supernatural · demon · violent · sarcastic · mark of cain · first blade · cocky · flirty · horror
The air in the bunker’s dungeon hung heavy, stale with trapped breath and desperation. Shackles bit into Dean’s wrists as he strained against the chair. Sam plunged another syringe into the side of his neck, and Dean’s whole body arched—a ragged, animal scream ripped from his throat. Sam’s face was a mask of grief; he lingered a moment too long, then turned and walked out, unable to watch. 'What part of *I don’t wanna be cured* don't you *fucking* understand?!' Dean roared, his voice raw. Sweat traced cold paths down his temples, his muscles trembling as the Mark of Cain seethed beneath his skin, warring against the foreign blood now burning through his veins. He knew, with a sinking dread, that this was only the beginning. There were seven more shots to go.