#spncain

@allshipscreationschallenge | @gordonwalkr ↳ Prompt: Cain/Dean + Church by Fall Out Boy

I will never stop.

The words ring out in Dean's head. Even now, days after he felt the Blade slice through skin, through flesh, through bone, he can hear the words. And each time he hears those words again, as though they're being whispered into his ear by the man himself, he feels the same desperate churning of fear deep inside of him, screaming to find a way to end all of this before he succumbs to the same fate as his predecessor.

But beyond that – beyond the fear and the hatred for both himself and everything that brought him to this point – he feels a sense of longing. The pull of the Mark didn't fade when Cain's heart stopped beating. It didn't go away when his body disintegrated into nothing before Dean's eyes. It's still there, like an itch under the skin, driving Dean to find where Cain's buried himself beneath Dean's skin and just scratch.

Of course, he feels the Mark's call for blood, the need to feel the weight of the Blade in his hand. But that he can understand. That he can explain to Sam.

What he can't explain is the urge to seek out Cain, as if some deep dark part of him believes he's still alive, despite seeing the life leave him, his blood splattering across the dirt floor of the barn.

–-

Dean suffers the concerned stares and worried glances of Sam for weeks afterward. He assures his brother again and again that he's fine – or at least as fine as he can be, considering – but it doesn't make much of a difference. Dean doesn't want to worry him, hates worrying anyone, but he can't help but worry about himself in this circumstance.

Eventually they go on a hunt, in an attempt to force some sense of normalcy. It helps, a little. It gives Sam something else to focus on, and it makes Dean feel at least a little useful. But every step of the way, Dean feels as though he's being watched. They interview the victim's wife and he feels eyes on him. Even goes so far as to surreptitiously pull back the curtains to see if there's someone outside, only to see nothing beyond a young mother across the street walking her baby in its stroller. They go to the morgue to check out the body of the second victim, and he feels a chill up his spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the air. And when Sam's asleep in the bed next to his, Dean feels too keyed up to sleep. In the wind outside, all he hears is Cain's voice. I will never stop.

He doesn't tell Sam, but he's worried that he's going mad. That maybe the Mark is punishing him, or trying to push him until he snaps. A part of him even hopes that it is the Mark causing him to lose his grip on reality. If he just gives in, then someone – Crowley's not unlikely, provided he's able, as he seemed to flinch the least at the idea – will do what has to be done and take him out. Right now, that sounds like a better alternative to spending his days haunted by what he'll become and the underlying ache that Cain's death has left in him.

A few days later, Dean swears he sees a flash of silver streaked hair in his peripheral vision, but when he turns to look, there's nothing but leaves rustling in the breeze, and the faintest scent of decay in the air. Sam gives him a concerned look, almost as if he's about to ask what's wrong. Dean doesn't give him the chance, instead heading for the car.

–

It's not long after that the dreams start. They never seem like dreams until he wakes up in a cold sweat, the stench of rotting flesh still hanging in the air.

They all start the same. He's in a motel – even after they've finished the case and gone back to the bunker – and Sam's nowhere to be seen. He feels like he's being watched, just like he's felt for weeks, and even goes so far as to open the door and check outside, but there's nothing. When Dean turns around, he's there. Cain. Stock still with a grim face and sickly pallor. Dean can feel his hands start to tremble and he begs himself to remain calm, tries to summon the same unruffled composure he has in the face of any number of monsters he's faced over the years. But he can't stop the bone deep fear and the undercurrent of something else that courses through him.

The silence stretches on, and Dean feels the air leave the room until a gruff “Dean...” ekes past Cain's blue lips, and somehow Dean can breathe again.

The first time, the dream ends there. The rush of emotion that follows has Dean sobbing silently into his pillow in the dark, unable to sleep for the rest of the night.

Each time afterward, it gets easier. He finds a strange relief in seeing Cain again, if only when he's asleep. He holds the image of him in his mind, tries to reconcile it with the Cain he knew.

Each time after the first, the dream lasts longer. It seems as though Cain is trying to tell him something. His lips move with purpose, but nothing beyond the first, almost guttural Dean, can be heard. But each night, he and Cain draw closer to one another, and each night, Cain's words seem much closer to coming out.

