If the ties that bind ever do come loose

Tie them in a knot like a hangman's noose

Because I'll go to Heaven or I'll go to Hell

Before I'll see you with someone else

On everyone's list of pet peeves is that tickling sensation at the back of your throat when you're on the verge of illness. Dean cleared his throat indignantly but to no avail. His throat tingled with every breath of cool air, only to find warm relief with a short breath out.

"Er—are you getting sick?" Sam asked out of curiosity.

"...Maybe," Dean replied in hesitation.

"Dean, it's okay to have a head cold," Sam reminded him. "I can make a run into town tomorrow and get some over-the-counter meds. You'll be fine."

"Yeah… okay," Dean agreed sullenly.

Sam sighed and flipped the lid of his laptop shut. "Well, since you're under the weather, I might as well stop looking for a case and turn in for the night. I'll see you in the morning," he called over his shoulder as he stood to go to his room down the hall.

Dean estimated it took less than fifteen seconds for Sam to come back to ask a favor. "Oh—by the way, can you get Cas out of my room for the night?" Sam asked hopefully. "I think that makes three seasons of The Office today."

"That some sort of record?" Dean snorted sarcastically.

"Dean," Sam pressed in his best impersonation of a professional adult.

"Alright, I'll give it a shot," he replied, separating himself from his place of comfort to follow Sam down the bunker's labyrinthine hallways.

When they reached the doorway, Sam gestured for Dean to enter first. Dean knocked lightly on the wooden paneling and heard a faint growl of, "Come in."

The two of them entered to find Castiel huddled underneath a blanket, fully immersed in the television screen. His trenchcoat lay draped over a chair with his blue and white striped tie draped across it. Dean had to admit: he didn't know what to make of Castiel's unbuttoned appearance.

"Hey, buddy," Dean began, clapping his hand on Castiel's shoulder to get his attention. "Sam's gonna hit the sack, so you're gonna need to get outta dodge for a few hours," he explained.

"Oh," Castiel said simply. "Alright."

Dean looked up at Sam with a victorious, just-roll-with-it smirk on his face. "Goodnight, Cas," Sam said as he switched the power off the television. "And Dean, I'll pick up some Sudafed from the drug store tomorrow morning," he added.

"Thanks, man. I have no clue what the hell that is, but if it'll help with this," Dean gestured to his head, "I'm all for it." With that, Dean led Castiel out of Sam's room and shut the door.

Castiel stared longingly at the closed door as though he regret giving up Netflix for the night.

"What do you suggest I do?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know," Dean said with a deep sigh. "What do you normally do when you don't sleep? And don't say watch Netflix because we both know you've never heard of The Wire until a few weeks ago."

"Before I discovered television, I usually would watch over you and Sam," Castiel answered dryly.

"Why don't you start by healing this sinus crap I've got going on?" Dean bemused. He sniffed uncomfortably fo effect.

"I am not at full capacity, Dean," Castiel replied regretfully. "My powers are… limited."

"Story of my life," Dean remarked sarcastically as he lazily stretched to grab a beer from the cooler. "Eh, don't sweat it," he continued. "I know how you feel. The Mark took a lot out of me for awhile, too."

Dean twisted the top off his drink and took a long swig. He sighed and leaned backward in his chair, suddenly realizing Castiel had waited on him to elaborate. "And how are you now?" Castiel asked when it became apparent Dean wasn't talking.

"Fine," Dean answered automatically. He instinctively brushed off questions regarding his mental state. From a young age, Dean was taught to conceal any pain he was feeling and continue to fight. In some ways, this was good because it allowed Dean to show no visible weakness to an enemy. In others, it was horrible to face such tragic circumstances on his own.

Castiel analyzed his facial expressions and deduced he wasn't feeling as up-to-par as he claimed. "You aren't," Castiel said plainly.

Dean shifted the beer bottle to sit between himself and Castiel as if he didn't want to talk about something so personal. "It's nothing," he assured him again. "The effects of the Mark are gone."

