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These days Dean seems to spend a lot of time over-analyzing himself, he feels so different on the inside he expects to see it reflected on the outside and is always surprised when it isn't. He looks down at his arm and grips his hand over the Mark of Cain. Every day feels like it is getting worse, the Mark burning and pulsing it's way up his arm, like a cancer trying to overtake his whole body, to consume him whole. He's burning from the inside out and barely holding it together most of the time. It's like he could explode at any given moment. He presses his palms against the mirror, taking heaving breaths in, trying to control himself. He wants to let go, to let all the emotions inside him raging and warring out. It's too much, something's got to give, before he goes insane.
He suddenly gives a shout from deep inside his chest, puts all his frustrations into it, all the anger and the pain and follows through with pulling back his hand and punching his closed fist straight into his mirrored face. He keeps on screaming and punching, lost in the actions. He doesn't even register the running footsteps of Sam and Castiel into the bathroom or their horrified gasps and choruses of "Dean!!!".
It's just him and the Mark of Cain, primal and crazed. He welcomes the pain, the glass crunching under his hand, the shards cutting into his knuckles. The stinging feels good, more than good, like he can finally experience something else rather than the constant burning, the craving under his skin and the churning craziness on a constant loop inside his brain. The blood is welcomed, it makes him know he is still human underneath.
Sam reaches his brother first and grasps his shoulder, pulling him away from the next connection of his fist to the ruined mirror, "Dean! Stop it!".
Dean starts to spin around, he's still caught in the moment. Castiel grabs him as well, before he can struggle out of Sam's hold, concern etched on his face, "Dean?!".
Dean stills somewhat and blinks up at Sam, "I'm fine", he rasps.
"Dean you are hardly fine man. Look at yourself! You're out of control! You were screaming. And look at the mess you've made of your hand! What were you thinking?" Sam asks as he grabs a towel and gently wraps it around Dean's hand to stem the flow of blood.
Dean grimaces and glares at his brother, he doesn't feel like being questioned or having to explain himself.
"What happened Dean?"
"Must've slipped or something. Nothing to get all worked up over Sammy, it's just a bit of blood," he tries to accompany it with one of his cocky grins, but doesn't quite pull it off. He can still hear the screaming in his ears and already he's slipping back into the burning abyss. The Mark letting it's presence be known in no uncertain terms, so much so that he wishes he was still punching the mirror, punching anything. He needs a hunt, he needs to take something down, the Mark wants it's pound of flesh.
"Dean you can't be serious!?"
"Sam -"
Cas exchanges a silent look with Sam and steps in, "Sam I'll tend to Dean."
Sam sighs, looking between his brother and the angel, "Fine...I guess. But we are so talking about this later Dean." He gives Dean a pointed look as he exits.
Dean pulls his face and looks to Castiel.
"Go sit on your bed Dean and where do you keep your first aid kit?" Cas asks.
"Should be one under the sink," Dean replies, as he turns towards his bed, "Aren't you gonna give me the third degree as well, Cas?" He sinks into his mattress, a deep sigh leaving his chest. He rests his wrapped hand on his knee, he can see blood starting to soak through the towel. His eyes move to the Mark, wishes he could take a piece of the jagged mirror and cut into it, anything to stop the burning.
He jumps when Cas' hand appears in his line of vision. Cas kneels in front of him, opening up the first aid kit at his side. He takes Dean's injured hand off his knee and starts to unwrap the blood soaked towel as he replies, "I don't need to Dean. I know why you did it," he looks up at him, his eyes big and focused. They always did have a way of seeming to look deep into his soul.
"Oh yeah? And just what do you think you know?" Dean scoffs, then winces as Cas starts to clean off the blood now oozy and slightly crusted around his knuckles.
"That the Mark of Cain is like a living, breathing entity inside you. Calling to you, urging you -"
Dean cuts him off "Okay then," he flexes his hand as Cas moves onto picking out the glass shards with a pair of tweezers. The sting and pull of pain feels good for half a second, but he wishes the pain was ramped up to a thousand times more.
