Generations's (Spin Off/ Book FOUR)

Howl At That Moon

Dean:

My wife was stood in front of me, her frozen hand on my chest as she stopped me from taking out the sorry son of a bitch that killed Kevin, who used my brother's body to joy ride around the world. "Drop the blade, Dean." She said so softly that I could barely hear her, but the threat was clear. Drop it or let her ice envelop me. "Dean. Look at me."

"Khalilah! Move! Aah!" She threw me back in a snowstorm, her eyes pure white instead of silver, like Storm from X-Men.

And then Sam was there, grabbing my right arm and tried to pull the First Blade from my hand. "Let it go! Let it go! Let it go."

Then I had Cas and Sam drag me down to the bunker dungeon, and stood between me and the door, my so called wife just staring at me in horror, her long loose dress hugging her curves but also hiding the parts she said she always hated, like her 6 pack, which was strange. "The hell if you think I'm riding the pine on this one, guys."

"Something is wrong with you, Dean." Sam told me as Kali just stared, like she already knew what it was. "And until we figure out what, this is where you have to stay."

"And you three are gonna do what? Take on Metatron yourselves? That's smart. Oh, no, wait. No, you you lost your Angel army. You, are avoiding the fight, and acting like you're the freaking be all and end all card when you're barely doing anything. And you now you're trying to lock up the one guy who has a shot at killing the son of a bitch! Hell of a plan, guys!" In silence, Sam and Cas turned and pushed the doors shut locking me in the dungeon, and Khalilah went with them. "Look, hey, guys. Sam. Sammy! Khalilah! Baby!"

Then I stared to cough, gagging onto the floor as I felt my insides twist and writhe, like there was something in there, dark and horrible as blood dripped out of my mouth with the sick, and when I checked the mirror, there was a load around my mouth as well.

But that gave me what I needed to summon the son of a bitch that got this whole ball rolling, and I got to work, calling Crowley here. Still inside the Devil's Trap. "What's that smell?"

My insides rotting! "What the hell's happening to me, you son of a bitch?"

"Liquor before beer, bad taco? How should I know?"

Please, please, please, I didn't... I had it in me to hurt her, and I didn't, couldn't, ever do that. "I can't turn it off! Ever since I killed Abaddon, it's -- it's like this whole...other thing. I get this high and I-I-I need to kill. I mean, I really, really need to kill. And if I don't --"

"You yak your guts out. It's the mark."

Yes, that was incredibly enlightening, Crowley, care to elaborate. "Meaning?"

"It wants you to kill. The more you kill, the better you feel. The less you kill, the less better you feel."

"How much less better?" I asked him, desperate for this to not end like this. I would not die now, not when my last words to her were so cruel.

Crowley wasn't overly bothered by all of this just yet. "One would imagine the least-best better."

No, no, no, there had to be some kind of mistake. "So dead? Well, Cain had the mark. He didn't die."

He just shrugged. "Cain was a demon. Your body's not strong enough to contain the blade's power."

I tried to deny my fear, and my worry but something told me I wasn't at all convincing. "What if I got rid of it?"

"You want to get rid of it?"

No, I didn't. What I wanted was to kill. "What I want is Metatron. But I have to get through that door, and I have to get to the blade. And you're gonna help me."