"Once you touch that darkness, it never goes away.

The truth is, I'm past saving."

Dean 10x07

Her disheveled, dark hair spread around her head like a halo. Bright blue eyes that looked at him as he bent down to her on the pillows. Her hands on his shoulders. It was perfect. He didn't know what it was, but she had that certain something. Maybe the entirely misplaced feeling of familiarity. Something about her reminded him of something good.

Then the desire, the ecstasy, like a fever, slowly rising, more and more urgent and inevitable. No more scruples, no more reins, no more control. Unrestrained.

Heavily breathing Dean woke up. Sweat ran down his body, making his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. And yet he froze as if all the warmth had drained from him. For a precious moment it was as if all of this had actually been just a dream, but it wasn't. Panicked, he closed his eyelids and opened them again. Over and over again. Over and over again he saw her eyes wide with fear, heard her sobs, felt her twitching body below him. It was like drowning, being dragged deeper and deeper into a vortex, like sinking into a sea of ​​darkness and guilt.

The shattered mirror showed only fragments of his face, his fist had left distinct marks. Dean couldn't stand the sight of himself any longer, so he looked down at his trembling hand. The skin over the knuckles was ruptured, the blood smeared over the back of the hand. The physical pain felt good, for a moment it repressed the one inside of him.

He couldn't do anything else but hurt the people close to him, he was their undoing, so he more than deserved this pain. All along the line he had failed, as a son, brother, and friend. He was nothing but a disappointment. He was nothing.

Placidly he picked up a shard of mirror. For a brief instant he hesitated, but then he led it to his forearm. Slowly he stabbed his skin and cut it open. The burning pain made him gasp for air. He watched the thick blood oozing from the wound, felt it run warm over his arm. The sap of life that flowed through his veins now welled out of his skin. Why was he allowed to live after doing things like that? His fingers tightened on the shard.

"Dean, what are you doing...?!" He was grabbed by the wrist... Sam. His knees buckled. He was caught before he could hit the cold ground. Why didn't his brother just let him fall? He didn't want to feel anymore, never again.

But he felt. Shame, for the moment. His blood tainted and soiled Sam's clothes. But he just kept on holding him unfaltering. Holding him and not letting go of him. Why did he have to find him? His brother shouldn't have seen any of this.

Don't tell it Cas, oh God, don't tell it Cas, was the only thought that Dean brought off. Here slumped on the inhospitable tiles of a bathroom. Blood dripped down and stained everything red that came in contact with it. Absurd. In a situation like this, he was worried, of all things, that his best friend might find out he had injured himself. His best friend, who had saved his life so many times...

If it hadn't been for Sam... Who knows what else he would have done... No, deep down, Dean knew exactly what he would have done, what he should have done. If he had pushed the shard just a little deeper... He would have deserved it.

The hunter didn't believe in fate, but it wasn't just guilt. That was just the drop that broke the barrel. Wasn't he glad that everything was finally going to end? Didn't death promise the long-awaited redemption? Hadn't he long been looking for a reason to let it all end? Now he had found it.

It had been a month since the curse had called Dean its own. Still he avoided mirrors because everything he saw in them was a monster. He had already been under the influence of the Mark of Cain, had been a demon, had done terrible things. But what had happened that new moon night... That line, he had never crossed, not even in Hell. Every day since then had been anguish, but the nights were worse. The dreams hadn't subsided, her screams had never fallen silent.

Dean had gone hunting alone. Often, very often. And every time he had returned covered in blood and utterly exhausted. Returned to his own surprise. He had refused any help, had not let Castiel heal him and hadn't even let Sam have a look at his wounds. It was as if he had completely withdrawn from them. He barely spoke, barely ate, avoided encountering people, had solely killed as many monsters as possible in the past few weeks.

Now the day was drawing to a close, the last few hours before the new moon had dawned. Out here among the bare trees, the autumn air was surprisingly mild, despite the sharp wind. The leaves had fallen. Foliage rustled under his shoes. Dean watched as the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon and the clouds turned yellow as if they were on fire. In the sky already a first star, heralding the imminent night. The blackness of the early dusk replaced the orange of the evening, and he realized it was time for him to go.

