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The unearthly screams of years ago whipped through Dean's mind like the soft returning echo of what they'd once been. He still remembered the enjoyment he'd found in carving apart damned souls. No matter who they were- man, woman, old, young, guilty, innocent- he showed no mercy.

After a decade of torturing in Hell, he came back topside and here- he was limited. He didn't have a constant flow of victims to slowly carve apart at his leisure. No, now there was only interrogation. And they hardly had anyone to interrogate. And the spineless, demonic sons of bitches always gave in quicker than Dean would've liked. And Sam could see it.

Five years out of Hell and here he was, pacing restlessly around the bunker at three in the morning, craving the screams that he still heard in his head. He wasn't afraid of the voices. He wanted them back. He missed torture. He'd been so good at it.

He'd always been the runt. Always second best. But torture had been his. Sam was merciful. Dean wasn't. And he was creative too. His sick, twisted mind never ceased to amaze Alastair when he'd been his protégé in the Pit.

"I carved you into a new animal, Dean."

Dean gave a start. The memory of that voice had escaped his head and had materialized before him. He wasn't even drunk. He couldn't usually get really drunk anymore. He hadn't even drank more than usual tonight. Perhaps it was time for some more because he was hallucinating.

"There's no turning back now." Alastair drawled, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"You're not real. Okay? I know that, so why don't you get back inside my head and shut up."

"Ooh, so serious." Alastair said, crossing the room, closing in on Dean, "C'mon, you're caged. A straightjacketed psycho, like me, who has natural psychopathic needs. Like torture."

"Shut up." Dean muttered, backing away from Alastair, continuing to pace, until-

"Dean?"

Dean looked up, stopping where he was. He set the bottle down on the table. Sam was standing in the doorway, Alastair looked from one brother to the other.

"Ooh, we're in trouble... You know Sam doesn't like it when you get unstable..."

Dean ignored Alastair, "Hey. What're you doing up-"

"I wasn't," Dean felt a little bit bad for waking him up, "But I heard you talking to somebody."

Dean gestured in Alastair's general direction, "Well, nobody's here that I could talk to."

"Rude." Alastair muttered.

Sam stared over at Alastair's spot against the wall. Dean felt a sudden spark of hope that maybe Alastair was really there. He wasn't crazy and-

"Yeah, nobody's here so... Who are you seeing?"

Shit.

"What? Nobody, I was just... Thinking out loud."

"Dean, c'mon. You think I can't tell?"

Alastair smiled, "Yeah, Dean, it takes one to know one, and Sammy's had plenty of experience with-"

"-to do with the mark?"

Dean blinked at Sam, realizing he'd been listening to Alastair rather than him.

"What?"

Sam looked worried, "I said, do you think it has something to do with the mark?"

"The mark? Ooh, Dean, you didn't tell me you got tatted. Let me see. Unless you got it somewhere that-"

"I- I, um..." Dean began weakly, his breathing was picking up, "Uh, maybe it-"

"Marked by Cain, marked by Lucifer. No wonder you're so damn bloodthirsty."

Dean scrubbed at his eyes, trying to force Alastair's image out of his head. He was falling apart in front of Sam, and for once, he didn't really care.

"Dean? Hey, sit down, c'mere..."

Sam got Dean into a chair, but Dean wasn't paying attention to that. Alastair was shouting in his head.

"Dean Winchester! Michael's sword! Descendant of Cain! The father of murder himself said he could relate to you... Oh, Dean, what did God really have in store for you? If everything is what he wants it to be, why do you just love chopping off heads?"

"-not real, okay? You gotta shut it out. Only you can-"

"What-?" Dean mumbled, his head hurt from all the noise, "I can't-"

"You're a savage, Dean, an animal! Just like Cain. You killed the father of murder, Dean! And you think you can just walk away?"

"-focus on my voice, okay? Can you hear me? De-"

"Killing Abaddon had you so juiced up you went through withdrawal from killing people. And she was just a knight of hell. Now you killed the guy who created her. Who created the whole act of killing, himself!"

"DEAN!"

Dean blinked, eyes darting around, lids dipping threateningly as he tried to find Sam's eyes. Once they met, Alastair's voice started to ebb away. Melting into a whisper.

"Are you with me?"

Dean nodded and felt Sam's grip on his shoulder- which he hadn't even been aware of until this point, and that was probably a bad sign- start to slacken.