that he treated me like that, i even fucking looked for him when he left, that's how pathetic i was! so no i don't need fixing, i already did that." dean didn't waist a moment after his last word, he pushed himself off of the ground with such a force that it threw castiel so roughly into the wall.

castiel's eyes clouded as he blinked away the shock of the impact, as he pulled himself up out of the rubble his vision cleared slightly, and the angel could see dean moving to pick up his blade, wrapping his palm around the handle and flexing his arm out as the mark radiated out waves of power as it reared it's head with a fierce vengeance.