They didn't notice him. Sam laughed. Castiel surely had said something amusing again that he wasn't aware that it was amusing. Dean's corners of the mouth lifted slightly. Too little for a smile, just enough to discover that he was still feeling. Affection, wistfulness, and certainty in equal parts. The two would be fine. They would take care of each other like a family simply does, even if he wasn't part of it anymore. He watched them for a while, then he went to his room.

There was a knock. Dean winced, but gave no sign of consent to enter. He wanted to be alone and get drunk. Perhaps the alcohol would make what was to come more bearable. Sam entered regardless. The older one turned away, avoiding eye contact as he had done in the previous weeks. Maybe he should have given his brother a lecture on privacy and personal space instead of the angel at that time. Abruptly Dean put down the whiskey bottle he had just been about to open. The content sloshed apprehensively and the diffuse light from the old ceiling lamp was refracted in it.

Sam cleared his throat into the emerging silence. "I can drive you if you want. Where do you want to go? I heard the Loon Bar is supposed to be quite good", he suggested carefully. After what had taken place the last time, he should choose his words advisedly.

"I'm not going anywhere", Dean replied with a husky voice. He had hoped to avoid this confrontation. Just Sam's presence alone was painful, as it made him see what he had to leave behind. It emphasized to him that he could no longer do his job, accomplish his task of always looking after his brother.

"I already thought so. Here", the younger one placed the flyer of an escort service, in which call girls offered their company, on the bedside table next to Dean's mobile phone, "You have to sleep with someone before the night is over. "

"That won't happen." Determination swung in every syllable. Sammy shouldn't even think he could do anything about that fact.

"Dean..." No, I misunderstood him, he didn't mean it that way. God, Dean don't do this, don't leave me alone. The younger one was paralyzed, he didn't want to believe what he had just heard, didn't want to hear what Dean had decided to do.

"You have to go now." Sam couldn't be here any longer. Already Dean felt the initial restlessness, the tingling of his nerves. In this state he was a danger to anyone who came close enough to him, including his brother. "Sam, get out of here!"

Rattling the whiskey bottle clattered to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. It was questionable whether Dean had thrown it on purpose or accidentally knocked it over. The golden-brown liquid spread over the old wooden floorboards, sprinkled with shimmering shards.

The glass crunched under his shoes as the taller one took a step towards him instead of walking out. "The curse will take your life!"

That couldn't be! After finding his big brother bleeding in the bathroom, he had actually wanted to believe the matter was over, dealt with, closed. So much he had hoped that the whole thing had only been a one-time low, that Dean would recover again. How naive he had been.

"Get out!" Dean regretted having to yell at him. He regretted that these of all would be the last words to his brother. He regretted that Sam would remember him like that, sending him away, pushing him away. But there was no other way.

One last appalled look from gray-brown eyes, despair on both sides, then Sam indeed left the room and Dean was alone. Finally.

The evening had fallen to the full by now, it was already far after 8 p.m. The outdated lighting in the bunker buzzed every now and then. It had become cold, but Castiel didn't perceive it. Tensely he waited. The situation was more delicate, more intricate and complicated than Sam had described it to him, he was sure of that. Because even though the brothers hadn't mentioned anything, he had seen the new scars on Dean's arms, and on his soul.

Then he heard footsteps in the hallway. As soon as he saw Sam's face white as a sheet, he suspected how the conversation had gone. And the taller one confirmed his apprehensions. "Dean refuses... refuses to have sex. He'll die if he doesn't..." His voice cracked. Forlorn, the younger Winchester brother stood in the middle of the room. "I don't know what to do..."

The angel understood. Dean wanted to die, he believed he deserved death. In the trough of the waves you couldn't see the sky, Castiel knew that just too well. He closed his eyes, collecting himself as if he had a decision to make. Then he looked up and said to Sam: "No matter what happens, don't go into the room."

Sam swallowed. "What you up to?"

"I will do whatever it takes", the angel replied monotonously. Few were able to spot the fear that lay in there.

"If there's even a small chance that we can save you,

I won't let you walk out of this room."

Castiel to Dean 10x22