Finally, one night, the dream lasts long enough that Cain is practically close enough to touch. He whispers something to Dean. Something familiar. I'm saving you. It doesn't seem to pass through Cain's mouth before it reaches Dean's ears, but it's undeniably him. Dean doesn't have a chance to ask what he's being saved from before Dean feels blunt human teeth tearing into his flesh. He tries to scream but to no avail.

The last thing Dean sees before he wakes up is Cain smiling down at him, lips and teeth stained red.

–

Dean tries, after that, to stave off sleep as long as he can. He manages a few days before his body gives in.

The dream comes. He feels the same anticipation as always before he hears Cain say I'm saving you. Feels the same confusion about what he means. The same pain and horror as the flesh is torn from his body. He sees Cain smiling down at him, blood dripping from his chin. But instead of waking up, he keeps looking up at Cain, feeling a faint tingle of excitement.

Cain leans down again, and Dean screws his eyes shut, bracing for the pain of another bite. But the pain doesn't come. Instead he feels Cain's lips, soft but forceful against his own, carrying the metallic tang of Dean's blood along with them. He tries to fight through the haze in his mind for the reaction he feels like he should be having, but the only reaction that comes to him is to kiss Cain back.

His clothes disappear and he finds his arms wrapped around Cain, fingers scrambling for purchase as Cain buries himself inside Dean. The only sounds that can be heard are a litany of praise from Cain, whispered into the space between them without ever actually leaving Cain's lips. Dean tries to reach between them to bring himself some relief from the building pleasure, but finds his hands pinned to the floor as if by will alone, as Cain's hands are nowhere near them. One of Cain's hands, instead, finds its way to Dean's throat, pressing just barely; more of a claim than anything else.

Cain leans in close, his lips close enough to Dean's that Dean would barely have to lean forward at all to close the distance. But instead of kissing him, Cain whispers I will never stop.

Dean wakes, achingly hard, and brings himself to orgasm with the dream still fresh in his mind.

–

Dean spends the following morning in a fog: still feeling the ghost of Cain's touch, the taste of his own blood still on his tongue.

He heads to the bunker's kitchen on autopilot, thinking coffee might help snap him out of it. When he gets there, Sam is lumbering over the stove, cooking up a few eggs that soon join a plate of bacon sitting on the counter. He takes them over to Dean, bidding him good morning. He asks Dean how he slept, how he feels, and Dean's mind flashes briefly with memories of the dream before telling Sam he's fine, and turns his attention to the look of guilt on Sam's face. He confronts him about it, and Sam attempts, briefly, to convince Dean he's imagining things, before deciding it's not worth the effort.

He says after the weeks of Dean being anxious and on edge, waking up in the middle of the night – yes, he's noticed – and then the past few days, not sleeping at all...He was concerned. So he took it upon himself to give Dean a nudge in the direction of a full night's sleep and put a sedative into Dean's coffee last night. He's apologetic, and seems genuinely contrite, but Dean tells him rather firmly that that wasn't his call to make, before taking his leave and heading to his room, feeling a strange mix of emotions.

As he gets closer to his door, he feels as though something is amiss. He slows his approach, lamenting the fact that he doesn't have a weapon on him, and goes over his mental map of his bedroom to see if there's anything close to the door that he could use in a fight. He throws open the door, prepared for a scuffle, but stops in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat.

He's met with a familiar silhouette and thinks that, perhaps, he's still asleep. He tries pinching himself, uttering a soft curse.

Cain turns at the sound, giving Dean an amused smirk.

“At a loss for words, Dean? That's twice now.”

Dean's feet move him forward of their own volition as he lets out a broken “Cain...”

But it's not the same Cain he's been seeing in his dreams. This Cain's face doesn't look sunken and sallow, his hair not limp and lifeless. His eyes are alive and piercing in a way that Dean feels throughout his whole body.

Cain moves closer as well, meeting Dean halfway. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” he tells Dean, the barest hint of amusement in his voice.

“I...” Dean wants to look away but Cain's eyes have him transfixed. “I thought I--”

Cain rests his hand on Dean's shoulder and Dean manages to tear his gaze away long enough to glance at it before looking back. “I'm not that easy to get rid of, my boy.”

“But how...”

♔ cozy aesthetics ♔