His actions of deceit couldn't fool Castiel. He could see Dean's mangled, wayward soul. The pain he endured over the ages coaxed a thick-armored skin to grow over him, but underneath his facade, Castiel could see the brokenness within. He hesitantly began to argue, "But something is bothering you… Dean, whatever it is—"

Castiel was cut short with a terse, "I said it's nothing, okay?"

"I know…," Castiel said understandingly. He paused for a moment, knowing how fragile Dean's pride could be at times. "I know I don't deserve your trust," he began tactfully, "but at least do yourself the favor of telling someone about how bad it really is."

Dean began to take his typical defensive approach, crossing his arms to create a physical barrier between the two of them. Even though Castiel could tell he wasn't ready to talk, he began, "When I had the Mark… I said a lot of awful stuff—hell, I did a lot of awful stuff," Dean admitted with a half-hearted scoff. "But when I think about what I did… I enjoyed every second of it. I craved the First Blade. I mean, what I felt when I was holding it… was better than apple pie and good sex combined."

"Pure pleasure," Castiel noted. "Euphoria in taking another life."

"Believe me, I tried to stop…," Dean said with a broken voice. He took a deep breath and stared at the table's wooden surface before continuing, "But for every time I resisted the urge to kill, I would feel pain so intense down in my soul. I could fight it for a few days, but there's only so much you can take, you know? After I went a few days without killing, using that blade would take me so high, I never thought I was gonna come down. And so it sort of became a twisted game. The more pain I could endure, the more pleasure I could experience."

"The desire for pleasurable sensation drove you to kill," said Castiel as though he had never considered this reason before. "Others have done far worse for less," he added reassuringly.

"That doesn't make it better," Dean countered.

The two of them stayed silent for a long time. For a newly reinstated angel, this information was a lot to digest. Suddenly, Castiel found himself asking, "When you attacked me… what did it feel like?"

"I murdered a lot of people then without a second thought…," Dean trailed off.

"But why did you spare me?" Castiel pressed. For some reason beyond his comprehension, Castiel needed an answer now.

"I wasn't planning on hurting you," Dean began honestly, "but when you grabbed my shoulder, everything inside me screamed for me to kill you. Deep down, I know I didn't want to, but all I could feel was ecstasy." Dean bit his lip as if remembering the subliminal feeling of the Mark. "I kept swinging because I didn't want that kind of pleasure to end…," he admitted quietly.

"Go on," Castiel encouraged.

"Cas, this is just making me feel worse," Dean replied miserably.

"Keep going," he said firmly.

Dean exhaled deeply and continued, "When I finally had you down on the ground, I was ready to use that angel blade." As difficult as this was for Dean to admit, Castiel knew it was good for him not to bottle it up for a change. "You were begging me to stop, and I know how much pain I must have caused… Then I looked at you, and for the first time since that damn thing latched itself on my arm, I felt content. All of a sudden, I realized what I had done and all of the suffering I put you through. I couldn't kill you. I don't know what stopped me, but I just couldn't."

Castiel didn't know how to respond to his answer. To be honest, he had forgotten he was supposed to respond to human interaction after spending so much time consumed with television. Now that the truth was out, Castiel really didn't know what sort of answer he was expecting to begin with. Perhaps Dean took mercy on him and allowed him to live. Maybe he thought it a worse punishment for Castiel to continue living and spared his life for that reason. Whatever the cause, Castiel never dreamed it would be something so ordinary, so simple.

In the same way Cain had resisted killing Collette all those years, Dean stopped himself from hurting Castiel. To have a connection so profound the Mark of Cain couldn't distort Castiel's true intentions… he could only imagine what must have caused Dean to stop.

Whether it was love or duty or something else entirely, Castiel couldn't really say, but what he knew for certain was this: Dean Winchester overcame a primordial force for his sake. Even though he had reached his limit to sharing his emotions tonight, Castiel found a silver lining in all of this: there was always hope.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this fic. Please be sure to leave me your thoughts and comments in a review.

enjoyed reading this fic. Please leave me your thoughts or comments in a review. XD.