You never listen to the voices inside

They fill your ears as you run to a place to hide

You're never sure if the illusion is real

You pinch yourself, but the memories are all you feel...In the Dark (Billy Squier)

Chapter 12:

The pain started in his fingertips; a white hot sizzle of fire that traveled up his arms and into his chest. It burned like liquid fire in his veins; the heat blinded him and took his breath away.

Dean felt his muscles give way as the room blurred and the world tilted. He reached out automatically to catch himself and felt icy coolness against his palms as he sank to his hands and knees to the unforgiving stone floor. For a moment he thought he had died and his body just didn't realize it yet; muscle memory sending reflex impulses to a corpse. He was blind and deaf, his skin and bones and blood on fire. It felt like being electrocuted...again...and wasn't it a strange life he led that Dean knew exactly what that felt like and lived to tell about it.

His hearing was the first thing to come back online; the stuttered pounding in his ears he recognized as his own heartbeat, the rushing pressure in his chest his own gasps of breath. He blinked away involuntary tears of pain as the scuffed stones under his hands slowly swam into focus. But his brain was still several laps behind, his circuits scrambled. Somewhere in the distance, a voice seemed to be calling his name, but he couldn't seem to muster the strength to lift his head to respond.

The voice was closer now, and something...or someone...was grasping his shoulder, shaking him and speaking in a tone that demanded him to focus.

"Dean! I need your help."

I'm trying...just give me a damn minute. I just died here.

"We don't have much time. You have to come back now, Dean."

Come back...oh yeah...I died...

An iron grip grasped both shoulders and pushed, sending Dean sprawling back onto his ass with a thump that jarred his teeth. He blinked, once, twice and finally the frowning countenance of his guardian angel swam into view.

"Cas," he rasped, throat dry, like sand scraping against rock. "What the hell..."

"Show me your arm."

"My...what?"

With an exasperated sigh, Castiel reached out and roughly tore at the fabric covering Dean's right arm. He attempted to pull away, only to feel the angel's iron grip as he pushed the shredded flannel up and lifted Dean's bare arm into view.

"Look at it, Dean. Look."

It took several uncoordinated moments for the rigid muscles in Dean's neck to respond...and another long moment for him to realize what Castiel was trying to show him.

His right forearm was smooth, the skin unmarked and clear.

The Mark of Cain...was gone.

Dean stared, unbelieving what his blurred eyes were showing him. He glanced up at Castiel, who nodded in confirmation. "You are free, Dean."

"How did you..."

"I did not do this," the angel replied, releasing Dean's arm as he sat back on his heels. "I wish there had been another way."

Dean looked back down at his arm, his breath catching in his chest as he saw the drying rivulets of what appeared to be blood snaking down through his fingers to stain the now destroyed sleeve of his flannel. And at that moment, he knew. He knew, somehow, what had happened...and he remembered what he had done.

On trembling hands and knees he crawled around Castiel's crouching form, past the gore stained weapon next to him and across the bloodied floor to where his brother lay, curled in a fetal position, arms crossed over his mangled abdomen. Sam's cheek lay pressed against the stone, eyes closed, complexion bluish-gray, unmoving, unnaturally still.

"Oh God, no..." Dean touched Sam's cheek, brushed his tangled hair from his face. As he lifted his head from the floor, his brother sighed one last breath and his face relaxed, as if Sam knew Dean was there. "Did I do this?" Dean didn't recognized the strangled voice as his own.

Castiel attempted to pull Dean away, but a mighty shove sent the angel sliding across the room. "Don't touch him," he warned as he pulled Sam's head into his lap. "Don't you dare."

"I did not want this, Dean," Castiel said softly, wisely keeping his distance. "Cain told him how to release you from the Mark. Sam was convinced this was the only way."

Dean remained silent, his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face. After a moment, he raised his head and fixed despondent eyes on his angel.

"He...he made a..deal? Another demon deal? Damn it, Sam..."

"It was not a deal," Castiel said. "Cain knew all along how to release you...and him...from the Mark."

Dean stared down at Sam's lax features, relaxed in the macabre rigor of death. "Cain was a demon."

"He told us what to do, Dean. And it worked."

"Not like this...I never wanted him to d-do this." Dean lifted tear blurred eyes heavenward, as if to implore some higher power to help him. But he knew there was no help to be found there; there was nothing...except for the forlorn angel by his side, asking him to understand a sacrifice that was beyond anything he could comprehend.

"How do you feel, Dean?"

Dean stared down at the graying features of his little brother. "I don't k-know how to tell you how I feel," he whispered.

"That is good."

Dean glanced up with an incredulous expression. "Are you kidding me? I just k-killed my baby brother and you...you..."

"You feel human, Dean," Castiel said as he rose, bending to turn Sam's body so that he could lift his feet from the floor. After a moment, Dean gently lay Sam's head down, rising as well to lift his shoulders. As they moved the bloodied body to Dean's bed, Castiel leaned down to catch Dean's gaze.

"How long has it been since you felt...normal? Human?"

Dean sat down next to Sam on the bed, swallowing bile as the full damage to his brother's body was revealed. "I don't know," he said softly.

"The pain you feel now," Castiel said as he moved Sam's bloodied shirt away from the wound. "That proves that the evil power that gripped your soul is no longer in control."

"Can you...can you do...something? Anything?"

Castiel moved closer, finally placing a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder.""I promised him I would see this through to the end." He gazed down at Sam's features, then up into Dean's red rimmed eyes.

"You asked me earlier about this." Castiel gestured to his bloodstained collar. "I lied. I told you I cut myself shaving. I do not shave."

"I don't..."

"Sam did this." The angel hooked a finger around the collar to reveal an angry red gash on his throat. "He did it with my angel blade."

"Why?" Dean asked, his eyes still locked on the pale countenance of his dead brother.

"For his plan to work, we needed angel grace. I have little left, but I was able to give him some of mine." Castiel turned Sam's left hand over to reveal an equally vicious slice in the palm of his hand.

Dean finally looked up, puzzlement in his eyes. "Why?" he asked again.

"Cain's curse was nearly perfect. To break the curse, whoever wore the Mark had to use the blade again...to take the blood of a brother, freely given. Cain had slain his only brother, so the only way to break the curse..."

"Was to give the Mark...to another killer..." Dean whispered. "Like me."

"Yes."

"But...Sam had to die?"

"Yes." Castiel placed one hand against Sam's cold cheek. " He is dead, Dean. But he is not gone."

To be continued...