WARNING: This final chapter is more of a reflective, fill in the blanks for the end of season 9. So obviously, SPOILER ALERT.

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Everytime we encounter a hellhound, I run a little bit faster, I think. It's kind of like some weird law of science. I fall to my knees at the grave next to Dean, who's already eagerly slicing into the body where Crowley hid the blade.

"I'll do it Dean." I tell him. The last thing on earth I want is for him to touch that blade. Even if it means me reaching my arm into a fresh corpse.

"It's fine." he said.

It's fine?

Still panting from our close call with Crowley's mutt, I stare at him, wanting desperately to believe him. But I just can't. I can't believe that if he wraps his hand around this abomination in the shape of a donkey jawbone, he's going to be "fine". My still throbbing shoulder and cracked ribs from our scuffle two days ago are testament to exactly how not-"fine" he is.

I glance at his face again and catch sight of it, just for a moment. The greed, the hunger. He wants to touch the Blade. Needs it. Gosh, he's almost drooling.

I turn my back to him.

I can feel Dean's eyes burning into the back of my head, but I can't make myself do it. The words really just came out of my mouth. I'm gonna do this. I'm going to reach inside of this reeking, rotting corpse and pull the First Blade out.

And I'm going to let Dean kill Abbadon with it. Let him use the thing that's taking him away from me.

Is this how Dean felt while I was doing the trials? To some extent, it must have been. I'm letting my brother commit to this, knowing that there's a possibility that the consequences might outweigh the benefit of the action. There's absolutely no choice. Especially with the way Dean is behaving, I know that I can't change his mind. He has to do this. I know that.

Abbadon has to go.

I reach into the body and pull the knife out.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

He's still trembling when we get into the car. He won't let me drive.

"Dean."

He's completely unresponsive. It's like he's not even in the car with me.

His hand's still shaking. Just like it did when he finally dropped the Blade over an hour ago after pulling it from Abbadon's chest. I can still see some of her blood in between his fingers, so of course that sends my memory warp speeding back to the image of the look on his face, and the ferocity with which he was beating her already dead body.

Dean does things for reasons. He always has. As I watched him trying to beat the life out of Abbadon's already lifeless corpse, I recognized the flame of insanity that drove him to beat me for making him miss Crowley's call. Not senseless, necessarily. Overkill.

He's lost control. All the pent-up rage blasted from his body with tsunamical force as he butchered Abbadon's vessel. He crushed her, battering her and neck until she was completely disfigured. And he hadn't stopped.

He'd taken pleasure in what he'd done to her. Enjoyed it.

I let my finger slip slowly over my throat. I can still feel my scream there, screaming for Dean to stop. He wouldn't have stopped.

And the look in his eyes when he finally stopped hitting her….that wasn't my brother.

Dean is gone. Or almost gone.

And he lied to me. Tricked me. Crowley warned him about Abbadon, and he left me in the dark.

And….

The steering wheel jerks in response as his muscles re-live what he's just done, and I come back to the present. One of us has to make sure the Impala stays on the road.

"Dean!" I yell. He's going to get us killed.

He finally comes around, and we ride in silence for a few minutes.

And then he starts talking. His oozing words fill me with dread as he describes in detail how the Blade makes him feel.

And it's different.

I've seen him hungry, and lustful, and lonely, in each incident consumed by desire. This is stronger. Darker. All the things I desperately don't want it to be.

And so I confront him. Get up the courage to suggest that we lock the blade away.

And he says no.

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN

I finish the incantation robotically and brush the herbs and ashes off of my hands.

When I stand up, I get the too-tall concussion feeling again. Time has taken a respectful moment of silence for my brother's death, allowing me to wander and grieve outside of its confines. It's like a space that has separated itself from the rest of life, the rest of existence, just so that I can mourn Dean.

I don't want it though. I don't want this space. I want my brother.

I will not make a deal with Crowley. He hasn't earned a deal. I will tied him down and torture him if I have to. Slowly, and carefully. I will beat him to a pulp. Less slowly and less carefully.

But he will bring my brother back.

There's a thump upstairs, and before I'm aware of my own body, I've gone upstairs and down the hall to Dean's room, where I left his body on his bed.

Crowley shoulders past me as I enter, his face blank.

And there he is. His back is turned to me as he buttons up a clean shirt, the blood soaked one his corpse was wearing earlier crumpled on the bed.

The relief that washes over me at the sight of him almost knocks me over. Something about dying kind of erases every and any difference or conflict between us from my mind, and he's instantly forgiven for everything. The stunt with Gadreel, Kevin…

I close the distance between us with a couple of steps and seize his shoulders to turn him around.

As I gaze into his eyes, two thoughts ring out clearly above the screams, sirens, and paradoxical silence that takes over my mind.

The darkness is here. And among men, none shall survive. For they will be killed by man.

I should have cut the Mark out when I had the chance.