Where Ya Been, Dean?

Where's Your Brother?

Dean blinked down at the hot Blade in his hand, and his heart plummeted down to his very toes-into the earth below him.

The hellish blade was smothered with blood-warm, fresh, from tip to hilt.

That wasn't all. No, Dean was kneeling in it, his pants soaked with crimson-with sin.

There is no resisting the Mark...or the Blade. There is only remission, and relapse!

Dean dropped the blade, his hand shaking, his green eyes full of lost innocence and honest, bone-chilling, fear. He looked around, the hunter horrified to find complete chaos.

Blood was everywhere...God, there was so much blood.

Then, that's when Dean saw him, an immobile figure in a bloody trench coat.

...Then you kill the angel Castiel.

"C-Cas...?" Dean breathed, begged, his voice broken and as lifeless as the angel before his very eyes.

Now that one-that, I suspect, would hurt something awful.

Castiel's hollow eyes stared back at Dean, almost accursedly, the angel lying in a pool of his own blood. He lay upon his back, one limp hand pressed against his torn chest, his once crisp white shirt now in ribbons and bright red. Tears lay frozen upon his ashen face and the dark, heart-wrenching, sear of his own wings lay spread wide underneath him, still smoking.

Castiel was sliced to ribbons. Deep, ghastly, damning marks lay all over his vessel's body. Though, it was obvious Cas' neck had been cut-his grace gone.

Cas was gone, and Dean's hands felt heavy with blood, with sin.

That's when Dean kicked the Blade as far as he could from him, the broken man letting out a sound inhuman and completely mad. Dean was sick, absolutely stricken, and he threw up everything he had in his stomach, the hunter upon his hands and knees-staring into more blood, and onto a pale hand, long fingers scarlet.

...And then, it would come to the murder you will never survive.

"No," Dean begged to God, begged to the Devil himself as his eyes trailed up a limp arm, shoulder, and to the very face of his nightmares.

The one that will finally turn you into as much as a savage as it did to me...

Dean couldn't breathe, and only stared into the lifeless brown eyes that were once so full of life, so bright.

...Your brother, Sam.

Dean screamed. He screamed so loudly, so brokenly, that the world grew bleak with his pain-with his sorrow.

Dean woke with a shout, the man clawing wildly at his throat-at his face. He threw up harshly, the man's sick coating his floor. He was shaking, trembling, and sobbing so harshly he could barely breathe.

Dean sank to his knees by his bed, in his sick, and pressed his palms against his forehead, praying aloud-more or less screaming:

"P-please, please...!" He cried, begged, his teary green eyes staring at the ceiling. The broken man's hot tears streamed relentlessly down his face, drowning out his pupils, and he raised his arms high.

"God, please..." Dean sobbed into himself, his left hand coming down to dig his tainted fingers mercilessly into the cursed flesh of his forearm. Blood began to flow down his arm but Dean didn't stop, he only continued to plead to the Heaven's above-to God.

"A-anything but that...please! D-don't make me do this-don't let this happen! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...!" He was rambling on, hoping, praying, and pleading that God would answer him.