A bitter angry scream filled the bunker, Sam's body straightened, stiffened, recognizing that sound, knowing it like he knew the sound of his own voice. The scream, this time laced with agony resounded throughout the bunker once more, echoing, bouncing from wall to wall of their underground home. Sam tried to stand hurriedly, but his despair made his body weak with fatigue, and he ended up stumbling, falling forward catching his hand on the edge of the metal bowl Dean used to summon Crowley. In Sam's hurried attempt to stand, he didn't realize that his own blood, mingling with the dried remains of his brother's dripped from his fingers.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, got his footing and began running full force through the bunker, crashing into tables, into walls, anything that was in his way towards the room in which he had laid his brother to rest.

"Fix this Crowley!" Dean demanded.

"You did this Dean. Not I." Sam heard a crash and a thump as he skidded to the doorway. Dean was standing, back towards the door, the first blade against Crowley's smug throat.

"This is NOT what I wanted."

"It may not be Squirrel, but this is the result of your, shall we say, poor choices."

"Dean?" Sam choked.

"Ahhh, Moose. This is perfect. I wondered how long it would take that gangly body of yours to get here."

"Leave Sam."

"Dean?"

"Just go Sam."

"Oh, what? Don't you want to tell your brother the consequences."

"What consequences?" Sam asked panicked that in his grief he had made a mistake in the spell and had done something worse than summoning the King of Hell to their underground safe house.

"Go Sam. Please." Dean's voice was nothing but a low rumble in his chest, and he pushed the first blade into Crowley's throat biting the skin.

"Your brother did what he always does, leaps before he looks." Crowley purred. "He didn't read the fine print."

"What did you do Dean?"

"Oh, this is beautiful. The brother who pushed you into this," Crowley began. "The brother who was so eager to hurt you because you tried to save him, the brother who told you that you weren't his brother, the brother who pushed you away, who has your blood on his hands, both literally and figuratively, can't figure out what is going on! This is rich! Even for the two of you lunk heads." Crowley laughed. "Oh Sam, it's the mark of Cain. If either of you had been done the least amount of homework on it, this wouldn't be a surprise to you!" Crowley laughed and looked at Dean.

"Oh look at the time, I mustn't miss tea." And with that he blinked out and Dean fell forward and leaned against the wall, the first blade clutched in his hand, so tight that his knuckles were white.

Sam stepped forward and touched his brother's back. "Let the blade go Dean. We can figure this out, we can do this together."

"There is no answer to this but one. Get me the blade that Ruby gave you." Dean couldn't force himself to say "demon blade".

"Why?"

"Just do it Sam."

"No."

"Please Sam. Just get the damn knife."

"The knife won't kill Crowley." Sam said.

"No. But it will kill me." He turned to face his brother and locked black demon eyes with Sam's compassionate hazel. Sam, shocked, stepped back, and stepped back, his mouth agape. Dean didn't move.

Sam began the exorcism. Nothing happened. And Dean's demon eyes fell to the floor. He pulled his black tee shirt from his chest. The tattoo was still intact. "It won't help Sammy. It won't help. I'm not possessed. I am a demon." And tears began to track their way down his face." The exorcism died on Sam's lips.

"I don't understand…it takes centuries in hell to make a demon."

Dean wiped away the tears. He didn't deserve any ounce of self-pity, he didn't deserve the opportunity to mourn the loss of his innocence. He had done this to himself. This hadn't been thrust upon him, he had made the choice to take the mark, to take the responsibility for what came with it. It was his fault alone that he didn't read the fine print, so to say, and it was his responsibility to take care of the problem. "This is the consequence of the mark. This is the consequence of my temper, this is the result of my anger, of my blindness. And, this is a consequence I can't take. Get me the blade please. Let me finish this once and for all. Let me free you of this life, let me protect the world from a very dangerous demon. Let me die the man I always thought I was, not the demon that I turned my soul into."

"We can fix this." Sam said. "You're still you…"

"For the second, but how long before Crowley pulls his puppet strings and I fall in line like the good little demon, like the good little soldier, we both know that I can be? And we both know I'm dangerous, we both know that I have a streak, ever since Hell, ever since…" He swallowed, closed his eyes and when he opened them, the eyes were mostly his own, big, green, and as Sam had heard from one or two women in his life, beautiful. But the green was no longer bright and vibrant, full of life and love for his family and friends, for humanity, for the cause, they were ringed in black, and colder than they had ever been.

"Dean…your eyes."

"I know they are black."

"No, they are your own. That has to mean…."

"Nothing. You and I both know that. We've dealt with enough demons in our lives to know that. It means nothing. Please get me the knife. I can't get to it now. Please…Sam. Just get it."

"I'm not going to let you kill yourself."

"I already have."