"Stop moving Dean," Cas admonishes.
"Sorry Doctor Sexy," Dean jokes.
Cas frowns and huffs continuing to gently clean up Dean's injuries, "In case you're wondering I'm not mojoing away your pain because I feel that would defeat the purpose of why you did it in the first place," he glances up at Dean to gauge to reaction to his statement.
"Thanks Cas," he pushes out past his raw throat.
Cas starts to bandage up his hand. Dean watches and tries to swallow past the sudden tears he feels welling up behind his eyes. He takes in a ragged breath and makes a sound of pain.
Cas looks up concerned and stops what he's doing, "I'm sorry Dean. Did I hurt you?" He moves his thumb to the pulse point of Dean's wrist, hot and rhythmically dancing under his touch. He rubs it back and forth, a soothing gesture.
"Nah. You'd make a good nurse Cas. Very gentle dude," he manages a faint smile, as Cas goes back to finishing up bandaging his hand. Dean misses the movement of Cas' thumb, but doesn't say so.
As soon as Cas is done Dean shoots to his feet. Cas sits back on his heels and cranes his neck back, Dean looks down and licks his lips at the sight. Cas on his knees like he's worshipping him, his hair it's usual style of mussed perfection, his stupid chapped lips half stuck together, his eyes always on him. He doesn't know why Cas never gives up on him. He feels the Mark of Cain kick up a notch with an answering twitch of arousal shooting down to his groin. He barely holds back his moan, so he abruptly sits back down and brings his knees together, looking away from Cas.
Cas puts Dean's hand in his and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Dean feels like Cas would run for the door if he knew what he was thinking right now. Cas' other hand makes it's way to the Mark and Dean holds his breath. Cas presses his palm to it and rubs his hand over it, "You aren't this Mark, Dean. You can fight it."
Dean shakes his head, but can't get any words out past his throat.
Cas leans forward and presses his lips on the Mark. He can feel it's heat, it's power and the very wrongness of it. His stolen grace tries to pull back, but he brings it forth. On his next breath out he lets a little grace flow out into Dean, into the Mark. Just enough to dull the heat and power it is giving out. As Cas breathes out, Dean breathes in and lets out an answering sigh. His shoulders slump and he feels like he hasn't slept in a million years. Cas feels lightheaded but happy he could do this one little thing for Dean.
"Why don't you lie down and rest Dean? Try to get some sleep," Cas says as he gently pushes Dean back onto the bed. He stands and swings Dean's legs up also.
Dean feels like liquid, like he's floating inside his brain. It's nice and comforting, like when Cas was holding his wrist. Maybe a nap would be good. Usually he can't relax enough to sleep properly, the Mark always having him at attention, pulling and clawing at him. He closes his eyes a moment later and gets out a, "Thanks Cas," before he's already being pulled under into slumber.
Cas smiles down at him tenderly and brushes his fingers over Dean's hairline, wishing he could do more to help Dean. He hates seeing him so out of control, so angry, never smiling or happy. He puts away the first aid kit and goes back to Dean. He knows Sam is probably waiting anxiously to hear if Dean had anything to say, but he doesn't want to leave Dean alone. He climbs up onto the bed behind Dean and lies down beside him, curls his body up behind his. Dean's the little spoon his brain supplies him, which makes me the big spoon he thinks and grins to himself as he knows Dean would protest at that. He closes his eyes and snuggles in closer as Dean's breaths turn into snores. He finds his lips have moved to the curve of Dean's neck, under his ear, of their own accord, lighting upon his freckled skin in a kiss. He lingers there for a moment then moves his nose into the same spot, nuzzling, breathing in Dean's scent.
He whispers, "I love you," into Dean's skin and slides his hand around Dean's waist, pulling him back closer. He wishes he could always keep Dean safe and fears what is to come.
Sam stands silently in the doorway of Dean's bedroom, his heart feels full at what he just overheard. As he turns to go, he smiles quietly to himself.