The Mark on Us ( A Destiel Fanfic)

Everything Is Not What It Seems

"Dean!"

Whispers of voices were pulling him to the surface. Voices that sounded familiar yet he couldn't distinguish exactly who they were imminating from. They were scrambled across his mind as if they were coming from thousands of different directions and he just wanted to scream to the world. To make those voices stop so he could get back to the blissfull escape of nothingness. So he could feel no more pain or sorrow or any kind of remorse for what he done.

"Dean! For crying out loud, get your arse up!"

This time the voice sounded so recognizable that his name seemed to almost be on the tip of his tongue. He rolled over on whatever sort of surface he was residing on and gripped his arm tightly, wondering why the Mark didn't burn him by now yet he felt nothing. No raised piece of skin he had grown accquainted with over the course of the past year. No scalding pain that usually came along with it. It was as if it had just dissappeared from existence like it never happened. He gets up in surprise, flinging his eyes open as the events from last night come rushing back into his head. He was suppose to be dead, stashed away in a part of the universe where nobody could find him. Heck, nobody was even suppose to remember who he was so why was there somebody yelling his name into his ear.

"Are you deaf boy or do you like hearing the sound of my voice?"

"Crowley?" Dean states, puzzlement screwing up his features so that his wrinkles became more prominent.

Crowley smacks his forehead and rolls his eyes up the ceiling in a manner that he seemed to sport everytime something comes out of Deans mouth.

"Am I dead? Am I in hell?" He continues, frantically looking around the room, wondering why everything looked so familar to him. The house. The setting of it all. Even the smells greeted him in a way that tugged faintly at a memory.

"You're off your rocker? He's off his rocker?!"

A man walks into the room and Dean almost wanted to throw up and scream at the same time. It can't be. He can't be. Everything about this scenario couldn't be. Yet there he was. White hair slicked back like it was before all this happened. Beard groomed so he actually looked like a decent human being even though Dean knew that he was far from that. And the Mark, glowing the same bright red he had grown accustomed to when it resided on him, displayed on the same arm that it has been on him. 

"Dean I can give you the Mark of Cain if that is what you truly want."

He sank down to the floor, burying his head into his kneews, not knowing of anything else to say or do. This has happened before. Dean knew deep down in his heart that he had witnessed all of this and many other horrors. Had all that just been a dream? No. It had felt too real. It had to be real. Was it?

"Well isn't this a sight to see. Dean Winchester on his knees and crying like a small child. I have to get a picture of this."

The long lean figure propped himself up against the neighboring wall and stared down at the pitiful things he thought his old eyes would never see. He almost felt..sorry for him. The word sent shivers down his spine at the mere thought of it. He was never the one to feel sory or in the very least feel anything besides his overmistaken pride. That was all he ever felt and the one true emotion that he should feel. Yet seeing how much of a mess Dean was made him sense a rare urge to hug him and make him feel whole again. Sickening he knows.

Dean got up and shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed up and his finger pointing like what he saw couldn't be there. It was true, in all matter of speaking. He should very well be dead but he always found a way around those sorts of things. And, above all else, he was a terribly good hider so people, especially the likes of Dean Winchester couldn't even dream of finding him.