Warning: mentions of rape

When Cas had dropped by with news, you had figured it would only be a couple of days until Abaddon was stopped, and Dean could lose the mark. Instead, Cas had given you a general location of her last whereabouts, nothing concrete to go on.

While you were thankful the Angel helped move your quest along, it was only a tiny step in the long maze to the finish line. Sam had taken that little stone of information, and went to Illinois to further investigate while you stayed behind with Dean.

Dean had argued with Sam, saying the three of you shouldn't split up, that Dean needed to be there in case Abaddon showed up. But you and Sam had started noticing the subtle changes in Dean. The way he constantly rubbed his arm where the mark was located, the amount of alcohol he poured down his throat, enough to down any normal man. Then there were his fits of aggression, and his urge of violence, and his lack of care. You weren't a shy schoolgirl, but the look of blood lust that sometimes came across his face gave you shivers, and there were many times you would end up hiding in your bedroom, not wanting to face the wrath that was Dean with the Mark of Cain.

Days after Sam had left, you found yourself searching for more information, cuddled up in one of the plush leather arm chairs located throughout the bunkers library. Dean had gone to town, probably to procure more alcohol, and you had the rare opportunity of time to yourself.

Staring blankly at the laptop, you let your mind wander to the time before Dean had the mark. He might not have been the most romantic boyfriend, but you had never minded. He had shown his love in different ways, letting you drive the Impala, or pick the road trip music. Sharing his pie with you, opening up to you, keeping an eye on you during a hunt. Those had been the subtle hints that showed exactly how much he really cared for you. It had been perfect, you weren't like the normal girls who expected chocolate and gifts, fancy dates and unfulfilled promises. Dean's way had been more sincere, and truthful.

But lately, Dean's attitude toward you had gradually changed. You could pinpoint the exact moment, the night he came home with that stupid mark on his forearm. He hadn't exactly gotten physically violent towards you, but you had a feeling it was only a matter of time before that came into play, and it terrified you. You couldn't imagine leaving Dean, but you knew once he raised his hand to you, it wouldn't be a simple slap, and you might not be able to walk away from it. Sam had promised he would keep you safe, and Cas would come at a moments notice if he could, but you weren't sure that they could even handle Dean in one of his moods controlled by the mark.

But you were getting ahead of yourself. He was nowhere near the point of hitting you, almost the complete opposite. He was slowly pulling away from you, and it was heartbreaking to watch and have no control over. After that one heated morning, he had broken his promise to you, and you had never finished what you had started. He started staying up all hours of the night, finally stumbling his way into the bed you shared in the late morning hours, reeking of alcohol. He would lay as close to the edge as possible, instead of pulling you to him like you were used to. Falling back to sleep was hard, but when you would finally awake, he would be gone from the bed, the sheets cool to the touch.

The slamming of the bunkers heavy metal door shook you out of your maudlin thoughts, and your eyes strayed to the stairs, where you could just make out Dean's heavy, weathered work boots standing on the top step. Unsure what Dean's mood would be like, you stayed in your chair, out of Dean's sight, and watched as he slowly stumbled down the stairs, a heavy bag in his hands, probably filled with liquor.

He missed the last step, and almost face planted, but caught himself at the last moment, impressively not dropping the bag. Cussing,he sat it down on the large map table, before slumping into one of the chairs, throwing his legs up onto the table. Pulling the bag over to him, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and opened it, drinking straight from the bottle.

Thinking it would be best if you snuck out of the library to your room, you quietly slid out of the chair and took one step to the hallway. But Dean's deep voice stopped you in your tracks. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Standing still, you didn't turn to face him, instead you talked over your shoulder. "To bed, I'm tired."

Dean didn't seem to care for your answer, you heard the whiskey bottle being slammed to the table in anger. "I don't think so, get over here." He ordered.

You complied, not wanting to anger him, because the mark would enjoy that too much, and you wanted to do everything in your power to keep Dean in control, not the mark.

After what seemed like forever, you were finally standing in front of Dean, and you took in Dean's appearance. He was wearing his normal faded jeans, a plain maroon flannel shirt open over a dark T-shirt. His chin was covered in stubble, his gorgeous green eyes rimmed in red. His hair was standing ever more on end, from his hand running through it.

"Sit. " He ordered, and you started to pull out another chair to sit on, but Dean had pulled his legs off the table and was patting his legs. You hated that you were scared to sit on your boyfriends lap.

Gingerly you sat down, your spine rigid, your upper body as far away from Dean as possible. He seemed content at first, taking another swig of his whiskey before handing you the bottle. Taking a big gulp, you enjoyed the way the liquid warmed you as it went down.

The two of you sat that way, each taking sips of the alcohol, but neither saying a word. It was awkward, and you wished you could just forget about the last week and concentrate on the Dean you knew was still in there.

Taking a chance, you leaned back, letting your back rest against Dean's chest, and you relaxed for the first time in that moment, Dean's heartbeat lulling you.

He placed the whiskey bottle down, and placed both hands around your waist, effectively trapping you in his embrace. At first you enjoyed his touch, it had been too long since you had felt his hands know you. But his fingers kept tightening, and soon you moaned in pain.

"Dean stop, you're hurting me!" You protested, but he just chuckled deeply and moved his hands up, under your shirt grasping your breasts roughly outside of your bra. Knowing you would have bruises in the morning, you tried to slide off of his lap, but he tightened his hold.

"Please." You begged, but he didn't relent, instead he grasped the front of your bra, ripping it apart, leaving your breasts free for his rough handling.

Growling he stood up, holding you in his arms, slamming you onto the table. Before he could get a hold of you again, you scrambled to your hands and knees, trying to get away. As your hands found purchase on the chair on the other side of the table, you felt a hand grab your ankle, pulling you back.

Screaming, you blindly kicked with your other foot, hearing a grunt, but the hold on your ankle tightened, and you groaned in pain.

You felt yourself sliding backwards, before Dean moved his hands from your ankle to your waist, flipping you over so you were flat on your back.

"Dean stop, this isn't you, it's the mark!" You tried again, but he wasn't listening, his hands were too busy grabbing the hem of your light T-shirt, before ripping it in half, your exposed breasts on display, angry red marks covering them.

You heard someone sobbing, and realized it was you, and it was just spurring him on. He leaned forward and roughly pressed his lips to yours, and you bit down on his lip. It was the wrong move because the next thing you know you were getting a hand across your cheek.

Tears falling freely down your stinging cheek, you looked at Dean, wondering if the love of your life was even in there, if he was trying to control the mark. He was panting heavily, and his green eyes were almost black, from lust and the control of the mark.

You were so busy fighting against Dean, that neither of you registered another voice in the room, until a pair of arms were pulling Dean off of you, slamming him to the floor.