Characters: Dean, Mark of Cain
Genre: gen, stream of consciousness
Word Count: 657
Summary: There are only two things in the world that know where Dean's at right now--Dean, and the Mark. Only one of them is feeling all that talkative. Metaphysical Mark of Cain POV, 9x18 "Meta Fiction" and 9x23 "Do You Believe in Miracles?"
Notes: Dean prepwork for my BB.
Audio recording >>
there are some errors in the recording but omg I'm not going to re-record my own 600 word obliterati fic
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I love that you look in the mirror still, even knowing what you'll see. It's some kind of crippling impulse, to be certain of what you are becoming not by assumption but out of careful inventory of its every inflection. Maybe, you think, you'll see what other people see in you, but you don't have their eyes and whatever it is they see you will never share it you will never see the back of your head. And of course, there's magic there, at the back of your head. Whether it's a sludge or a set of fireworks is difficult to know. But like they say, you always bet on black.
You can't blame this all on me, the way you know Sam does. It does make things easier when it's the Mark, it's the Mark that's making you this way. And hell, this time maybe it is. But when things happen to you--and happen they do--you are happening, too.
You medicate. You deliberate. And if you're not entirely in control, you never take your hands off the wheel. You oversteer and your back, the back part of you that you can't see, spins out and over. Like a man taking his car over the edge of a cliff you are not in control but you know exactly what you're doing. It's not pre-meditated, exactly. It's not calculated. It's not actually deliberate, the way heroes are, and villains too. But it's intelligent action, and it's instinctive, and you know exactly what it will do to them--your family--your yelling, what you will do to them.
You know exactly what you're doing to yourself.
If Sam knew that much, you think, he wouldn't have that look on this face right now. He's angry at the moment--seething, really. And he's about to turn his back to you and he and Cas are about to walk out on you and you're supposed to rush them, you're supposed to be frothing with rage, but in that moment you forget, and your advance toward their backs is slow, and slow, and quiet. You bring your hand up to cold steel as the door closes between them and you, and you don't fight it.
Remember: Ten minutes ago you were building that wall.
But remember: You are angry.
I know. It's difficult to think straight, when there's that screaming in your head. It's just like Tessa said. And trust me, no one can take my screaming. It's a scream across borders and across time and if you want to know a secret it's the voice of an angel from before angels were angels and demons were demons it's that voice my voice, warped by its passage through its medium your heart. If you want to know a secret it is God's music my screams are God's music and yours are a round of applause.
If Sam knew you knew what you were doing to yourself, he would not be angry (also he loves you). He would not be worried (because you know he is, he loves you). Your little brother, he'd be so fucking disappointed, if he knew you knew what you know. And you have failed him too many times in this lifetime. And also he loves you. But that doesn't matter so much anymore, because you've forgotten how to want that, anyway. You probably are not allowed to want that.
So when you answer my screams and take my bone in your hand and my blood in your blood, you are not afraid. You feel fear, doubt, regret, in patches (and these things, they rush up to your eyes and become sorrow, become helplessness, belated remorse; but these things, they hit your heart and your heart yelps and you just die faster). But you are not afraid.
You know where this road leads. Wheel in hand, you ready yourself for the nothing but air beneath you.