Where Ya Been, Dean?

Howl, Dean

Dean made a rash decision, and he knew he did, but he did it anyway: he took the Impala. He took her and gunned it, not particularly giving a damn when the tires squealed and tore against the pavement.

He had to move, fast.

Meaning, Dean took nothing but himself and whatever the Impala had in her trunk. Unfortunately that also meant that he brought all the 'demon proof' weapons, and a hell lot of holy, freaking, water as well...But that could be dealt with later.

The only thing Dean needed to do now was to get away-get as far away from Sam and Castiel as he could. Because...Because what he was going to do was something that would destroy both of them, and he knew that. But it had to be done.

Dean was going to let go. Totally and completely let himself go full on demon-Knight of Hell. Then he was going to find the Blade-something Castiel had hidden God knows where-and put an end to this, even if it meant taking his own life...

Dean was not going to be a monster anymore.

He would either find a cure-any cure-or end it.

He was going to die as Dean Winchester-human-even if it meant going against God's will.

Not that it mattered anymore. As far as Dean was concerned, God had forsaken his family from the very beginning. Now, Dean was even more cursed-damned for all eternity.

Dean killed Cain.

He murdered the Father of Murder. There was no way in Hell that didn't mean something, and Dean was right. He was cursed, he found, as he thumbed through the Bible-"Genesis" to be exact:

"...So the LORD said to him, "Therefore whoever kills Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold." And the LORD appointed a sign for Cain, so that no one finding him would slay him (16)."

After reading that, Dean had felt nothing anymore-nothing but the burn of alcohol as he guzzled it down, the man not caring if he ever woke up again. Then, and only then, after drinking himself into a stupor, Dean had finally fallen asleep only to be tortured in his mind as well. Nightmares clung to his bones like a sickness-gnawing at them.

Vivid visions of blood-that Dean suspected the Devil had bestowed upon him-plagued his thoughts, and they chewed, and chewed, away at his sanity until there was nothing left but vulnerability and desperation.

The last nightmare completely ripped him apart, molecule-by-molecule, leaving only the evil inside his soul. Real or not, Dean murdered the two people he could not, and it was so vivid-so tangible...

This time, Dean couldn't stop it-didn't want to-and he fled, leaving a beast in his wake-a familiar monster who tossed Sam and Castiel as if they were nothings to him.

To be fair, the demon hadn't hit Castiel, or Sam, nearly as hard as he wanted to. Dean held back-held onto that one slim piece of humanity that was barely hanging on to anything anymore-by the skin of his teeth.

Dean had held back because they were his 'mission,' the mission 'Dean Winchester' had left him before fleeing into whatever numbness he had left in his mind.

Dean Winchester was protecting himself from the inside...

Dean took hold of the creaking rear-view mirror with his right hand, his black eyes blinking once before returning to their innocent green. He was in the clear. There was no sign of Sam-or Castiel rather-and the demon pursed his lips, looking back at the road again, a mixture of worry and disappointment on his face.

Perhaps he hit them harder than he thought.

Castiel had passed out, the angel not knowing how long-but it was long enough, and Sam and he needed to stop Dean.