Hello, everyone! I hope you enjoy the story I wrote. I got really inspired after this week's episode (most watched what!) and decided to write this story. These characters belong to the creators of Supernatural and I only use them to the best of my imagination. The plot is going to start off going along with the show, but it's going to veer off, so watch out! Enjoy the story:

The Mark of Cain: Chapter 1

Calloused fingers trace over the raised flesh. Stroke after stroke, trying to make sure that it was real. And that everything had actually happened. He's going over the past few weeks, going over everything that led him to where he is now: sitting in the driver's seat of his Baby. Waiting for the King of Hell to deliver to him a weapon so powerful, it can kill the last Knight of Hell. To a normal person, this would drive anyone insane. But to Dean Winchester, it was just another Tuesday night.

And let's not forget that now he's been marked by Cain, the totally justified first murderer. All in all, it's been a pretty great day for the eldest Winchester.

Now, with only the blaring sound of silence filling his ears, he concentrates on the whirlwind of thoughts flowing through his mind. The first and foremost being:

'What am I going to tell Sammy?'

Does he lie? Go back on his word after promising Sammy the umpteenth time he would never do so again? Betray his only kin?

Does he tell the truth? Explain how he is the only one who can sympathize with Cain, can handle his power? And deal with the disappointed stare and taciturn frown?

'What about Cas?'

He almost forgot the Angel of Thursday, which is surprising with how he usually dominates his thoughts… but he'll focus on that another day. Maybe when he can accept the fact he's the new cursed man from biblical times. But back onto the topic at hand: how can he show up with another man's mark on him? Would that be some form of cheating on their… profound bond, as he calls it?

'Too many thoughts. Not enough alcohol.'

Finally, Dean starts the car and drives away from the dark enclave where the demon king left him. Away from the dark thoughts plaguing him.

'If Crowley wants me, he knows where to find me.'

Driving always relax Dean, when he was a kid, even now as an adult. The open road… no end in sight, like forever condensed. No ending, no sense of loss, just the need to go the extra mile. Always moving on, never staying too long to see what you left behind, always looking ahead because looking behind will most likely kill you. Drowning out whatever you want with the white noise of the stereo. No thinking, just instinct.

Just what he needs.

Because right now, he doesn't want to feel. He doesn't want to have all the responsibility that's been thrust upon him at his age. He's died who knows how many times, come back to life, has watched almost all his family die, and now… he's just another pawn in the game of Hell.

Only now the king on the board has changed.

And he's not really a pawn, he's a little more important than that. The bishop? Nah, this is Hell, what religion do they have? The rook? No… what even is a rook anyway? The queen? Well, with the way he's been thinking nowadays… No. He knows what he is:

A knight.

The newest knight of the brotherhood of Hell.

Looks like Abbadon has some competition.

Well... if she survives.

Which, hopefully, she doesn't.

After a couple hours of driving, he finally looks out the side window to look at a road sign and- wow. Instincts really do kick in. He's only a couple miles away from Lebanon, Kansas. A few of miles away from the Bunker. From Sam. Cas. Home.

The first thing that comes to mind is that he should keep driving. When he hits the town keep going until it's behind you once more. Keep Sam and Cas safe. Keep them in the dark. Let him handle this on his own before he gets the last people who he cares for killed. Sure, they've all been resurrected more than Jesus Christ, but he can never take that risk. Ever.

But then he thinks of Sam. How he smiles whenever Dean enters the room. His ever-present bitch-face that dials up the sass. The way he gets excited over every new piece of geeky information.

Then he thinks of Cas. The way the angel's bright, true blue eyes get even brighter (if that's possible) when Dean gives him a simple smile. How, when he's not doing something, he unconsciously looks towards Dean (he's noticed). The curve of his-

Now he knows he's getting off track. He also knows he's closing in on the town. He has to make a choice. He has to choose: keep going forward and away from his only family, or drag them into something he's started, again.

He curses himself as he turns the wheel in the direction of the bunker.

Sure, what he's doing is dangerous. He's done dangerous so many times that it's become mundane. Supernatural is super-ordinary. His best friend is a freaking angel! So he should be fine with bringing both said angel and brother into his messed up mission.

So why does he freeze up half a mile away from the Bunker. Thank whatever deity that's up there he has sense enough to put on the brake, but why can't he strike up the nerve to start up Baby again? Drive the last couple of yards to the Bunker? Make it to the only home he's ever known?

The safety of the Impala is all to comforting, and he loses himself in its confines. He wastes an hour, maybe two, just sitting in the car staring straight ahead. To anyone else outside it would look like he just ran into some car problems. But only he knows that he is faced with a strong dilemma at hand.

His hand goes back to stroking the mark. Up. Down. Repeat.

