Confetti it's a Parade Book 2

When the Heart Can't Let Go

Mark of Cain Dean x Reader

Where to start this story? At the beginning, when you had first fallen for the man with gemstone green eyes, plump lips, and a wink to send any woman to her knees? Or maybe when you had finally found out what he did for a living, hunting monsters, and you had wanted in. You wanted a chance to save people as well, making the world a little safer. Maybe you could start when you had stood at the altar of a forgotten church, letting your Angelic friend marry you to Dean Winchester, the love of your life.

But no, you weren't going to start there. They were the happy memories. The memories you wanted to remember, not sully with this story. Instead, you would start at the moment your husband started to turn from you, the red mark on his arm changing him.

He had done it without your consent, or his brother's. Taking the Mark from Cain, not only turning his life upside down, but yours as well. Immediately you could tell the difference, even if it was barely noticable. The subtle hardness to his jaw, the lack of sparkle in his eyes. The way he would turn from you in the night, only to wake you up with insatiable hunger, his touch branding you. Sam would glance at the bruises visible on your skin, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if you needed help. Shaking your head, you knew you couldn't do that to Dean. You couldn't break his trust, couldn't voice the words that maybe he was no longer the Dean you had fallen in love with.

Days passed, and it only got worse. It was no longer just the bruises from your lovemaking. If you could even call it that anymore. When he came to you, it was always hurried and rough, his lips hardly ever searching out yours. More often than not, he would have you on your hands and knees, his grip bruising on your hips as he pounded into you from behind. That way you wouldn't force eye contact, or try to sneak a kiss.

It hurt, having him this way. Knowing that he was changing, turning into something rotten, not at all like your husband from before. Knowing you could only stay by his side, offer him comfort even though he wouldn't take it.

Almost a month after that horrid red mark had been placed on his arm, he had snapped. It was ugly, and you could only stand in the corner, transfixed on the animal in front of you. Blood dripped down his face, pooling all around him. There had to be at least five dead men on the ground, laid out almost in a circle, with him in the middle. Sam was currently kneeling in front of him, trying to snap Dean out of his trance.

It took a couple of tries before Dean's glazed over green eyes peered up at his brother, full of confusion and guilt. It was then you moved forward, standing next to your brother in law, watching as Dean took in the scene. "I didn't mean to," he whispered, unsteadily climbing to his feet before launching himself into your arms. Holding tightly to him, you rubbed his back soothingly, ignoring the blood that was no covering you as well. Wishing that the stupid mark had never happened.

On the ride back, Dean was like a little kid, lost in thought, always touching you, leaning his head on your shoulder, threading his fingers through yours. Needing the touch as confirmation that he was still here, still the Dean you loved.

"Dean, please tell me they made you do that," you pleaded with him, staring down at him.

"I don't know," he spoke so softly it was hard to hear him.

The next couple of days after that incident, everyone walked on tiptoes around Dean. He seemed to be even more withdrawn, often sitting at the library table, a glass of whiskey in his hands, staring down at the red beacon of evil. Rubbing his thumb across it, refusing to lift his gaze to yours, even when you sat down next to him.

Your heart broke for him. He had done something to try and save people, and it was tearing him apart. Your selfless hunter, always needing to be the hero, had taken it one step too far, and you were afraid he would never come back from it.

"Y/N," he finally spoke as you were standing up to head to bed. It was almost midnight, and Sam had long since gone to bed. "Please stay."

Of course you stayed. You would do anything he asked, go anywhere with him. You loved him, more than you ever thought you would love anyone. It was so hard, seeing him like this, and you just wanted to make things better for him.

"Y/N, I'm turning into a monster," he whispered, his hand clenched as he stared down at the mark. "You saw what I did to those men."

"Dean, it wasn't you," you tried to tell him, tears in your eyes at the pain echoing in his voice. "It was the mark. It's on you, but it doesn't define you."

"But it was my hand that killed them. I feel the evil, the need for blood deep within me, and it scares me," he explained, red rimmed eyes staring up at me.

"Dean, it's the mark. But you're strong, and you can fight it. You'll kill Abaddon, and then this will all be over," you continued, standing up and moving to perch on the table in front of him.

"I don't think I can fight it," he whispered. "And that's what scares me the most. That it will make me hurt you. I can't have that. You need to go, while you still can."

Your heart stopped at his words. Your breath catching, you stared down at him, your mouth opening and closing. You should have imagined that Dean would do this. Sending you away was his way of controlling the situation. "No, I can't. Dean, you need me here. I need to be here. By your side. Please," you cried.

"No!" He screamed, reaching out and grabbing your wrist, his hold too tight, bruising your skin instantly. "You need to leave while I'm still partially myself!"

Pulling his hand from you as if he was burned, he stood up, grabbing you by the upper arm, dragging you out of the library, towards the room the two of you shared. "Dean, please, you're scaring me!"

As if he didn't hear you, he pushed you towards the bed, grabbing your duffle bag, shoving your clothes into it like a man possessed. Tears streaming down your face, you stepped towards him, placing your hand on his shoulder. Turning around so fast he startled you, his eyes widened as you fell to the ground. "See, you'll only get hurt," he spoke with conviction. "You need to go. To be safe. Somewhere far away. Don't tell Sam, or me where you're going. When, if, this ever ends, we'll find you. But please, I need you to go."

Sniffling, you stood up, jumping when Dean threw the duffle bag your way. "Dean, please don't do this. We're stronger together. I can help you. Don't just toss me to the side."

"Go!" He screamed, loud enough to rattle the walls, no doubt waking Sam, his eyes darkening as his frustration woke the mark. You could see the change in him, the way his shoulders straightened, the clench of his hands as he resisted the urge for violence. "Now, before it's too late."

Sobbing openly, you tried one more time, squealing when his fist came flying at your face, narrowly missing and embedding itself in the wall instead. "Go!" He roared again, and this time you listened. Taking your keys from the dresser, you raced blindly down the hall, past a confused Sam, to the garage where you car was sitting, gathering dust. Tossing your duffle bag into the backseat, you were about ready to start your car when you realized you couldn't. You couldn't run away, as Dean wanted. That was the easy way out. Wiping the tears away, you stepped back out of your car, your entire body trembling as you realized what this would do. Dean wouldn't be happy, and you were worried about the consequences. But you loved him too much, to leave him, to let go now. He needed you, and no matter what, you were going to be there for him. Even if it meant your life was in his hands. But truthfully, isn't that where it was to begin with?