Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #74: The Rivers of Crimson

Imagine: You take on the Mark of Cain instead of Dean.

Age: 16

Warnings: Vulgar language

A/N: This chapter is confirmed for a part two, but there'll be a chapter or two before part two is released.

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     Riiiiiiinnnnnggggg.

     I glanced down at my phone, my brother's name flashing across the screen. Heaving a sharp sigh through my nose, I squeezed the power button, lips pursed almost in anger. The phone fell silent; the screen black.

     "Sorry, boys," I murmured to myself, my e/c-eyed gaze returning to the front door of Cain's home, "I gotta do this on my own, because if you were here you wouldn't let me do it."

     My hand found the doorknob; tested it. I was surprised to find that it gave politely beneath my touch, turning without so much as a creak as I pushed the door open.

     I crept inside, my stance ready but my hands bare of weaponry, feeling naked and vulnerable.

     "I know you're there," I stopped, stilling as his deep voice reverberated from around the corner of the hall, "Come on out and have some tea."

     I cocked an eyebrow, straightened, and obeyed, stepping into the living room and meeting his eyes as I sat myself across from him in a velvet armchair. He calmly handed me a cup of tea, steam still rising from the surface.

     "I'm not here to kill you." I stated, sipping at the scalding liquid tenderly. It was sweet, better than many teas I'd tasted. It almost felt as though I were drinking an analogy for something.

     "I know," Cain replied, "If you were you would've already tried. Enjoying the tea? It's got all-natural bee honey from my farm in it."

     "It's good."

     "I must ask though, if not to kill me, why are you here?" Cain said as he crossed one leg over the other neatly and ran a hand over his beard, "I can't help but to be shocked, seeing you without those lumbering piles of flannel you're so co-dependent on."

     "I couldn't bring them with me," I explained as I sipped my tea, the honey taste pulling forth a bit more noticeably now that I knew that it was there, "this is something I have to do, and if they were here they'd make it something they'd have to do. They'll be here soon though, it doesn't take them long to track me, so I need to make this quick."

     "What do you need, girl?" Cain asked casually, setting his tea down on the table and intertwining his fingers, resting them on his stomach.

     "I need the Mark." Cain's eyes widened, ever-so-slightly, but nevertheless his face remained calm.

     "Whatever for?"

     "I don't know. I can't remember and the author is too lazy to look it up." I explained, and Cain raised an eyebrow.

     "You do know the Mark is one of the most dangerous things in existence, correct?" He asked, a solemnity entering his voice.

     "I've heard stories."

     "Darling, those stories don't begin to describe how you'll feel," Cain released his hands and leaned forward, his elbows finding his knees and his entire posture becoming much less proper as he gazed intensely into my eyes, "You'll lust for blood like you've never lusted for something before. It'll start small, maybe so small that all you urge for is undercooked meat that still drips with pink undertones, but soon that infatuation will lengthen and grow until there is no crimson river wide enough to satisfy your cravings. It'll seep through your core like a drug, a drug that you can never get enough of. The more you give in to the Mark, the wider and deeper your river becomes. You'll be angry, violent. You lose everything that made you who you are."