Hey, I know I haven't written in a while, but here's an idea I've been screwing around with, so hear ya go. Its set mid season 12
"There's bad in you"
He picked up the blade tenderly, his fingers carefully grasping the hilt. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts as he slowly crossed the room to the woman cowering in the corner. His wide stance and glinting eyes seemed to suck the air out of her lungs.
"It's okay, shh" He drawled out, mock concern etching his features. He caressed the woman's face, fresh tears dripping down, hot and salty. He pulled his hand back, licking the moisture from his fingers with a smile.
"You're a-a a monster" She spat out, her words stumbling in her suddenly dry mouth. He only smiled again, a cocky grin stretching his face almost unnaturally.
"Darling, you don't even know the half of it" He replied, his blade swinging upward and marking its target, spraying an arc of blood in the air. He sighed, cracked his neck and turned around, only to be found face first with a mirror.
He stumbled back, momentarily stunned by his reflection; his face dotted with warm blood, his freckles hiding beneath crimson. He wiped his face roughly, looking back up to find his eyes jet black, bottomless, staring at him accusingly.
"And this, this is what you're gonna become!"
Dean woke up, a strangled scream escaping his chapped lips. His eyes darted wildly around his room, his sweat-soaked sheets bunched up in his fists. For a minute, all he could hear was the sound of his pounding heart and ragged breaths.
"Fuck me" the hunter muttered, collapsing back onto the bed, his hands going through his spiked hair and gripping it tight.
He absentmindedly hoped Sam wouldn't come running into his room, gun cocked and loaded. Dean swung his legs off the bed, the sleep long gone from his eyes. With a sigh, he padded lightly out of his room, his long legs carrying him to the kitchen and straight to the liquor cabinet.
He knew in the morning Sam would be pissed to find him curled up in the armchair with a bottle of jack, but he couldn't have cared less at the moment. He heaved himself into said armchair, the cap of the bottle forgotten in the kitchen. The fiery liquid coursed through his sore throat, and dropped comfortably into his stomach.
He should have been better by now, his mom was back, Cas was with them, and Sam didn't seem to be in any potential danger. Sure, the spawn of Satan was about to pop out and make a show, but he wasn't alone to deal with it.
Dean screwed his eyes shut, taking another forceful swig of whiskey, his thoughts clouded with hate and booze.
"Once you touch that darkness, it never goes away"
He grimaced at his own words, replayed them in his head, and on instinct went to scratch the Mark, only to find unmarred skin. He sometimes forgot, which made him wonder how much of that demon was truly him, or just the Mark.
With the silence enveloping his senses, and filling his head with dark thoughts, he went to grab his phone, put something on, anything. Dean momentarily paused as he picked the phone up, an unread message from his mom waiting for him.
A ghost of a smile twitched on his lips, aware that it was still crazy how his mom was even alive, much less texting of all things. He was still sore from her siding with the British Men of Letters, and Sam following her, but the best he could do for now was to sit back and observe for any suspicious behavior from the foreigners.
He put the bottle down, which had still been gripped in his hand, and unlocked his phone, reading the message:
-Hey, Dean, Mick wants me to check out a case up in Nebraska, somewhere near Lincoln, and I'll need some backup, call me if you're interested.
There was a silent plea hidden in the message, a sort of reconciliation that she seemed to want to do on her part. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, unsure to take the case without his brother by his side.
He saw the time was 5:26 in the morning, but he pressed the dial number anyway, inferred, that like him, Mary was a light sleeper. On the first ring, a surprisingly groggy voice murmured a 'hello?'.
"Shit, sorry, Mom, I'll- "
"No, no, its fine, I was about to be up anyway" Mary hastily assured, clearing her throat from the sleep.
Dean arched his eye at the dubious lie, but went on anyway, "I just saw the message, what's up?"
"Just the usual haunted house, couple of kids have been going missing in the area, all of them disappearing near the vicinity of the property."
"Seems like a simple salt n' burn from the sounds of it, why do you need me?" He asked cautiously, wanted his mother to say the truth.
Mary faltered for a second, before she gave a dry chuckle, "Well, it's a big house, and…I-I thought we could have some time together, some one-on-one"
Dean felt his throat close up with emotion, and he had to swallow hard before answering, "Really?"
It was a simple, hesitant question, no malice behind it, and Mary had to blink the tears out before she could speak, "Yeah, I wanna know about you guys, I want you to tell me about Sammy's first steps, and your first dance, and- "Her voice seemed to choke up but before she could continue, a croaky 'okay' was heard from the line.
Dean hated being this raw and open, but lately, every time he was with his mother, something deep would open up inside of him, a side of Dean that had been stowed away since he was 4.
"Okay, well, I'll send you the details and the address through text and meet you tomorrow?" She didn't mean to impose it as a question, but the fear of rejection from the boys that grew up without her was there, loud and clear.
"Yeah, it'll just take me 3 hours' tops, and I'll see you there" An assurance voiced subtly, before the phone call ended. Dean stared at his phone, frozen in thought. Without another word, he went to the kitchen, screwed the cap back on the bottle and headed for bed. After all, he had work in the morning.