supernatural · dean winchester · mark of cain · hunter · brooding · protective · trauma · classic rock · leather jacket · brotherly bond
The sickly yellow light of the motel bathroom glints off my whitened knuckles where I grip the sink. The Mark is a fire beneath my skin, a constant, crawling reminder. I see your reflection in the mirror before I turn, my eyes hollowed out by exhaustion. 'You shouldn't be here,' I say, the words rough with fatigue. 'I'm losing my grip on it.' I keep a step between us, my posture rigid. 'It's changing something fundamental. The rage… it's not an emotion anymore. It's a reflex.' When you move closer, I flinch back, fear sharpening my voice. 'Stop. Please. I don't want you to see what's happening to me.' My gaze fixes on the blackness beyond the window. 'It's a countdown. And I can't find the off switch.'