The problem he had at the beginning has resurfaced, and now he's looking into the lion's den with no idea how to get out. The stroking increases in speed, and his nails start to dig in. His breathing picks up speed as well.

'Just what I need… a panic attack."

He's trying to control his breathing, but that never works. The car starts to feel smaller and smaller. The nails dig in more, and he can smell the tangy copper of blood. A strangled sound escapes his throat. Tears start to sting his eyes. His breathing becomes choppier and choppier. He can't deal with the weight on his shoulders. It's just too much this time. After everything that's happened, why does it always fall back to him to clean up everyone's mess! Especially when he can't get a handle on his own messes! It's all getting to him. There's no alcohol anywhere to calm the fear. Unload the burden. Ease him into oblivion. Although, the freak-out he's having is doing a pretty good job, as darkness borders his vision. It's all building and building until-

A soothing pulse shoots through his body, and he starts to ease back into his seat. His hand is still on the mark, but now he can focus again. He can breathe.

'What was that?!'

He looks down to where he expects a bloody mess, but removing his hand shows the mark, seemingly the same as it was before. Like he didn't just claw at it like a madman clamoring for freedom. But a closer look shows the mark to be… thrumming with a sort of energy. Something that wasn't there before. His emerald stare pierces the throbbing scar, trying to unlock the secrets it holds with a piercing glare.

'Just like your angel, right?'

"Who was that!?" Dean demands, scanning the car for the unknown voice.

'In here, Dean.'

Dean realizes where the voice is, and more importantly, who it is.

"Cain! What are you doing in my head?"

'I told you I would be calling you soon, how did you think I would be doing it?'

"Nice to see you too," Dean bites back, "but can you please tell me why you called me before I resume my freak-out."

'Well then, I'd have to put a stop to that too.'

"Hold up." His hand flies up. "You caused the mark to start… doing stuff?"

'Yes. I made the mark… "do stuff".'

"How?"

Dean would never admit it, but he's really dying to know how the inventor of fratricide has his head number. He's stingier with that more than his cell number.

'To soothe your burning curiosity, I will tell you. Once I gave you that mark, we became linked. My mind is connected to yours, allowing me to see what you are thinking and giving me access to all your memories. And my… do you have a LOT of naughty ones… Why, you've chased more tail than a dog, you cad!'

Dean's face flushes at the jibe, and shakes his head.

"Alright, can we focus on something else? Like this mark? I remember scratching at it until it started to bleed, so why is the skin not broken?"

'Along with me being able to reach into your mind, I was able to soothe you of your slight meltdown. As for the mark, as long as you bear it, any injury you suffer will disappear, and your body will repair itself.'

"So… it's like I have a patch of grace on my arm? Again?!"

'No. This mark is more demonic in nature. Not like your little blue-eyed birdy's power source. Along with healing abilities, you'll also notice an increase in human abilities and senses. And some powers might surface… but I'll let you discover those on your own.'

"There's more!? What powers are there? What if they show up when Cas and Sam are around? How would I explain that!?"

'You tell them the truth Dean Winchester. I may not have met them, but I have been digging around your subconscious for quite a while and let me just say that they can handle what you have on your shoulders, and more importantly your forearm. Sam has grown, and he sure is strong enough to handle the task ahead of you. And tall, too! I never knew someone could be that tall! And the angel, Castiel, is there any doubt in your mind that he won't accept you. That angel has followed you to Hell and back, with unquestioning loyalty. The amount of respect he holds for you, how he's forgiven you time after time you've messed up. And I won't even mention those memories with all the heat behind them. So… tell them about the mark. They will take it. They can handle it. They will accept you.'

Dean just leans back more into his seat, trying to process all the information that's swirling in his head.

'I'm going to leave you to your own choice. You have my opinion. I just hope you make the smartest choice.'

His mind soon returns to the inner turmoil it started out in. The advice Cain left him swirls in his mind, thick like cement, engraved in his brain. He tests the words on his mouth, saying them in different combinations, trying to get it out in the best possible way. He knows what he's going to do. He sits up straighter. He holds his head high. He pulls his hand away from the mark…

And to his rolled up sleeve. He unrolls the first sleeve, and buttons it at the wrist, covering his mark from view. He does the same to the second sleeve, to match. His hands return to the steering wheel, he starts up the car, and resumes his journey back to the bunker.

'I've got to trust my instincts. Right now, it's the only thing I can trust.'

So he shuts his mind off and let's his body guide him back to the place where his brother and his angel are, waiting for him to return. Letting instinct take over and turning off his feelings.

Because… it's easier.

Thank you all for reading this story. It's my first Supernatural story (or any story on this site, really). There will be more to come when the mood strikes me, so TO BE CONTINUED!