"We can figure this out." Sam pleaded. "There must be a spell, a cure…."
Sam's eyes brightened. He grabbed his pocket knife, advanced on his demonic brother.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"My blood! It made Crowley human, that's the cure for a demon." Sam was just about to drag the knife across his palm when Dean's hand, lightning quick, grabbed ahold of his.

"No. That will complete the last trial, and I did not risk our relationship, my life, your life, and the world for you to screw that up now." Dean's voice was firm, and his grip was vicelike.

"Dean you are hurting me." Sam said softly. Dean immediately let go, walked away from his brother, and ran his left hand, the hand without the mark of Cain, without the first blade, through his hair and down his face.

"I need that blade Sam. I need it now."

Sam stood to his full impressive height, chin angled up defiantly and said, "Use that blade that you refuse to let go of. If you want to kill yourself so damn bad, use that."

"Won't work. Cain tried it and it made him what I made myself into."

"Dean, there are other ways." Sam started. "There is always another way…." In a blink of an eye Dean had Sam pressed against the wall, the first blade against his throat.

"I need to be dead." Dean growled. "I need to protect you, I need to protect the world from what I have become."

"Think much of yourself?" Sam asked calmly eyes locked on the demonic eyes that accompanied the burst of supernatural theatrics.

"No. I don't. But if there is one thing in this world I know, it is demons…and I know myself. I'm weak, I broke in hell under the pressure, and I'll break here. How long before I can't control myself, and I'm in this exact same position with you because I'm not getting my way or I'm just, hell," Dean gave a bitter snort. "I'm just being a demon, and I decide I'd rather have Sam Winchester's head as a trophy, then the brother the human Dean loved and protected and laid down his life for more than once." Dean pushed the blade just a little more into Sam's throat, not drawing blood but a mere centimeter more would cause Sam's blood to spill and that blood running down the blade, onto Dean's hands sounded so good, so good that the blade shook with his effort not to slice through that pale skin.

"I'm willing to take that risk." Sam said no hint of fear in his voice or posture. "You're my brother and that is stronger than any demonic mark, demonic eyes, demonic soul."

Dean, frustrated, screamed, dropped the first blade and stalked to the other side of the room. Sam swallowed hard, forced himself not to put a hand to his throat where the blade had been pushed.

"You just don't get it," Dean yelled. "You don't know how much I wanted to feel your blood on that blade. You have no idea how much of me wants to kill you just because it feels good to have death on my hands." Dean wanted to whimper. Death was always something Dean tried to fix, avoid, help, save, and here he was, desirous of a death, his brother's death, to make him feel good. Dean kept his eyes closed trying to calm the impulses in his chest. He finally collected his thoughts enough to say quietly, "Cain killed Abel."

"I know that, Dean."

"Abel was his brother."

"I attended the same Sunday school classes that Pastor Jim made you attend."

"You aren't this stupid Sam."

"No. I'm this sure of you." Dean closed his eyes and ran a hand down his mouth in frustration.

"I wish you hadn't been lying." Dean mumbled. "It would make all of this easier. You wouldn't be attached to me. You would let me put a knife through my chest and you could go and live a life away from this."

When Dean opened his eyes he saw Sam standing in front of him. "I keep telling you we'll figure this out." Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder.


Sam, that night, gathered every blade/weapon that he could find that he knew could kill a demon, and it put them in a large devil's trap, with a note attached that said. "I won't let you try to kill yourself even if I'm in bed." Dean sighed, Sam did know him too well. He sat down at the kitchen table, a bottle of holy water and a bottle of whisky sitting side by side. He poured a little of each into the glass and drank it down, fought the urge to scream as the holy water burned at the demonic side of his soul. He poured both again and drank it down again.

This was the only thing that he could think of to do, the only thing he knew to do, the only way he could figure to try to purge the demonic side of his soul, or kill himself and at this point he didn't care which.

He heard his brother shuffling into the room in which he sat.

"What in hell are you doing drinking holy water!" Sam yelled and grabbed the bottle from his brother. "This is poison!"

"I know." Dean said and belted down his glass of holy whisky water. He burned again and fought not to scream.

"You truly are a stupid son of a bitch."

"Don't talk about mom that way." Dean said and reached for the flask of holy water he kept in his coat, and began the process of mixing the liquids.

Sam came round to sit in front of Dean. He put a hand on the glass. "Stop." He said gently. "Just stop."

"I can't do this Sammy." Dean looked up at Sam, "I dreamed of this."


"Remember, what was it, six, seven years ago, we took the dream root and you were in my dreams."

"Yeah?" Sam answered confused as to the direction of this conversation.

"I talked with my subconscious. And this is what he said. His eyes opened, and they look just like they do now." He drank the concoction and allowed the burning to envelop him, and tears came down his face, tears of pain, of fear, or resignation. "And he said, 'you can't escape me Dean, you're going to die…and this…this is what you're going to become.' And he was right. I was right. I always knew this would happen." Dean just took the holy water flask and drank it down, even with his flesh burning, his soul burning, and Sam in the background screaming for him to stop, he drank until there was no more.